“You’re right, you’re right.”I blinked up into Armand’s encouraging eyes and smiled.“At least I have a gorgeous date—the night won’t be a total loss.”
My boyfriend smiled back, promptly causing my insides to squirm delightfully.“Aye, but I have you to blame for the suit, so if I collapse at any point from lack of oxygen, that’ll be on your conscience.”
“I accept that responsibility and the CPR that will accompany it.”
I allowed Armand to take my hand and lead me outside to the waiting car, trying again to remember proper breathing exercises so I wouldn’t be the one to pass out.
When we arrived at theGallery Obscura,there were already dozens of well-dressed people exiting cabs and walking inside.One of them would be my mother.Steady on there, Barclay.I was vaguely aware of Armand parking the car and tugging my hand to get me to step outside.
The opening itself was a blur—there was a statement from Ichika, a short speech from me, and it was official—the Lucas Barclay photography exhibitionDead of Summerwas now open to the public.
“See, not so bad,” said Armand as he wrapped a comforting arm around my waist, once I could be pulled away from the crowd of people wanting to speak with the photographer.
“Easy for you to say,” I replied after catching my breath.“You can stand there and look gorgeous.No one’s here to judgeyou.”
Armand shrugged.“But I do know you are not currently under a table.”
“You got me there.”
The photos Ichika and Jean-Michel had chosen surrounded us as we walked the gallery space.Nerves aside, they came out really well, especially the newest additions that Armand had helped me pick.I circled the room with Armand steadfast at my side, schmoozing and answering questions and smiling for photos and shaking hands.Ichika had congratulated me on an impressive collection and debut turn-out, and Jean-Michel—plagued on both sides by his fellow fancy-shmancy people—toasted me from across the room, smiling demurely.
Maybe I did okay after all.
Mom did show up, as promised, and was dressed to the nines in a tight midnight blue number.“I’m so proud of you, baby!”She hugged me one-handed so she could swipe a champagne flute from a passing waiter.“This is incredible.I especially like the one of the dad and his kid.Oof—knocked the wind right out of me.”
I relaxed into a warm smile.“Me too.”
She pointedly glanced to my side.“Where’s Armand?I swear I picked him out of the crowd a few minutes ago.”
I turned, but Armand was, in fact, gone.“He hates crowds,” I explained, trying not to feel a bitter pang of disappointment.“Probably hiding out in the bathroom for a while.”
Mom yanked me down into an oxygen-stealing hug.“I’m sure he’ll wander back this way.Now if you’ll excuse me—” She blew me a kiss and swept away in pursuit of brie puffs she was bound to regret eating.I steadied myself with a deep breath.Surely it was one thing for Armand to escape and hide away when it was his own event, but he’d promised to be there for me tonight.
So where was he?
Armand Is an Open Book
November 23
99 Days Sober
I’d known he was going to be here.I’d prepared myself to see him in the crowd, to see him and Lucas chumming it up.I was even prepared for him to talk at me, saying things that sounded reasonable to everyone else but were especially designed to cut me to the quick.But we hadn’t got that far.
I’d merely glimpsed him across the room, and here I was, hiding in the loo.Again.
The gallery toilets were unsurprisingly minimalist and off-putting, but all I needed was a sink to lean on and a mirror to glare at.It had been easy to put on a happy face—or at least the closest I ever came—for Lucas at the start of the evening.Now, I could feel the collar of my purchased costume tightening, the smooth fabric nonetheless prickling against my thighs and back, the ball of dread in my chest growing a thousand tendrils and seeping through the rest of me like rain through a dodgy ceiling.
I was never going to tell him.All I was ever going to do was hold on until the implosion.
“Darling.”
And there it was.
There he was.Behind me in the mirror, like a monster in a film.I didn’t say anything or turn around.
“Please,mon tresor.”He stepped further into the room, and I moved back against a stall.He scoffed.“Always such drama.I’m only trying to help you and your little American patron.He’s adorable, Armand, and really quite talented.You could besuchthe It Couple, you with your Falcon Award and he with his new, naive eye.It complements well.”
There wasn’t going to be any Falcon Award, unless Jean kept talking to whoever he’d been talking to.I’d rather attend a thousand cons and teach a thousand workshops than have my horizons dictated by the span of Jean’s web.Again.
