I hesitate. How do I explain that my art changed because my life became more complicated, because I started having to hide my true feelings on a daily basis?
“Life got more complex,” I say finally. “I found I needed a way to express things I couldn’t say out loud.”
“The best art often comes from that kind of emotional necessity,” he says, setting down the photograph and looking at me directly. “Ms. Hull, I’m going to be frank with you. I see dozensof portfolios every month, and most of them are technically competent but emotionally empty. Your work has something that can’t be taught—genuine feeling, authentic expression. That’s increasingly rare.”
My heart is pounding so hard that I’m surprised he can’t hear it. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’d like to include two or three of your pieces in our upcoming group exhibition. ‘Emerging Voices’ opens next month, featuring work by five Chicago artists who I believe are on the verge of breaking through.”
I stare at him, certain I’ve misheard. “You want to show my work?”
“I do. The exhibition will run for two months, and we typically see strong sales and significant critical attention. It’s exactly the kind of exposure that can launch a career.”
“I… yes. Yes, absolutely. I would be honored.”
“Excellent.” He stands and extends his hand. “I’ll have my assistant send over the paperwork. We’ll need the actual paintings by next Friday for installation.”
I shake his hand, still feeling like I’m in some kind of dream. “Mr. Gabriel, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why did you really call me? I mean, I know you said you saw the engagement announcement, but you must research dozens of people connected to prominent figures. What made you follow through with me?”
He considers this for a moment. “Honestly? It was the piece on your website about transformation. There was something about it that stayed with me after I closed my laptop. That doesn’t happen often.”
As I walk back to my car, portfolio in hand and a contract to sign, I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Something good has come from this elaborate charade Ben and I are performing. Something real and mine and completely separate from fake things.
Maybe Ron found my work because of the engagement announcement, but he’s showing it because it deserves to be shown. That distinction matters more than I expected it would.
For the first time since this whole thing began, I’m grateful for the attention our relationship has brought. Not because it’s helping Ben’s business deal or improving his public image, but because it led someone to discover work I’ve poured my heart into.
Maybe something authentic can grow out of even the most artificial circumstances.
Maybe this fake marriage isn’t going to destroy everything I care about after all.
Maybe, just maybe, some good can come from all the lies we’re telling.
CHAPTER 16
BEN
“The crudité should be on the island,” I tell the caterer. “And there’s salmon, correct? My mother doesn’t eat chicken.”
She nods, not fazed in the slightest. “Of course, Mr. Lawlor. There are several servings of salmon in case other guests would like some as well.”
“Good.” I let out a long exhale, but the tension in my shoulders remains.
The dinner my parents originally wanted to have with just me and Freya has turned into a whole extended family affair, hosted at my place. At any minute, Freya, my parents, her parents, and her sister and brother-in-law will show up.
It’s the first time we’ll all be together as a “family,” and I’m freaking out.
The doorbell rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I check my watch, but I already know it’s Freya. She’s always early, has always been punctual to a fault.
I open the door to find her standing there, wearing a soft blue dress that brings out her eyes and holding a bottle of wine.
“Hey,” she says, and there’s something different about her expression. She looks… excited? Nervous? I can’t quite read it.
“Hey, yourself. You look beautiful.” The words come out automatically, but they’re true. She always looks beautiful.
