“Maybe we should grab a coffee sometime. Talk more about the business end of things. Compare…processes. Do you like visitors to your studio?”
I absolutely hate that. “It depends,” I say with a coy smile. “What’s in it for me?”
His eyes flash with a feral heat. “That’s up to you.”
The door swings open and Alex walks in. I twist away from Damien, not that I’m doing anything wrong.
If Alex notices my cheeks are pink, he doesn’t say anything. He joins us and slings his arm over my shoulder. “How’s my favourite artist doing?”
I laugh as Damien insists he’s great, and Alex gives him the finger.
“But, Grace, I’m serious…” Damien grabs my hand and rubs his thumb over my wrist. There’s no way Alex will miss that. “I want to talk business later.”
“Uh huh,” I murmur as Alex steers me away.
He brushes his lips against my ear. “I should have warned you about Noble. He’s a bit…hedonistic.”
“It’s kind of the theme of the whole show,” I murmur. “It’s fine.”
“He’s harmless.”
I doubt that, actually, but I’m not going to tell Alex I’m suddenly painfully aware of people who don’t care about boundaries like marriage vows.
Obviously to my inner storm, Alex changes the subject. “Are you ready for the show?”
“Yep.” This is safer territory, even though I’m not going to give him a completely honest answer. I give him a bright smile. “Can’t wait.”
He hesitates. “How’s Luke?”
“He would be able to tell you best,” I hedge.
“He’s not taking my calls.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Well…”
“I don’t want to pry,” he says hastily. “If it’s…personal?”
I lean into him and give him a hug. “You’re a good friend, Alex. Give him some space, maybe.”
“Is he going to come to the show?”
“We talked about that just this morning,” I say, which is a factual statement that leaves out an entire novel worth of asterisks and caveats. “I think so.”
He better. If Luke doesn’t show up on opening night, I’m never speaking to him again.
By the time I get home, the plump, squishy part at the top of my thighs is bulging out the top of my stockings, and I’m glad nobody is around to see me strip out of the ridiculous outfit.
Climbing into familiar around-the-house clothes feels better.
I had fun with my little performance, but that’s not who I am. I look at the text message Luke sent back to me immediately after I sent that photo from the elevator.
Luke: That’s my beautiful girl. My one and only.
I wanted a reaction, and that’s as good as I could hope for, but I hate it too.
What I actually want is Luke to want me like this, in bamboo lounge pants and a Sarah McLachlan tank top. I want him to want me because I’m fired up to to go back into the studio tomorrow and work up a production schedule for making copies of my most iconic pieces.
And I want to curl up on the couch with him and talk about the pros and cons of that plan.
There has always been a part of me that wants Luke to be more like Alex and Sam. That wanted, over the last four years, for Luke to be who I go to for moral support. I don't want that from his brother or his friend.
I wanted it from my husband.
And there is a wound, deep inside me, a festering, layered wound that won’t be easy to heal around the fact that he was never that kind of a support to me. I desperately wanted it from him. Not from anyone else.
What does it say about me that even now, as I am so sure there is no path of repair in front of us, I still wish he was my go-to guy to talk about things.
Because it’s a lie that he was never that person.
It’s just been a very long time.
16
Luke
Eighteen years ago
“What do you think?”
I wasn’t listening, and Grace knows it. I stretch my arms wide and take a deep breath. “I drifted there.”
She pokes me with the cap of her pink highlighter.
We’re supposed to be studying, but my brain is in a fog. Before she can get us back on track, my phone rings.
I frown as I recognize the number, and Grace catches my mood shift. “Who’s that?”
“My brother. Sam.” I hunch my shoulders. “He’s four years younger than me. Just started at boarding school.”
“I still can’t believe that’s a real thing that people do.”
“Rich people who don’t like being parents have options,” I joke, but it’s true.
Another email comes in from Sam, telling me not to open the first one. Aw, man. I click in to the first message anyway, and it’s a wall of panic and uncertainty. I swear under my breath and climb off the bed. “I have to go call him.”
“Do you want me to go?”
I lean over and kiss her on the mouth, soft and slow. “Nope. I want you here all night. But he’s a fourteen-year-old boy, and if he knows my valedictorian girlfriend is listening, he’s not going to open up about his troubles.”
“Why would he know that I was valedictorian…” She trails off and beams at me. “Were you bragging about my high school academic record to your little brother?”
“It’s impressive.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“You don’t look embarrassed.” I lower my voice and slide my hand under her shirt, finding her bare breast and squeezing. “You look pleased.”
“Mmm.” She shoves me away. “Go. Be a good big brother, and then come back because I want to talk to you about something kind of weird.”
When I return, she’s on the phone, too, but she gets off. “I gotta go, Luke is back.”
Then she crawls into my lap, grabbing my hands and shoving them up her shirt. My little hedonist. “Where were we?”
“You wanted to tell me something weird.”
She licks her lips, and I lean in to capture the wet streak with my mouth.
“Luke,” she whispers as we topple sideways.
“Yeah.”
“Wait, I was serious.”
“But then you did something sexy, and I couldn’t help myself.” I stretch out on my back and she climbs on top of me.
Biting her lip, she glances down at me and flutters her eyelashes.
I laugh. “What is it?”
“I want to draw a picture of you.”
I give her my best raunchy grin. “Sure.”
“Naked.”
“What?”
“It’s for a project…” She scrambles off me and lies down, putting her earnest face right up against mine.
Of course I’m going to say yes. I’ll never say no to her.
Coming to university and falling in love on day three was not my plan, but Grace Dunn is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything for her.