She shoots me an encouraging smile and mouths “collectors” before she walks over to schmooze.
I take a breath and smooth down my high-necked, minimalist gray dress. At least I look the part of an artist, even if I still feel a bit like a fraud.
I linger in the back of the gallery, watching as more people I don’t recognize filter through the doors. Soon enough, there's a small crowd, probably friends of Sydney’s, or just art connoisseurs who come to every event the Whitmer throws.
One or two people have broken off to look at my paintings, and I try not to stare too hard at them, wondering what they're thinking. Are they admiring my brush strokes, or are they just looking for a reason to avoid socializing?
I glance down at my watch. The party has only officially been going for fifteen minutes. I’ve been to enough of these openings to know how they go. People won’t really start trickling in until thirty minutes after the start time, with most of them showing up right before the auction at 9:30.
Shit. I hadn’t even started worrying about the auction yet. What if nobody bids? What if Sydney announces the first piece and it’s just crickets?
I sigh, slumping back against the wall. I’m sure Sydney knows how to handle these auctions. She’s probably talking to people, gauging interest from buyers even now. She’d probably come up with a reason to stop the auction if she thought nobody would really buy.
Suddenly, a mass of gold mylar balloons bursts through the door. Or at least, it tries to. Several of the balloons get stuck on the doorframe, prompting a loud stream of curses. Underneath all the gold, I can see three pairs of female legs, pushing through.
The balloons finally squeeze through, rising up to reveal my friends.
“I told you the balloons were too much,” Pippa grunts.
“There’s no such thing as too many balloons,” Cat replies.
“You weren’t saying that twenty minutes ago, when that gust of wind almost took you out,” Brinley points out.
My chest feels as light as the balloons. It’s not just me anymore—it’s my little team behind me. I rush toward them, where I’m greeted with hugs and a chorus of squeals.
“This place looks incredible,” Cat gushes. “I can’t believe I know the person who made all this!”
“I can.” Brinley wraps her arm around my waist. “I’ve been in the Maura Keller fan club for years.”
I smile down at her. “In a way, you get credit for all this. The gallerist found me because she saw my work in the Copper Cup. I owe you everything.”
“You’re crazy,” she scoffs. “I didn’t do this. That’s like Picasso’s roommate being like, ‘dude, I take credit for Picasso’ when all he did was ignore the chore chart and forget to buy toilet paper.”
“Fine, don’t take all the credit. You have to admit, you deserve at least part of it.”
“If you insist,” she says, and I’m surprised to see a shiny sheen of tears in her eyes. “Look at me, getting all sappy. I’m just—for whatever it’s worth, Maura, I’m so freaking proud of you. You made this incredible show, all by yourself, and I’m just so happy to watch you shine.”
I throw my arms around Brinley, a little teary-eyed myself.
“We’re hugging?” Cat chirps. “Where’s mine?”
Brinley pulls away to invite Cat in, then Pippa pounces in on our group hug, almost knocking us all over. It’s enough to choke me up. I never thought I’d get this—not just awkward acquaintanceships with other businessmen's daughters, arranged by my father, but real friends, who see me for me.
What if it all goes away?
I’ll always have Brinley in my corner, I know that for sure. But Cat and Pippa only befriended me because their significant others are friends with James. If I can’t get pregnant, if the whole contract goes out the window, will I lose them too?
I shake my head to get the intrusive thoughts out. I don’t have to worry about that right now. All I have to do is enjoy my gallery opening.
Pippa’s got her phone out, filming everything. When she’s done, she reviews the film. “I’m definitely posting this onBelladonna’s feed,” she declares. “I’m thinking of doing some local date night recommendations, and a trip to your show would be perfect.”
“Oh, get a picture of all of us!” Cat chirps.
“I’d be happy to,” a low male voice says. I turn to see Beau, standing with Ryan, Luke, and Nate.
My mouth falls open. I can’t believe they all came—they’re really James’s friends, and not mine. It’s surprisingly sweet.
Also surprising—James isn’t with them. He told me he’d be here, but it’s getting later in the night and he still hasn’t shown up. There’s nothing on his calendar to keep him, but something important might have come up at work.
