Maybe that’s what I deserve for turning love into a business transaction.ly-
Maybe that’s the price of getting everything you thought you wanted, only to discover it was never what you needed at all.
CHAPTER 17
BEN
The engagement party guests stream in slowly, people from both mine and Freya’s life stepping out of the elevator and onto the rooftop that’s lit up with sparkling lights.
It’s mostly friends on her side. Colleagues on mine.
Strange, I realize, with a shock. Outside of work, is Freya my only friend?
“What are you thinking about?” Freya appears at my side, untouched cocktail in hand.
“Not much.” I plaster on a smile, not wanting to bring down the mood. “How are you?”
“Good.” She clears her throat. Still doesn’t taste her cocktail. It seems she’s got it more to keep her hands busy than anything else.
The last few days have followed the most recent trends. We talk some, go out to be photographed together, discuss details for next week’s wedding, and then she retreats.
Just like I feared, this arrangement is driving a wedge between us. Ruining our relationship.
And do I regret it?
I haven’t really allowed myself to think that deeply about it. Ever since the other night at the family get-together, when I realized that I want something more from this arrangement, I’ve kept my nose to the grindstone, focusing on work and getting through the wedding.
“Ben, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Freya says, touching my arm lightly. The contact sends a familiar jolt through me that I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks now.
She leads me across the rooftop to where a distinguished-looking man in his fifties is admiring the city view. He has the kind of effortless elegance that speaks of years in the art world: expensive but understated clothing, silver hair that’s perfectly styled without looking overdone.
“Ben, this is Ron Gabriel. He’s the director of The Jetson Gallery.” Freya’s voice carries a note of pride that makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Ron, this is my fiancé, Ben Lawlor.”
Ron extends his hand with a genuine smile. “Mr. Lawlor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Freya has told me so much about you.”
“Please, call me Ben.” I shake his hand, trying to process this introduction. “And thank you for coming tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it. It’s not often I get to celebrate with one of my most promising artists.”
One of his most promising artists. The phrase hits me with unexpected force. This is really happening for Freya. Her work is being recognized by someone who matters in the art world.
“Ron is featuring three of my pieces in the ‘Emerging Voices’ exhibition,” Freya explains, and I can hear the barely contained excitement in her voice. “It opens next week.”
Next week. The same week as our wedding. I feel a stab of something that might be hurt—not that she’s having this success, but that she didn’t tell me about it. When did she meet with Ron? When did this opportunity develop? We’ve been spending so much time together lately, planning and staging our relationship, but apparently there are parts of her life I know nothing about.
“That’s incredible,” I manage, pushing down the hurt and focusing on what matters. “Freya’s work deserves to be seen by as many people as possible.”
“I quite agree,” Ron says, his eyes lighting up with professional enthusiasm. “Her emotional range is extraordinary. The pieces I’ve selected for the exhibition have a raw honesty that’s quite rare in contemporary work.”
Raw honesty. I think about the painting Freya showed me in her studio, the one about wanting something you can’t have. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“I’ve been trying to convince her to consider a solo show,” Ron continues. “But she insists she’s not ready.”
“I’m not,” Freya says quickly. “This group exhibition is already overwhelming enough.”
“Well, after next week, when she sees the response to her work, perhaps she’ll reconsider,” Ron says with a knowing smile. “Excuse me, I see someone I need to speak with. Ben, it was lovely meeting you. Freya, we’ll talk more soon.”
After he walks away, I turn to Freya, trying to keep my expression neutral. “When were you going to tell me about the exhibition?”
