Lu shrugs, her expression naughty. "Sophia is different, though. Her aura's pure. Like, maybe the world isn't completely rotting."
I've never seen her so smitten—doesn't matter what she says—so of course, I sing to her: "Lucy's catching feelings."
She snaps her head my way, finally. "Please. I have enough mental illnesses on rotation. Don't need romance to join."
Then her eyes slice me up and her mouth curves. "Why'd you walk in like you're recovering from a horseback accident?"
I blink, caught off guard. Then nod. "Okay. Deserved that."
"Drink plenty of cranberry juice," she lectures, her sharp nail pointing at me. "And speaking of cures, the Doc's got you two a place now. So is this still an affair, or did Richard finally get benched?"
I take a sip of the champagne. "It's not the right time."
"Uh-huh." She gives me an unimpressed look. "What are you waiting for, growing a spine?"
"Hah-hah. It's complicated."
"No. You're just scared Bellini's gonna flake out again, ordo something stupid, and honestly? Not the dumbest fear." She peers into her glass like it's a crystal ball and she sees something. "Why didn't you take him with you? Or does feminist art make his balls itch?"
"No. That's Richard," I say, making a face. "I didn't think it was a good idea. Plus, we just had a massive fight."
Lu looks at me curiously and opens her mouth to ask but I cut over her. "I don't want to talk about them. Tonight's about you, and I am so, so proud of you, baby."
I pull her close and for a second, she melts, even purrs softly before she pulls away and says, "I have to show you something."
She steers me to the middle of the main room and sweeps her arm toward a sculpture, like it's her pièce de résistance.
"When life breaks you, you turn yourself into a 3D masterpiece," she says.
I trace the thousand shards of broken mirror, fused into a mosaic sculpture. A woman with a cracked skull, eyes asleep, and a tiny crystal heart lodged between her lips—proof of a love she'll never speak, because if she tried, it would tumble from her mouth and shatter.
"Is that the mirror I broke?"
Lucy taps on the head, nodding. "It's you."
"Me?"
I read the plaque:The Anatomy of Eurydice.
"Lu—this is unreal," I say in awe. "But wait, didn't Eurydice die tragically?"
"Seen the one I made of me? A carved out Medusa's eye. Don't worry, tragedy photographs well. Art can't be censored."Suddenly, her eyes narrow. "Speaking of things that refuse to be contained, didn't you say Bellini wasn't supposed to be here?"
My brows knit. "What? He's not here. He doesn't even know where it is."
Lu nods her chin somewhere behind me and I turn around to realize she's right.
Ben's making it past the main entrance in a black suit, crisp white shirt unbuttoned enough to flash the collarbone, to whisper bad boy in disguise.
I thought his body was made for casual, but this? This is weaponized tailoring, a headline walk-in. People swivel, women stare, hypnotized by his devil-may-care smile.
But his eyes are on me. Only on me.
My pulse trips into the bass line floating from the speakers and I actually gasp—loud and pitiful—which Lucy notices and mocks with a snort.
"Baby, you're completely dickmatized."
"Shut up. I just didn't expect him, that's all," I say, too fast but can't rip my eyes from him.
