“Me.”
Brooklyn
Chapter 8
Where you at, girl? Mateo texts.
With a grin, I type back, Almost there. Get those paintbrushes ready.
Despite Luka’s attitude about it, I’m excited to participate in the charity event tonight. My husband can turn up his nose all he wants—I’m going to have a good time doing my part.
Initially, I wasn’t totally sure I was looking forward to the body-painting aspect of things. Not that I’ve ever had a problem with nudity, but spending hours standing still while getting painted with images from classical art seemed like it would be incredibly tedious. And what if I had to use the bathroom, or suddenly got an itch I couldn’t scratch? My main reason for saying yes was that I love charity events, and because fighting breast cancer has had a special place in my heart ever since my nana passed away from it when I was in high school.
In the weeks leading up to the event, though, I started to get more and more nervous. Just knowing I’d have to spend my night mingling with the kind of rich men who think their money buys them the right to ogle and paw at you—ugh. Been there, done that. Part of me was even considering backing out. But then the event organizer sent an email to let the models know who their painters were going to be, and I found out that they’d matched me up with none other than Mateo. I’d actually yelled “Yes!!” in the middle of a local farmer’s market as I read it.
I called my bff right away, a heavy tote full of pears, apples, green beans, and carrots tucked under my arm. Mateo had answered on the first ring. “Is this my future canvas calling?” he’d teased. “Just saw the email Sharon sent out to everyone.”
“You didn’t tell me you were signing up!” I’d squealed. “It’s lucky I got you.”
“I thought it’d be a nice surprise,” he’d said. “And besides, I only volunteered on the condition that I got to work with the Brooklyn Zoric, so luck had nothing to do with it.”
We’d talked for a few more minutes, and all my anxiety had melted away. Trading in a lonely Saturday night dealing with Luka’s mercurial moods for one hanging out with my best friend sounded like the best plan ever. I’d been having a really rough time at home since returning from Paris, and my shame over betraying Luka kept me from confiding in any of my friends, Mateo included. Even invites from my new sisters-in-law to get brunch or shop or see a movie got rejected one after the other, with me blaming jet lag and then my work schedule. I couldn’t bear the thought of having to put on a happy face for Tori and Emzee. Or for anyone.
But now, finally, I won’t have to. I’m looking forward to spending these precious hours with my bestie. And even though I’ve been trying to keep my marital problems under wraps, I know Mateo’s going to figure out what’s up. He’s like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out personal drama. Maybe it’s finally time for a little sympathy—or even some advice.
On top of that, I can’t wait to see what he whips up for my body mural.
Considering all the stress I’ve been under at home with Luka, I don’t even care how long it takes to get painted, as long as Mateo and I can laugh and have fun. I need it. My husband and I aren’t making a single bit of progress, and I don’t know how much longer it’ll be until I break.
He’s been coming home extra late from work, and though I hate myself for it, I keep my door cracked open until I hear him walk in the door. It drains me to constantly wonder where he is, who he’s with. What he’s doing. My mind inevitably strays to Paris and the lipstick on his collar, that flight attendant on the way home. I hate knowing that I’ve turned into that wife, the one always pining for her husband because keeping tabs on him is priority one in her life.
Mateo greets me at the door with a huge smile as I walk into the venue. We embrace tightly and do our little hug-dance and it feels so good to be wrapped up in the arms of someone who genuinely cares about me. My body might yearn for the sweet sexual delight of being dominated by Luka’s body, but at this point I’m also craving basic human touch. I live with the sexiest man alive, yet I don’t even get a simple hand on my shoulder, or kiss on my cheek. It feels like forever since someone has touched me.
“God, do I have plans for you!” Mateo hugs me tighter before we break apart. “And p.s., you look fantastic.”
“At least someone noticed,” I say, trying to soften my bitter tone with a smile. It feels so good to be complimented. Have I been that deprived? Maybe my ego is just needy.
Mateo fingers my dress with a sassy click of his tongue. “Looks like you’re ready to hit the club and pick yourself up a man…or five. Trouble in paradise?”
Bingo. I knew there was no point in trying to hide anything from him. Butterflies flit in my stomach. Now is definitely not the time to get into the ugly details. “Let’s not talk about it.”
Pursing his lips, Mateo says, “You know you always have a place to go if you need to get out of there, right?”
“I know, and it’s not that. It’s just…stuff.” I shake my head. “Please, can we drop it?”
He cocks his head as if he wants to argue, but thankfully, he doesn’t press.
We hook arms and he leads me to a conference room in the back of the convention center that’s been converted into a makeshift art studio. There are an impressive number of people inside. White sheets are spread out on the floor near each painting station, along with a small table holding art supplies. There’s a manila folder there, too, with the word DESIGN written on it. I’m excited to see which classic painting Mateo chose for me. He leads me to his station in the corner with a ta-dahh spread of his arms. We’re kind of tucked back from everyone else, but I don’t mind. It gives a semblance of privacy. We can laugh and gossip without bothering anyone, which is probably good considering how loud we can get. I bet we’ll be laughing even more over all the silliness that comes out when a bunch of wealthy people try to impress each other.
“Wow, this paint is non-toxic, mineral based, and vegan,” Mateo says, nodding.
“Does that mean I can eat it?” I joke.
“You probably could… You know, I’m surprised Mr. Jealous-pants let you volunteer for this,” Mateo says casually as he starts arranging his paints.
I roll my eyes hard. “Luka’s not the boss of me,” I say.
Now that I think about it, I’ll bet that’s what had Luka so worked up earlier. He knows men like to touch—he is one himself, after all—and despite his recent efforts to act like he doesn’t want me anymore, he’s always been the jealous type. Too bad he won’t be here to see this. I wouldn’t mind getting him back for the way he behaved in Paris.
I set my clutch on Mateo’s table just as two volunteers come over and start putting together another artist’s station next to us. They’re still setting it up when Sharon, the event coordinator, pops her head into the room.
“Thank you all so much for volunteering your time and energy!” she calls out. “Artists, you have two hours to get your models painted. I look forward to seeing the results!”