Page 85 of Out of Control

“Whatever it is that’s stressing you out, will work itself out. You might have to take a stand. You might not. If it’s worth it though, you’ll do whatever it takes to ensure whatever results you want out of it.”

“We’re talking about the gallery,” I state.

“Sure we are.”

“We are. I have a lot of decisions when it comes to it. El patriarca isn’t thrilled with me for keeping the gallery opening despite him asking me to move it, but . . . that’s my decision, not his.”

“It is.” She nods definitively. “Just like other decisions should be yours without familial influence.”

“Maddix?” I ask.

She holds her hands up. “I love your brother. That doesn’t mean I always agree with him. He’ll come around. I know he will.”

We’re no longer talking about the gallery.

“Uh-huh.”

And with that, Maddix slides money across the bar for her drink, kisses me on the cheek, and then heads out of the bar.

I stare after her for way longer than I should.

Rossi was supposed to be a fling. A little fun at the festival. But he’s become so much more in such a short time.

Our conversation from the other day has consumed me. The burden he’s carried for so long. The guilt over his actions, the damage it did to his family—neither were his fault and yet he still wears them like a scarlet letter. He blames himself for something he was pushed to the brink on.

Maybe that conversation with his dad will spur on a change. Maybe it won’t. All I know is I feel honored that Ollie trusted me enough to tell me. To let me in.

And then there was the culprit of all of it—art. One of my greatest loves and one of his biggest sources of pain.

I sat there with his head in my lap and the silence settling around us, thinking of all the invisible dots that had been there for weeks but that I hadn’t been able to connect. The art books with notes scribbled inside. The interest in the gallery. The drawn-out conversations where he’d ask astute questions about pieces I’d said I liked but then played it off like he didn’t understand.

All of it.

How miserable to be ashamed of something you love.

How did this happen? How did he become my everything when I was looking for nothing?

He’s the person I call when I don’t want to be alone or just need a friend.

He’s surprisingly handy and doesn’t complain when I ask him for help in the gallery.

He’s the man I want physically on every damn level.

He’s a man who’s been shamed by the same passion that has fueled me.

But he’s also the man who despises my family for the things I can’t change about us.

Our lineage.

My last name.

There are a lot of things that can be overcome in a relationship.

I’m just not sure if that is one of them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sofia