Nate spent the first week without Lia in a haze, his routine a patchwork of distractions. The studio felt hollow without her laughter echoing through its walls, and his mornings were eerily quiet without her sleepy smile greeting him over coffee. He buried himself in preparations for his exhibition, but even the thrill of showcasing his art wasn't enough to fill the void she had left.
And then, one day, an unexpected knock at his studio door shattered the monotony.
Standing on the threshold was a man in his early thirties, sharply dressed in a tailored gray suit. His polished shoes clicked softly against the wooden floor as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the studio with an appraising air.
"You must be Nate Sullivan," the man said, extending a hand. "I'm Rowan Ellis. Lia's cousin."
Nate blinked, caught off guard. Lia had mentioned her family in passing, but she'd never brought up a cousin named Rowan.
"I didn't know Lia had a cousin in town," Nate said cautiously, shaking Rowan's hand.
"She doesn't," Rowan replied with a faint smile. "I flew in from New York. Lia told me about your upcoming exhibition, and I thought I'd see what all the fuss was about."
Nate felt a pang of irritation. Lia had been gone less than two weeks, and now her cousin—someone Nate had never heard of—was showing up unannounced? Still, he forced himself to be polite.
"Welcome," Nate said, gesturing around the studio. "Feel free to look around."
As Rowan wandered through the studio, Nate studied him out of the corner of his eye. There was something magnetic about Rowan's presence—a confidence that bordered on arrogance. He moved with the air of someone who was used to getting what he wanted, his sharp blue eyes lingering on each painting as if he were sizing it up for auction.
"This one," Rowan said, stopping in front of The Distance Between Us. "It's powerful. Raw."
"Thanks," Nate said, crossing his arms.
Rowan glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "She's proud of you, you know. Lia, I mean."
The mention of her name made Nate's chest tighten. "She hasn't said much since she left."
Rowan smirked faintly. "She's been busy. Paris isn't all romance and croissants—it's cutthroat. But don't worry, she talks about you all the time. She even showed me the necklace you gave her."
Nate felt a flicker of relief, but it was quickly overshadowed by a surge of jealousy. Who was this Rowan, swooping in with his insider knowledge of Lia's life?
"What brings you here, really?" Nate asked, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.
Rowan's smile faded, and for the first time, he looked serious. "I came to make sure you're not going to let her down."
Nate bristled. "I'd never let her down."
"Good," Rowan said simply. "Because she's risking a lot, putting her faith in this relationship. Paris changes people—it tests them. If you're not ready for that, you need to let her go before it's too late."
The words hit Nate like a punch to the gut, but before he could respond, Rowan clapped him on the shoulder and walked toward the door.
"Good luck with the exhibition," Rowan said over his shoulder. "And with Lia. You're going to need it."
For days after Rowan's visit, Nate couldn't shake the feeling that he was being tested. Was he doing enough to support Lia? Was his love strong enough to withstand the distance and the changes Paris would bring?
He began pouring more of himself into his art, using the canvas as a way to process his emotions. His exhibition, once a secondary concern, became a mission. If he couldn't be in Paris with Lia, he would send a piece of himself there.
Meanwhile, in Paris, Lia was navigating her own challenges. The museum internship was both exhilarating and exhausting, and the city itself was a labyrinth of beauty and chaos. She spent her days studying priceless works of art and her nights walking along the Seine, her thoughts drifting to Nate.
Her mentor at the museum, a seasoned curator named Margaux Dubois, quickly became a guiding force in her life. Margaux was everything Lia aspired to be—confident, cultured, and fiercely passionate about her work.
"Love and ambition are like oil and water," Margaux told her one evening as they locked up the museum. "They don't mix easily. You must decide which one you'll let rise to the surface."
Lia didn't respond, but Margaux's words lingered in her mind. Could she truly have both—her career in Paris and her love with Nate?
One night, Lia attended a gallery opening hosted by a rising star in the Paris art scene, a sculptor named Julien Moreau. Julien was charming and enigmatic, his sculptures bold and thought-provoking.
"You're the American Lia," Julien said when they were introduced. "I've heard about you."
Lia raised an eyebrow. "From who?"
"Margaux," Julien said, his eyes twinkling. "She says you're talented but distracted."
Lia laughed nervously. "She's not wrong."
Julien leaned closer. "Paris has a way of demanding your full attention. If you're not careful, it'll sweep you off your feet before you know what's happening."
The conversation left Lia feeling both exhilarated and unsettled. Was she allowing herself to be swept away?
Back in Cedarwood, Nate's exhibition was finally underway. The gallery buzzed with energy as visitors wandered through, admiring his work. The Distance Between Us was the centerpiece, drawing a crowd of onlookers who whispered about its raw emotion.
As Nate stood by the painting, a woman approached him. She was elegant and poised, with dark hair streaked with silver and a knowing smile.
"This piece is extraordinary," she said. "It's like you've captured the essence of longing itself."
"Thank you," Nate said, his throat tight.
The woman extended a hand. "I'm Evelyn Carter, an art dealer from New York. I'd love to discuss the possibility of representing you."
Nate's heart leapt. This was the break he had been waiting for. But as Evelyn handed him her card, his mind drifted to Lia. Would success pull them even further apart?
That night, as Nate sat alone in his studio, he received a message from Lia. It was brief, but it made his heart race:
"Call me. There's something I need to tell you."
With shaking hands, Nate dialed her number. She answered on the first ring.
"Nate," Lia said, her voice trembling. "I don't know how to say this, but... something happened tonight."
"What do you mean?" he asked, dread pooling in his stomach.
"There was someone at the gallery," she said. "Julien. He..." Her voice broke. "He kissed me, and I didn't stop him."
The line went silent, the weight of her words hanging between them like an unspoken truth.