The gallery was louder than Ethan expected.
Not in volume—
But in energy.
Bright lights spilled across whitewashed walls. Laughter bubbled up like champagne. People with sharp clothes and sharper eyes glided from painting to painting, murmuring praise, sipping wine, pointing and tilting their heads like art critics in movies.
But all Ethan could look at was Jace.
He stood near the center of the room, wearing a black button-up shirt with sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearm tattoos. His curls were tamed for once, but still messy in the back. He had paint under one nail. A silver ring on his index finger. Confidence in his shoulders.
And people loved him.
Ethan watched a young curator lean in a little too close, laughing too loudly at something Jace said. Her hand touched hi
