“Ah, babe, there you are,” says a silvery voice to my right. I look over and it’s Anton, dressed in a deep maroon silk shirt, loosely unbuttoned at the neck, and a charcoal suit jacket. “I’ve been texting you.” His voice is completely pleasant, but his smile is hard. Rob shies away from his presence immediately. Like a strong wind has blown his head back. I can see Rob’s eyes flicking between me and the far corner of the room, but I feel like I need to give Anton my full attention in this moment. He’s the gallery’s almost-owner, after all.
“Is something wrong?” I say sweetly through my own smile.
“The number of pieces is wrong,” he hisses. “There’s a thirteenth painting hanging on the wall, and I don’t know what to tell people about it. It doesn’t fit the theme.” He maintains his bright white smile and waves at an elderly gentleman as he walks in.
“Are you sure it’s mine?” I didn’t expect to be so stressed so immediately upon entering my own exhibition, but here I am. What if we’re not even displaying my work? I look around andsee the semi-abstract paintings I’d been working on for the last few months. Nothing looks out of place from this angle...
“Yes, your signature is in the corner.” He points to a section of white wall freestanding in the middle of the room. “It’s on the other side of that partition.”
“Huh—” I start before I notice Anton scrutinizing me from head to toe.
“I thought I told you to wear the gold earrings I gave you for your birthday,” he says, eyes narrowed.
“Mariah”—I grasp at an explanation—“she said these looked better.” I touch one of the silver drops hanging delicately from my ear. That’s a lie, but I don’t want to argue with him right now.
Anton purses his lips before responding, “Well next time babe, listen to what I say, hmm?”
I nod demurely. Another elderly gentleman walks in. “I have to go say hi to my dad’s contacts,” Anton says, staring past me. He leans down to kiss my head without taking his eyes off the newcomers. “Big night, Charlotte!” he says as he takes off.
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and shake off the chill that had glazed my skin. All my friends should be here, Mariah should be here—she was coming straight from the university. My art is on the walls for the first time in almost two years. I take a moment to soak it all in before I click my way over to the area Anton had pointed to with the extra painting.
As I cross the room, I can see Rob watching me again from the far-left wall. His gaze is alternating between me and the location I’m walking toward.Gosh,I think,what awful canvas of mine had they included?Now Rob is leaning in close to Miles’ ear and discreetly pointing. Miles is rubbing his chin and nodding, but then his eyes go wide, as if he’s had a lightbulb moment. I’ll have to get in on the discussion later after I figure out what to do about the incorrect piece.
Miles notices my eyes are on them and he awkwardly waves. Then his gaze flits to my left and I follow his stare.
A figure in a worn and oversized brown leather jacket has his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. One foot up. My first thought is to worry about a dusty boot print against the pristine white walls of Anton’s father’s gallery. He’ll be very upset. But my next thought is that I recognize that stance—from the very first night I met... Devo.
I clutch the chain of my purse tighter and suck in my cheeks. Then, I meet his eyes. He has his head angled forward—his light brown hair is swept up off his forehead and his icy eyes are peering at me through long lashes. His lips hold the ghost of a smile.
How long has he been watching me? How long has he been here? Does he know this exhibition is.... mine?
He pushes off the wall and tilts his head to the side, walking toward me with a purposeful, unhurried stride. He’s a little dressed down for this event, I realize, in his white T-shirt, beat-up jacket and Levi jeans. But still... there’s something about the way he carries himself that makes me feel like a moth to a flame. Even if the flame is moving towardme, and I don’t want to get burned again.
I school my features into a polite smile, pushing my genuine surprise to the forefront. Maybe I can hide my racing pulse with my raised eyebrows and a light laugh.
“Devlin!” I say in a sing-song voice. “So good to see you!” I close the gap between us and give him a hug like he’s an old friend.
“Charlotte,” he says in acknowledgement as he wraps one arm tightly around me, the other deep in his coat pocket. I step back and glance around, even though all I want to do is stare—bore holes into him with my eyeballs, in fact.What is hedoinghere??
“Good to see you too?” he says with a lilt on the end. This is not the way I’d expected to behave when I saw Devlin again. But then again, I planned on never seeing him again, so I hadn’t thought this through. Now I find myself treating him like anyother acquaintance you might run into in the aisles of the grocery store.
“Have you stumbled into the wrong gallery?” I ask innocently. There’s no way he’s here for me. His eyebrows knit together and his smile morphs into one of confusion.
“No,” he says, assessing me as I smile sweetly. Like our moments of intense intimacy had never happened. Like he hadn’t carried me in the throes of an orgasm onto a wet canvas. Like he had never had his face between my thighs or my wrists tied above my head. “I’ve finished the studio residencies I’d promised,” he continues, “I came here for y?—”
“There you are, babe!” The silky voice floats between us. It’s Anton. He puts his arm around my shoulder, kissing my temple. There’s a beat of silence and I realize Anton is staring at my new companion. He turns to me expectantly.
“Oh.” I smooth down the front of my silk dress. “This is…”— I gesture toward Devlin, my mind racing—“an old colleague of mine.”
“A colleague!” Anton’s performance voice is three octaves higher than his normal speaking voice. He reaches forward for a handshake.
“Hey man, I’m Devlin”—he takes his hand—“and I’d say we were more like collaborators.”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes slightly as the blush I’d been fending off begins to show. “Collaborators,” I mumble. Anton finally releases his hand and finishes sizing Devlin up, no doubt noting the lack of a designer label on his shoes.
Now it’s Devlin who’s looking at both of us expectantly. “Oh, and this is Anton!” I say, gesturing toward the man draped across my shoulders. I suck in my bottom lip as Anton places his outside hand across my collarbone.
“Luckiest man in the room,” he says jovially. “I get to take home this lovely thing every night.”
