One Weekend with the Billionaire Chapter 35

*Braxton*

I lead Julia down the hallway to the second surprise I have in store for her today, grinning from ear to ear as I anticipate how much she is going to love this. I hope that she does. It’s something I’ve had the staff put together while I was away, but I trust them fully to make sure that it is every bit as grandiose as I would’ve made it had I done it myself.

Julia is giggling, her hand warm in mine, as I pull her along. She is not in as big of a rush as I am, and I suppose that’s because she’s just enjoying the moment. That’s yet another thing I absolutely love about her, the way that she savors everything that happens around her, how she never lets a minute pass by that she isn’t taking in the beauty of it, if there’s anything at all worth noticing. I can’t let my mind linger on all of the time she has wasted with Jeff, not having any moments worth savoring, not now, not when I am about to thrill her.

We reach the room, and I wish I’d thought of bringing a blindfold. I am tempted to ask her to close her eyes, but I can’t wait. I pause and ask, “Are you ready?”

She nods. “I’m ready,” she says, her smile so wide, I just want to kiss her.

But I also want her to see what is behind the door, so I open it instead and walk in, flipping the ligh switch as I enter.

She gasps and lets go of my hand so she can cover her mouth with both of her dainty palms. I look around and am not at all surprised to see everything is exactly as I had envisioned it. I look at her and notice tears in her eyes as she pulls her hands from her mouth. “For… me?” she asks before she begins to wave a hand in front of her face to keep from crying.

“Yes, for you,” I tell her, reaching for her. “You like it then?”

“I… love it,” she says, not able to keep the tears back now. They cascade down her cheeks as she continues to look around. “It’s… the most perfect art room I’ve ever seen.”

I chuckle as I wrap my arms around her. She pulls her eyes away from the gift and looks into my face for a moment before she wraps her arms around my neck. I hold her close. “I’m so glad you like it.”

“I love it,” she says into my chest. “I love--it.”

For a moment, I think she might say that she loves me, but she has caught herself and changed the trajectory of the sentence. I pretend it doesn’t bother me, that I haven’t noticed. “Good, good,” I say.

I let her go so that we can see exactly what the room consists of. There are easels with canvases of various sizes. On the counters I’ve had installed, next to a sink, there are all sorts of paints in a rainbow of colors. If she were to look through the cabinets, she’d find plenty of other mediums she could work with--clay, sculpture material, all kinds and colors of paper and who knows what. Anything and everything she could ever need to make her dreams of being an artist real are contained in this room, including natural light through wide windows on two sides of the room and enough space to display her creations on the walls. If by any chance my staff has missed something, I will get it for her in a heartbeat.

Julia spends plenty of time exploring, looking in the cabinets and drawers, admiring the paint brushes and paints, running her fingers over the canvasses, even looking out the window at the view. “Braxton, this is amazing,” she says, coming back to my arms. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s nothing,” I assure her. “Would you like to paint something?”

“Would you mind?” she asks, the flat of her hands against my chest.

“Of course not. I’d love to see you paint. Do you need anything? We have flowers and fruit if you’d like to do a still life.”

“That would be perfect.”

I send to the kitchen for the items she needs, and a few moments later, a large bouquet of flowers and a bowl of mixed fruit is delivered, as well as a table for her to place them on.

I watch as Julia sets her painting up perfectly. She changes things a few times but then decides that she has it exactly as she wants. She puts a smock on over her clothing and then sets to work. I try to stay out of the way and let her work. I love to see her transfer the image in front of her to the canvas, the way she places the end of the paintbrush in her mouth while she’s studying the objects, the way her hands move as she applies paint to the canvas, the way she balances on the edge of the stool she is sitting on, as if she might need to jump up at any moment as inspiration hits her.

She works quickly, but she is highly skilled. I am amazed at how beautiful the work is, how she manages to put a shine on the apple, how she manages to give a bit of movement to an orange sunflower, as if the window is open in the room, and the wind is blowing. When she is done, she turns and smiles at me, hardly a speck of paint on her smock or on her hands. “Well, what do you think?” she asks me, the smile on her face unlike any I’ve seen until now.

“I think… it’s wondrous. Just like you.”

She grins at me and turns back to look at her work again. I should leave her be, but I can’t. I’ve had my hands off of her for far too long now, and it’s time for me to remind her of just how much I care about her. I wrap my arms around her from behind and bury my face against her neck, kissing her, softly at first, but then more intensely. She lets out a soft moan, and I know she doesn’t mind the interruption, that she welcomes it, welcomes me. I have never taken a woman in this room before, but I want to make love to Julia amidst her art supplies, in this room that is heaven to her. I want her to remember me when she comes in here to paint for many years to come, if everything turns out and she realizes that she is meant to be here, that she is meant to be mine.