Chapter 35

This was not a good idea.

Tristan's déjà vu was really fucking with his head – standing at the Met, again, waiting for the exhibit to begin, again, and wondering what the fuck Pierce was up to… again.

He'd heard nothing after Pierce had left on Thursday or all day Friday – not a word. He'd been about to call the whole thing off Saturday morning when Pierce had texted him

- You better fucking be there.

Five, hardly-explanatory, words were all he'd gotten. But, for the dumb little light of hope in his chest, it was all he needed. Putting on his favorite, custom Armani suit, he'd taken one more look at the drawing he'd done, silently praying he would soon see that face again, before wrapping it up and heading to the museum.

Now, he stood in front of the portrait hung in the exhibition hall, scanning the crowd for either Ellie or Pierce. It had been an hour and they were about to start counting the votes, and there was no sign of either of them. His jaw clenched in frustration.

If Pierce was wrong…

His foot tapped in impatience as he heard the sound of the microphone turning on over the speakers.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Bernard's voice boomed through the room as the crowd began to migrate towards the small podium, "thank you for coming to this special exhibit here at the Met. We've just finished collecting all of the votes, but while we count them, I would like to invite each of the ten artists present to come up here and give us a little bit of background to their pieces."

Tristan rolled his eyes, annoyed that there was suddenly a public-speaking component to this event.

More annoyed that the only reason he'd even fucking come here had yet to walk in the door.

He heard the voice over the microphone drone on as the other participants went up one by one to give a small blurb about their work. Pulling out his phone, he opened up his message to Pierce.

Where the fuck are you? This was a mistake.

No response. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Tristan turned to head towards the door just one second too late.

"Mr. Black!" Bernard exclaimed, "If you would like to share with us a little about your piece?" He stared Tristan down with insistence and expectation.

Tristan sighed, his first instinct was to just turn and leave. But that was what had started this mess. In that moment, he finally reached the culmination of his last stage of grief at losing Ellie; he accepted that she wasn't coming, that whatever Pierce had done or said hadn't been enough, and that was understandable given what he'd done to her. At the same time, he also accepted that no amount of space or distance or time would ever change the fact that he loved her with every fiber within him. And because of that, instead of running, he felt the overwhelming urge to at least let the world – or just those guests here – know just how much the exquisite woman in his drawing meant to him.

He strode towards the podium, taking in the awe-inspired and expectant faces around him; they'd been waiting to hear from him.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began hoarsely, uselessly scanning the crowd one more time from the slightly higher vantage point. "My name is Tristan Black, but some of you might know me better as Titian." A collective gasp rung through the substantial audience. He hadn't been prepared to reveal that, but somewhere along his path to the stage he realized that he couldn't go on in that capacity with the Guild any longer. With Ellie, definitely not, but even without her, he couldn't stomach the thought of continuing at least in the same way as before.

"If you know the Guild, you know our sole focus has been to master our love of art. Over the past several years, I think you would agree that we've managed to accomplish that. This piece, however, that I'm presenting today was the hardest portrait I've ever tried to make. The woman in it changed my life. She stumbled into my studio and had the audacity to tell me that she didn't think she was beautiful enough to be there." He stopped to laugh and wipe his eyes at the memory. "As you can see, she had no idea what she was talking about." The crowd chuckled at that. "Sorry, I'll keep this short. Somewhere in the process of convincing her just how exquisite she really is, I was mastered by the art of love. It crept inside of me and slowly began to spread and it was just when I lost her that I realized how completely it had consumed me."

He stopped again to wipe his eyes, still no sign of Pierce or Ellie in the room.

"I created her portrait from memory; it was the first time that she told me that she loved me, and it's the one thing that I wanted to immortalize. Drawing this was the only thing I could do to cope with losing her, it was the only thing I had left to show her just how much I loved her. She was the first person to love the real me, she was my light, a constantly burning source of inspiration to love and live, which is why this is the first piece I've ever shown that I've signed with my own name. And that's why it's here today – not because she loved me, but because I want the world to know that I, Tristan Black, love her."

He turned and stepped down from the microphone, not stopping as Bernard called after him, not stopping as he walked through the mass of people that had gathered, most of them drying tears from their eyes as their empathy began to suffocate him. He pushed out the door, shutting it firmly behind him grateful that the hallway was completely empty. Taking deep breaths of the emotion-free air, he took a few steps before collapsing onto the bench against the wall, dropping his head into his hands and trying to blink away the annoying wetness in his eyes. He was a mess of relief, sadness, and anger.

Where the fuck was Pierce? What had happened? The worst thought – was Ellie ok? Fuck. Pierce was going to–

"Tristan?"

His heart and thoughts stopped. His breathing ceased. He was afraid to move and have his hope shatter around him. His name had been spoken so softly, so tenderly that it couldn't have been real.

Just when he'd convinced himself that it was his mind playing tricks on him – "Tristan."

It wasn't a trick.

The still soft, but confident ring of his name resounded down the hall followed by the soft pad of footsteps approaching him. His face jerked up out of his hands to behold the sight before him.

"Ellie?" he rasped, his voice hoarse with emotion and disbelief. He watched as walked towards him from the other end of the hall, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, reflecting off her vibrant hair, her emerald eyes alight with tenderness.

God, she would always be able to bring him to his knees.

She stopped in front of him and he stood, disbelief written all over his tear-filled eyes. "Are you really here?" he whispered, his hand raising just to the side of her face.

He could see that the vision in front of him was on the verge of crying, yet she responded, "did you think you'd be able to get rid of me that easily?"

His lips found hers because he didn't have a choice. He loved her, he needed her and she was here. Her mouth opened beautifully beneath his, as though he'd never hurt her, never left her, never broken her heart.

He didn't deserve her, but he would take her anyway.

He kissed her with every ounce of love and emotion that he'd kept from her, that he'd kept inside this past week, and she absorbed it all. "Fuck, Ellie," he whispered against her lips, "I'm so fucking sorry, siren." He kissed her again, unable to stop out of fear that she would vanish right out from underneath him. It was only when she finally pulled back that he let her breath.

"Shh," she murmured, "it's ok. I'm here."

"I don't know why," he said hoarsely, losing himself in her eyes, "I was a fucking coward, gorgeous. Everything I said, and did – Christ, I'm such an ass."

"Shh… I know why, Tristan. I know," she tried to comfort him. Her understand clear in her glassy, green eyes.

"I love you so damn much, just tell me that you know that, and then I can let you go."

She laughed softly, "I do know that, but I don't want you to let me go. If I wanted that, I wouldn't have come here."

"Why are you here? After everything I did…said…" he groaned, agony ripping through him at the memory of how he treated her.

"Because I know it wasn't the truth, I could see the hurt and fear in your eyes – I've seen it before. But, mostly because I love you…and because Pierce threatened me if I didn't get in his car." She said it with a laugh, trying to lighten the torture he was putting himself through.

"When you told the doctor about your cancer, all I could think about was when my mother died. She loved me, and I lost her and my father. I lost so much and I was hollow for so long, until I met you," he paused to take a steadying breath, "and then you fucking filled me and lit up a world that I'd tried to pretend I didn't want to be a part of. The thought…the fear that I would lose you to; it felt like my heart stopped and everything just went dark."

"Tristan, it's ok. I know, I've seen it before and more than tha—" Ellie tried to interject but he kissed her quiet.

"Just let me get this out, siren, then you can ramble all you want," he loving teased as he placed soft kisses all around her lips. "I love you."

"I know, I heard you tell everyone. Pierce had me watch from behind the stage, he said if you saw me it would ruin everything. You won, you know," she whispered back with a loving smile. "You left before you heard, but they chose you. Well, me." Ellie placed her hand over his heart. "They chose us. I love you, too, Tristan."

"This past week without you has made me realize that it's not your cancer that was a problem for me, it was mine. Fear has been my cancer. It damaged me to the point where I couldn't even truly see myself anymore, I was just a shell, until I met you. You showed me the possibilities of feeling, of loving, of living. I wasn't prepared for the thought that it could all be taken away, and in that moment, I gave in to my cancer; I won't do that ever again. It's not a life – to live in fear. I need you – I need you lighting my world every fucking day for as long as I can have you, no matter how long that is. I will be here with you, loving you, fighting for you, with you... I choose life with you. I choose love with you. Please, forgive me."

His hands were cupping her face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that were streaming in full force from her exquisite eyes. She cried silently against his hands, so overwhelmed with love.

"Tristan," Ellie choked out between sobs, "I already forgave you. I forgave you as soon as you left the hospital room. I knew why you said those things, which is why I left you alone, as much as it killed me. I stayed away because I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want the sight of me to bring you more pain. But, of course, I forgave you. I love you too much to let your stupid fear ruin everything that happened between us."

He chuckled, resting his forehead on hers. "Of course, you did. You are so unpredictable. Unbelievable. You are so good. I don't deserve you, but I will work every day to try to." He paused and kissed her gently again.

"Tristan, there's something else I have to tell you," Ellie said, putting her hand on his chest, love brimming through the tears in her eyes. "The doctors told me that I'm still in remission; it's not back, the cancer isn't back – I just had the flu. I mean, it's never a guarantee, but for now, I am here and I am ok."

"Thank fucking God," Tristan rasped, a few lone tears slipping out of his eyes at her news. "It wouldn't change my choice if it were, but thank fucking God. Now, just tell me what you want me to do. What do you want Ellie? I just want you to be happy, and if you want to feel alive, then I will spend every day making sure you are living life to the fullest; I will do anything for you."

"Tristan, I just want you," she replied simply, love shining in her face. "I just want you to live my life with. Feeling alive has nothing on feeling in love."

"I will do that, siren. Starting right now," he said as a hungry smile crept over his face.

Finally, she was his.