Chapter 285: ~ 284
Chapter 284
~Annie~
The smelling salt of oil paints, turpentine, and fresh canvas usually grounded me, but today, I was buried under a mountain of bridal magazines.
My phone buzzed against my thigh for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, and a bright, instant smile took over my face before I even saw the screen. It was Clinton.
"What about a glass pavilion thing? Gives you the outdoor garden aesthetic but shields us if the weather changes. Let me know, beautiful."
I giggled, my fingers flying across the keyboard.
"A glass pavilion sounds straight out of a fairytale. But let’s focus on the color palette first! White roses are a must after the rooftop, obviously."
We had been talking about the wedding nonstop since the proposal, venue options, floral arrangements, and catering menus. I was completely glowing as an engaged woman, I couldn’t stop staring at the heavy diamond ring on my finger.
Clinton had booked a consultation with a top-tier luxury event planner downtown. We hadn’t even decided on a date yet.
Needing an outlet for the over excitement, I Facetimed my older sister. She picked up on the second ring, her face instantly filling the screen. She was sitting in her own kitchen, holding a mug of tea, her face radiating that distinct, early-pregnancy glow.
"Look at you!" she squealed the second she saw my face. "You are literally beaming through the phone, Annie! Let me see it again."
I happily held my hand up to the camera, twisting it side to side. "I still can’t believe it’s real," I laughed. "I feel like I’m going to wake up any second and realize I’m still just a struggling artist dreaming at her studio."
"Oh, please, you are far from struggling, and that man is completely in love with you," she chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. "I mean, a flower-covered rooftop? Paying the café singer to speak-sing his love to you? Clinton set the bar. But seriously, how are you feeling? Have you guys even breathed yet?"
"Barely!" I smiled, a soft, emotional warmth settling into my chest. "We’ve just been texting about venues all morning. He actually just reached out to an event planner. We don’t have a date, but I’m just too impatient. But enough about me, how are you feeling? How is my future niece or nephew doing in there? Any morning sickness yet?"
"A little bit in the mornings, but honestly, I’m just so incredibly happy," she said, her eyes softening. "It’s wild, isn’t it? We’re both stepping into these massive, beautiful new Chapters at the exact same time. You’re getting married, I’m having a baby... Mom would be absolutely losing her minds right now."
"She really would," I whispered.
We finally hung up after an hour of non-stop chatting. I pulled one of the bridal magazines back into my lap, flipping to a section on silk satin gowns.
About ten minutes later, my phone began to ring. I reached for it casually, expecting it to be Clinton calling me.
Instead, the screen displayed an international number with a country code that instantly made me pause. +33... France.
I frowned, a sudden spike of curiosity turning my stomach over. I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
"Bonjour, may I please speak with Mademoiselle Annie?" a deep, impeccably polite voice spoke through the line. The man’s English was perfectly clear, carried by a thick, prestigious Parisian accent that sounded incredibly formal.
"Yes, this is Annie," I answered, my heart suddenly doing a nervous little flutter against my ribs. I shifted on the sofa, dropping the bridal magazine to the floor. "How can I help you?"
"Mademoiselle, it is an absolute honor to contact you today," the voice continued, carrying a sudden, profound gravity that made the breath catch in my throat. "I am calling on behalf of the Grand Palais International Art Committee based here in Paris. I am the Director of Global Selections."
I froze. My entire body locked up, my fingers gripping the edge of the phone so tightly my knuckles turned entirely white. The Grand Palais. It was the absolute pinnacle of the fine art world, an elite institution that most artists spent their entire lives praying to just be noticed by.
"We are calling to officially inform you that your recent piece, The Weight of Stillness, has been formally vetted and selected by our global panel," the director revealed, his voice swelling with genuine artistic admiration. "You have been officially nominated for the Premier Global Excellence Award of 2026. Your work has captured something entirely profound, Mademoiselle. The committee was completely unanimous."
My jaw dropped. I sat there in the middle of the studio, completely paralyzed, as the words echoed in my ears. "A... a nomination? For the Global Excellence Award?"
"Oui, Mademoiselle. And as you may know, the nomination carries our premier grand prize," the director stated smoothly, delivering the final, earth-shattering blow with absolute calm. "The winner of the Global Excellence Award will receive a monumental cash prize of ten million dollars, alongside a permanent exhibition in our main gallery."
Ten. Million. Dollars.
"Mademoiselle? Are you still there?"
"Yes... yes, I’m here," I choked out, tears of absolute, overwhelming joy. My voice was trembling so violently I could barely form the words. "Thank you... oh my god, thank you so much. I don’t even know what to say. This is... it’s a dream."
"It is well-deserved, Mademoiselle. The formal invitation to the gala in Paris will be sent by this evening. Congratulations again."
The line went dead, but I stayed frozen on the sofa for a while. I dropped the phone onto my lap, burying my face in my hands as the tears washed over my skin. It wasn’t just about the money; it was the ultimate, undeniable validation of my soul’s work. I was no longer just a girl with a paintbrush; I was a globally recognized force.
Wiping my eyes frantically, my hands shaking so hard I could barely function, I immediately dialed Clinton’s number. I needed him. I needed the one person who had seen me through every single doubt.
He answered on the very first ring. "Hey, beautiful. Did you decide on the taste, or are we going with—"
"Clinton," I sobbed out, my voice cracking completely, unable to hold back the fresh wave of emotional tears.
The playful tone in his voice vanished in an instant, replaced by a sharp, commanding panic. "Annie? Annie, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?"
"No, no, I’m okay!" I wept, laughing through my tears as I clutched my stomach. "I’m at the studio. Clinton... I just got a call from Paris. The Grand Palais Committee."
"The art committee?" he asked, his voice laced with a sudden, intense focus. "What did they say, Annie?"
"I... I’ve been nominated for the Premier Global Excellence Award," I screamed out, the words finally breaking free from my chest. "They nominated The Weight of Stillness, Clinton! And the award... it carries a cash prize of ten million dollars! Ten million!"
For a fraction of a second, there was absolute silence on the line. And then, Clinton completely lost it.
He let out a loud, booming cheer that was so incredibly un-Clinton-like it made me burst into fresh laughter. I could hear him slamming his hand down on his desk. "Are you kidding me?! Ten million?! Annie, oh my god!"
"I’m not kidding! It’s real, Clinton! I’m going to Paris!"
"I am so incredibly proud of you!" he shouted into the phone, his voice thick with a raw, fierce pride that warmed me to my absolute bones. "I knew it, Annie. I told you from the day I met you that your talent was going to shake the world. Ten million dollars... my fiancé is a global powerhouse!"
"I can’t stop crying," I laughed, wiping a fresh tear from my chin. "My hands are literally shaking."
"Listen to me," Clinton murmured, his voice dropping into a deep, incredibly warm, and fiercely protective register that instantly anchored my racing heart. "Pack up your things and go home to rest. I am leaving the office early today. Cancel whatever you had planned for tonight, because I am taking my incredibly talented, brilliant fiancé out for the most lavish private dinner this city has ever seen. We are celebrating you tonight, Annie. The entire world is going to know your name."
"I love you, Clinton," I whispered, pressing my hand over my heart.
"I love you more, beautiful. I’ll see you at home."
I hung up the phone, looking around my messy, paint-splattered studio through a blur of happy tears. The bridal magazines were scattered on the floor, my phone was warm in my hand, and for the first time in my life, the future didn’t just look bright, it looked absolutely magnificent.