I put the heel of my palms to both eyeballs in an attempt to, what? Block out the devastation I'm causing?
When I remove them, Bess has turned around again and is looking at me. She appears alarmingly pulled together. "So who wrote the letters?"
I look over at Jeanette and then Carlos in the hope I might be able to gather some strength from them being next to me when I say it.
This is it. Bess will take one look at my face and know I meant every word in those letters. And then things will never be the same again.
I draw breath and –
Carlos puts a hand on my arm as he takes a step forward. "I did, dear girl. No one better than a poet."
Jeanette gasps and covers her mouth with her hand to hide her surprise.
Bess' mouth makes a little 'o'.
Nobody says anything for a moment. I have no idea what's happening in everyone else's brain, but mine is trying to rapidly calibrate this new deception into the picture.
Then, with a "Right" under her breath, Jeanette steps in front of Bess and puts her hands on Bess' shoulders. "I think, my love, once it's all had a chance to sink in, you'll appreciate it for the spectacular plan that it was." She laughs in true Jeanette form, and in true Jeanette form, it manages to sound reassuring rather than flippant. "It really is a masterclass in scheming, don't you think?" She pivots Bess towards the gallery. "Shall we get a cup of tea and talk it all through?"
As she passes, Jeanette says in her upbeat way, "Our next focus needs to be that auction," but looks at me as she says it.
I know what she's telling me. One bombshell at a time. My time for honesty will come once the auction's been and done.
Chapter thirty-six
Bess
Jeanettetakesmetoa café down the street. One I don't own and therefore don't have to deal with looking at, or speaking to, her co-conspirators while I try and process the fuck out of what has been happening these past few weeks.
It is an unsurprisingly thoughtful gesture, because Jeanette is pure sweetness and light.
We take a window table and she positions herself so she sits next to me looking out at the people passing on the street, not saying anything, just being present. It's exactly what I need. Someone near while I am buffeted by the emotional squalls swirling and scattering and regrouping inside me.
I don't know what to think or how to feel.
I put my finger on one emotion – grief over the double loss of the soldier – and then it shifts to humiliation, and then anger, and then admiration, and acceptance I brought this on myself, and then anger again.
We sit there until the tea in the pot goes cold and I am no closer to pinning down a single feeling.
I reach for something within the maelstrom and what settles on my tongue is, "All my followers. I lied to all my followers." I've bared my deepest desires, shown my vulnerability through reading those letters and done it without apology. I've built my brand on that.
Jeanette places a hand on my arm. "You believed everything you said because you couldn't have known any different. Your integrity can't be questioned."
"But you all put it at risk."
"Yes, my love. And we did it with your permission."
Whatever it takes.I did say it. Emphatically. And there's no denying I absolutely meant it.
"I think, so far, it's been worth it. Don't you think?"
I say, "I don't know yet," except I do. I don't have to dig deep to know this community means more to me than several million strangers online. It even means more to me than my integrity. The only possible answer is yes. "It's going to have to be."
It sits very uncomfortably, however. Everything I do from here on in on my TikTok channel will be hollow and brittle. A veneer over a big, fat deceit. "It might have ruined it all."
"It might. It was a good means to an ends, and depending on what you decide to do next, that end could be tomorrow evening. Right?"
I scoff. "I can't sell fraudulent art."
