“Oh, these are fabulous,” I say. April beams as she studies the canvases.
Each acrylic painting captures the London cityscape in an abstract style, contrasting various seasons and times of day. Not only has the artist captured the city in a physical sense but also its emotion through moody colors, brush strokes, and lighting.
“Oh my God,” April whispers, stepping closer to study the paintings. “These are stunning.”
I nod, completely enraptured. “They’re perfect.”
“These aren’t on public display yet, so you’ve picked a great time to view them. This is the most extensive collection we’ve had in the gallery to date,” Camille says.
We share an impressed glance before continuing through to another room.
April dances a little jig and squeezes my arm excitedly as we approach a glass cabinet showcasing all sorts of ceramic sculptures.
“Oooh! Imagine these scattered across various counters throughout the hotel. They’re so edgy and modern. They would be perfect,” she says.
I nod along as she points out her favorites, admiring the colors, shapes, and mediums used to create them.
“Excellent. I’m thrilled the pieces resonate with you!” Camille claps her hands. “I’ll give you ladies space to peruse and discuss privately. If you have any questions or need additional information, just wave me over,” she says beforedisappearing around a corner. I still hear her footsteps, so I know she hasn’t gone far. Just far enough to eavesdrop.
When April’s done ogling the ceramics and sculptures, I drag her through to the initial viewing room with the paintings we loved so much. She scans the room before popping her hip and crossing her arms. “Now that we’re alone, explain why you feel the need to prove yourself to Max.”
I release a long sigh.
Her facial features twist into concern. “Don’t tell me he’s giving you a hard time—he’s lovely, Gemma. Honestly. I’ve known him a long time. He’s just a serious guy at work. Outside of the office, he’s really fun. He used to tease Anna and me all the time.”
Her history with Max growing up only makes this more awkward. April and Anna met when they were five—Anna had just moved back to London from Fiji—so Max has been like a brother to April, in a way.
I glance around, double-checking that Camille isn’t within earshot.
“No, it isn’t quite that… You see… Max and I…” I trail off, unsure how much to disclose.
She cocks a brow, lowering her voice. “Max and you… what?”
“I know you might tell James, but I’d rather you didn’t. Please.”
“Okay. If you don’t want me to, then, of course, I won’t,” she says, crossing her heart.
April is one of the most loyal friends I’ve ever had. She means every word she says.
I press my lips into a thin line, studying the ceiling as if it can provide perfect words to phrase this.
She gasps. “You slept with him, didn’t you? Gemma!”
“No, no. Not that,” I assure her quickly.Not yet, at least.
Her shoulders visibly relax. “Okay, then what?”
“Max fingered me.”
I’ll admit, that came out much louder than I intended, the words echoing through the space. An elderly lady examining a painting nearby scowls at me while April’s eyes widen.
A clattering sound comes from behind, and we both spin to find Camille fishing her pen from the floor, opening and closing her mouth like a fish when she looks up at us. I didn’t even hear her approach.
“Sorry, I—I was just passing back through to reception,” she says, her face beet red. “Don’t mind me.”
We watch Camille scurry away, her heels clacking in haste. The elderly woman huffs and moves to another room—probably for the best.
April turns to me and stands stock still, staring into my soul. Her expression is so unreadable, I’m worried she might be having a stroke.
