“This has nothing to do with him.” He sounds neutral, and I hate that. I can’t read between the lines with neutral. Even anger would be better.
“It does have to do with him.”
“Well, it shouldn’t. This is about me making sure my wife can buy whatever she wants.” He calls me his wife so effortlessly, it’s going to be hard when he doesn’t.
“Maybe your wife has everything she wants.”
“We both know that’s not true. So, when we get back to New York, leave that job and spend the money.” He tugs on my arm playfully. “I’m sure you’d make better use of the time working on your portfolio for the job you’re actually trying to get.”
“How did you know about that?”
“It’s obvious. You’re working on a new portfolio, and you were talking about paying me back. You wouldn’t be able to do that on your current salary.”
“This is true.” The wind lifts the ends of my ponytail, and it dances around my face as I nod.
“What’s the job?”
“Broadway. That’s my dream. I want to work as a scene artist at a theater. The Lyceum would be amazing.”
His face brightens. “Now, that’s more like it. Why are you not working there now?”
I let out a loud laugh. “Me at the Lyceum? No. Not yet. Maybe…never. I’m going to have to work really hard just to get an interview.”
“You’ll be fine. Your work is amazing.”
My eyes widen at the compliment. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely. I don’t think you have to try as hard as you think, Isla.”
“I wish that were true. I’ve been turned down by lesser companies, so why would my dream job accept me?”
“Because sometimes, lesser companies don’t hire the best people because they’re overqualified. Too good for the job. They go withlesserpeople because of the chance that they may stay longer.”
That makes a lot of sense, but it’s still wishful thinking. “I never thought of it like that.”
“You should.”
“I’ll try. I’m just waiting to finish a few more pieces, so my portfolio will be as perfect as I can make it. Then I’ll apply.”
“How long is that going to take?” He gives me a probing stare, like he already knows I’ll obsess over every detail.
“I’m nearly there.” A hopeful smile tugs at my mouth. “I had a great portfolio years ago, but it got destroyed in a fire at my last job.”
“Sorry to hear that, love.”
“It sucked like hell. Hiring managers like to see a minimum of ten pieces of work, but you have a better chance with twenty. In my case, they all have to be perfect, perfect, perfect.”
“Nothing is ever perfect in the eyes of a perfectionist.” He sounds like he’s speaking from experience.
I bite the inside of my lip, deciding to tell him a little more about why I need a bit more time. “I’m kind of cursed, so I need to get them as perfect as possible.”
His brows furrow, and he laughs. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s not funny, and it’s kind of true.” I wince, giving him a sidelong glance.
“What madness is this now, love?” Amusement dances in his eyes. “Tell me what makes you think you’re cursed?”
I quickly fill him in on my tale of woe with Madame Corvina. And of course, by the time I’m done, he thinks I’m insane.
