Chapter 24
H e’s Nico.
It’s the first thought in my head when I wake up in the morning—even three days later.
I must have really pissed someone off in a past life for karma to come back and bite me like this.
I thought Charlie Sutton was the one. I was sure the stars were aligning for me. Now I have no idea if we’re meant to be together. It certainly felt like it.
I want, so badly, to believe that fate tied me to Charlie long before we ever met.
I can’t ignore the magnetic pull I feel toward him.
It can’t just be a coincidence that I ran into him by the elevator that night.
I’ve been running my entire adult life—Runaway Jenna, always moving from one place to the next—but maybe I wasn’t running away.
Maybe this whole time, I’ve been running toward something. Toward Charlie.
And now the universe goes and pulls a stunt like this. Right when I get to the point in my life where I’m done settling, I meet a man who settles for everything. Who almost married the first real female friend I’ve had in years.
It feels like a cruel joke.
And, god, do I miss him. I know I asked for space, but every day I hope to see a note under my door—a photo to let me know he’s thinking of me.
But there’s been nothing. He’s playing by the rules I set, again, like a true gentleman.
Or maybe he’s taking the path of least resistance, which I hate to say, wouldn’t be unlike him.
Or, worse still, maybe he’s having second thoughts about me.
Needless to say, I’m a wreck. Luckily I’ve been keeping myself busy working on the portrait of Nadine’s mother. She’s beautiful. Like a raven-haired Grace Kelly. And she has the same sparkle in her eye that her daughter has. It’s fun to paint someone so vibrant and full of life.
It’s comforting to know that, no matter what happens from here on out, I will always have joy and passion at my fingertips, with a blank canvas and a fresh palette.
But I want Charlie too, dammit.
I want him more than anything. I want him to figure out a way to extract himself from his miserable job without tearing apart his family.
I want him to know how good it feels to shake off what doesn’t feel authentic, and pursue what brings you joy.
I want him to be by my side when I travel outside the country for the first time.
I want to see art with him, and make art with him, and make love to him, over and over for the rest of my life.
But what if he doesn’t change? What then?
That’s as far as I let myself go when I’m spiraling. Well, it’s as far as Esther recommends I go, and this time I’m following her advice to the letter. My tender heart can’t afford not to.
Yup, therapy’s been a lot of fun this week. Poor Esther. She’s abandoned her chair a few times to sit with me on the couch. But I’m so grateful to have her to lean on. I should probably reimburse her for all the tissues and tea I’ve consumed while crying to her about Charlie’s alter ego.
I’m trying not to think about him now, as I’m on my way to Tati Marie’s painting class, but it feels impossible.
Vanessa won’t be there today, thankfully.
She and her sister, Denise, rebooked their flight home from Barcelona so they could stop in Miami to see their parents.
But they’ll be back tomorrow, and Vanessa and I have plans to meet.
I told her I’d come over with a bottle of wine, and we could catch up.
She has no idea just how much catching up we have to do.
“Jenna, dear?”
“Oh! Hi, Marie,” I say with a start.
When I walked into the classroom, she’d been busy talking to another student, so I went straight to my easel and started painting. I have no idea how long she’s been standing next to me, because I was stuck in my head, worrying about breaking her niece’s heart.
“You’re jumpy,” she says with an eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?”
“Oh my gosh, yes!” I say with my fake, bright smile. “Of course. Totally.”
It’s not like I’ve been having crazy hot sex with your niece’s former fiancé, or anything. And I’m definitely not madly in love with him, if that’s what you’re wondering.
Marie frowns. “Have you thought about whether you’d like to contribute one of your paintings to my friend’s art show? I need to give her an answer soon.”
I sigh. “I’m so sorry, Marie. I thought I had a piece picked out, but…now I’m not so sure.” I can’t possibly show Marie Charlie’s portrait, now. I’m sure she’ll recognize him.
“You need an unbiased eye,” she says. “Let me help you. What are you doing after class? I can come over.”
I nearly drop my paintbrush. “Oh! Um, you mean…today?”
She raises her eyebrow again and nods. I bet she thinks I’m hungover, or hopped up on caffeine, or both. I guess that’s better than her knowing the truth. The thing is, I’d love her opinion on the other pieces in my collection.
I guess I could tell her I need a minute to set up, then run into my studio and cover Charlie’s painting with a sheet—just like I did before he came over. He didn’t suspect a thing.
My heart stings thinking about him.
“Of course,” I finally say. “Thanks. I could use your help.”
“Very good,” Marie answers. Before she turns away, she places a tender hand on my shoulder, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears.
I thought I was done bottling up my feelings like this. I guess all I can do right now is channel my emotions onto this canvas. We’re working on still lifes today, which is not ideal. But I have to say, by the end of class, the bowl of fruit I painted does look a little sad.
Tati Marie follows me back to my place in her car, and it isn’t until we’re in the elevator that it dawns on me there’s a chance we might run into Charlie.
My palms start sweating. How did I not think of this before? I should have sent a message to warn him. It’s too late now, because I’m not getting cell reception in the elevator. But even if Charlie’s standing there when the doors open, he’d have the wherewithal to pretend he doesn’t know me, right?
“Do you have fresh ginger?” Marie says as we’re approaching the twentieth floor.
Again, her words startle me, and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Um…ginger? I don’t think so. Why?”
Marie squints at me. “I think you’re coming down with something. I want to make you tea.”
The doors open, and my eyes go wide, fully prepared to see the man I love standing in front of me and Tati Marie.
But no one’s there.
I heave a sigh of relief and smile at my art teacher. “Oh, I’m fine, thank you. It’s just my period. I get mind-numbing cramps.”
She nods, seeming satisfied with my answer.
I lead her down the hallway, toward my apartment. But as I’m about to put the key in the lock, I hear a creak.
I know that creak.
It’s Charlie’s door.
I spin around. “Oh my god, Tati Marie!” I squeal, hoping I’m loud enough to keep Charlie from leaving his apartment.
Marie’s brow furrows, but she remains even-keeled. “What’s the matter, Jenna?”
Luckily, my boyfriend’s door stops mid-creak, then closes again. He must have heard me—thank god.
“I’m so sorry, Marie. I just saw, um, a giant bee. But don’t worry, it’s gone now.” It’s a terrible lie, considering we’re in the windowless hallway of a concrete skyscraper. But improv isn’t my forte—I’m no Dex Oliver.
When we’re in my apartment, I pour her a glass of wine and invite her to sit at the kitchen island while I set up my collection.
I debate taking Charlie’s painting out of my studio and hiding it in my bedroom, but my place is open concept, and I’m afraid Marie will ask me what I’m doing.
Then I consider stuffing the portrait into the small closet in the corner of the room, but it’s already full of art supplies, and I’m afraid it’ll get ruined by a rogue can of paint thinner, or something. I’d be devastated.
So I move the painting away from the others and cover it with a sheet again. But when I walk out of the room to get Tati Marie, she’s busy at my kitchen counter—mixing a whiskey drink, judging by the bottle of Jim Beam I forgot all about—with freshly squeezed lime juice and honey.
“I’m sorry, Marie. I would have offered you whiskey if I remembered I had some.”
“This isn’t for me,” she says, handing me the glass. “It’s for you. Tati Marie’s special remedy. I usually take it for a cold, but Vanessa says it works for cramps as well.”
“That’s so thoughtful,” I say, fighting tears as I remember the similar way her niece took care of me. “Thank you.”
I take a sip, enjoying the warmth of the whiskey as it goes down. Within seconds, I feel calmer. “It’s working already,” I tell Marie, who smiles.
When I take her into my art studio, she takes her time studying each one of my paintings. Her eyes are smiling, but she’s quiet. She walks back and forth, looking and nodding. Finally, she stops in front of Hunter’s portrait.
“Was he your boyfriend?”
“A long time ago, yes,” I say before taking another sip of my drink. A month ago, the question would have sent me into a tailspin. I’m so grateful I can think about Hunter now, without feeling guilty.
Marie steps back and eyes the portrait again, tilting her head from side to side, and observing it from different angles. After about a minute of this, she turns to me. “Your work is mesmerizing, dear. You could pick any one of these paintings for the show and stun the crowd.”
I grin, imagining art lovers admiring my work, as I’ve admired the work of so many others. It would be a dream come true.
“This piece,” she says, going back to Hunter’s, “evokes a stronger emotion for me than the rest. I see love here, Jenna.”
I nod. “There was love.”
“But not passion,” Marie says.
I shake my head. “No, not back then. I didn’t know what passion felt like until recently.” I’m not sure why I say the words out loud. Maybe it’s the whiskey.
“So why not paint him? The man who taught you what passion is,” she asks. “Imagine how powerful it would be.”
I drain my glass and put it down. “The thing is, Marie…I did paint him. But more than that, I fell in love with him. And for the briefest moment, I had everything I’ve ever wished for. And th en…I got the rug pulled out from under me again.”
I start bawling, and Marie takes me in her arms.
“So you’re not sick,” she says, rubbing my back. “It’s heartache you’re suffering from. When did you break up?”
“We didn’t.” I step back and look into Marie’s eyes, which may as well be Vanessa’s, they’re so similar. A pang of guilt cuts through me. “It’s more complicated than that. He has this history of settling in life, and I’m worried he’s settling for me.”
Her forehead crinkles as she listens.
“And not only that,” I go on. “If we stay together, our relationship might hurt someone else. A friend I care deeply about. Because I just found out the man I’m in love with is her ex.”
Marie only nods. She doesn’t suspect I’m talking about her niece—but if I don’t stop now, she will.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. She knows Vanessa better than I do. What if she can say something to put me at ease? Confirm that Vanessa only ever loved Charlie as a friend, like he said? I’d feel a lot more comfortable telling her the truth if that were the case.
“And your friend…she still loves him?” Marie asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “The thing is…” I look down at my feet, and my words are nearly a whisper. “She left him at the altar.”
My art teacher gasps. “Jenna? What are you saying?”
Her reaction stuns me. She’s usually so cool and calm. I open my mouth to answer her, but all I can do is cry.
Now she knows. I see it in her eyes. There’s nothing left to hide, so I cross the room and uncover my boyfriend’s portrait.
I take a deep breath and wipe my cheeks. “He introduced himself to me by his first name,” I begin.
Marie’s eyes are fixed on the painting, not on me, but I continue.
“And when I told Vanessa I was dating a guy named Charlie, she didn’t suspect a thing. I mean, it is a common name. And I had no idea he used to go by Nico.”
Marie doesn’t respond, but only studies the face of the man her niece almost married.
“I’m going to tell Vanessa tomorrow,” I continue. “But I’m terrified. I have no idea how she’ll react.”
I wish Marie would say something. Every second that passes in silence makes me more and more anxious.
Finally, I hit my limit. “Do you hate me?”
She turns to me and rests her hand on my shoulder, like she did in class earlier. “Of course not, Jenna. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I sniffle. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I was only being quiet because this piece took my breath away,” she explains. “It’s your finest work.”
“I think so, too,” I admit. “But I don’t know if I feel comfortable showing it now…under the circumstances.”
Marie nods. “I understand. Like I said, all of your paintings are impressive. I’ll tell my friend at the gallery to expect one portrait from your collection, and you can take some time to decide which one. To me, the choice is clear.”
“Thank you,” I say, my heart heavy. “I’m just worried about upsetting Vanessa. I’m scared she hasn’t moved on. She says she doesn’t regret calling off the wedding, but she hasn’t started dating yet. Has she? ”
For a moment, I allow myself to be hopeful. Maybe Vanessa’s tight-lipped about her love life with friends, but shares more with her family.
Unfortunately, the frown on Marie’s face tells me otherwise. “Vanessa’s been secretive these days. Well, I call it secretive—she says she’s busy with work, but I’m not so sure. I wish I had an answer for you.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Thanks, anyway.”
She looks back at Charlie’s portrait. “But there is one thing I can say, Jenna.”
I turn to her, my forehead creased.
Marie gives me a sympathetic smile. “I never once saw him look at Vanessa this way.”