Chapter 25
SARAH
Self Respect | Bleachers
Sarah read and reread the email that had just popped into her inbox. A few words and phrases jumped out, her brain mentally bolding and underlining as she went.
Interview.
Barcelona.
Start next month.
She had applied for the position—assistant curator of a small gallery in Spain—months before, when her office job had still held a leash on her, and upon hearing nothing back, assumed they weren’t interested.
A few weeks later, while assessing her finances for the quarter, she’d realised painting could keep her afloat, quit her job, and forgotten about the job applications she’d sent out when she was desperate for anything that would bring her closer to the art world.
Now they wanted to interview her, pretty immediately. She didn’t need a day job anymore, but she also didn’t want to spend the rest of her life painting basset hounds. It could be a way to rub shoulders with potential private clients, even if she still couldn’t get exhibition space. And as she took in the depressing weather outside her window, a Spanish summer did sound appealing.
A year or two on her own might do her some good. Sarah had lived with Abby for so long that she’d half forgotten what life was like without her music playing too loudly or the pots clanging as she cooked. But then Erik had moved in, and they’d started splitting their evenings between the flat and Alex’s house. Initially, Sarah had missed the company. Now she loved her quiet evenings. Loved spreading out on the couch with an array of snacks and her sketchbook—even if that particular tool was betraying her at the moment—and marathoning a full season of a trashy reality show.
But immediately after confirming the interview time, Sarah looked up, and the sight of wildflowers and a single butterfly hit her like a punch to the gut.
Alex.
Alex who had hair softer than he should and eyes that made her want to hide from his assessing gaze as much as she wanted them to ascertain every tiny detail about her and hands that, yes, okay , made her feel frankly obscene amounts of pleasure but also caressed her skin afterwards and tucked her hair behind her ears when it fell across her face.
Alex who she definitely wasn’t supposed to be falling for.
But if she was considering him a reason to stay, that might have been all the more reason she needed to go. On Thursday night, when he’d stared at her painting, transfixed, then kissed her like it meant something—like she meant something—she’d realised how dangerous their game had become for her. It couldn’t work between them. Not when she hated his job and his friends, and he was used to dating people who were nothing like her. Because after finding little on his social media, she had googled him—much as it shamed her—and found a few results in the society pages. In the two years before alone, he’d been spotted with a hotel heiress, a social media influencer, and a lingerie model. The last one had caused a little bile to rise in her throat.
At least it was a reminder that they were fundamentally incompatible.
It didn’t matter that bickering with him was more fun than she’d had in months. Or that there was a poetry to the way he spoke about art that had reignited her own passion. Or that the way he touched her felt like heaven.
Not to mention the reason she’d insisted on secrecy and a deadline in the first place. If they allowed this to develop into anything real or public, when it inevitably fell apart, the results would be catastrophic as they tried to balance seeing the people closest to them without seeing each other. It would be far easier to heal from a fling that became a little too real for her than to deal with the fallout of a messy breakup after a few months of trying and failing to integrate their lives.
Still, they had a week until the wedding. And, like the irresistible urge to press on a bruise even when you knew it would hurt, Sarah wanted to take advantage of the limited time left on their arrangement. Maybe it wasn’t fair to Alex—it certainly wasn’t fair to herself—but she wanted it anyway.
She’d never pretended to be selfless.
They hadn’t spoken since she’d turned down his dinner invitation two nights before. She’d been too ashamed to reach out for sex after that, even if what she wanted wasn’t quite sex, but something else she wasn’t allowed to ask for. Just… him . She’d happily spend an evening listening to him prattle about Michelangelo versus Raphael while she sketched or cooked or just lay on the sofa with the pressure from his utterly glorious arms melting away the pressure of her day. But his painting was dry enough to touch and therefore collect, and that gave her a good enough reason to text him and see how the land lay between them. His reply came almost instantly, and she told herself it was a coincidence. He was busy on his phone. It wasn’t as if he’d been waiting to hear from her.
Alex: Can I come by? There’s something I want to talk to you about anyway.
That wasn’t ominous at all.
For the next half an hour, Sarah forced herself to keep plodding through emails (mostly spam and a few commission queries—that one glorious sale notification had been a blip, it seemed) and avoid putting on a coat of mascara or a swipe of lip gloss. She was in the same outfit she always wore for painting—some variation of leggings and an oversized shirt—and even as she told herself he’d seen her like this plenty, she fought not to make herself look nicer. Like if she was appealing enough, he wouldn’t be able to say no to her.
Finally, the buzz of her phone put her out of her misery, followed imminently by his knock at the door. He always managed to climb the stairs absurdly fast—long, powerful legs making a mockery of the stairs.
‘Hi.’ He raked a hand through his golden hair, looking good enough to devour with his blue shirt left open, a bright white undershirt not quite tucked in, but rucked up enough that his belt buckle was on display, and dark jeans fighting for their life against his thighs. That was where her brain stopped processing as she recalled what she’d done on one of those thighs the last time she saw him.
It would be wrong to attack him with a kiss. Right?
Right.
After the other night, she’d let him make the first move. Even if, judging from the way his eyes flicked to her lips, he wouldn’t mind.
‘Do you want some tea? Coffee? Whiskey?’ So, yeah, apparently she was spiralling just at the sight of him standing in her living room again, mere steps from the scene of that mind-altering kiss.
Alex raised his eyebrows, placing a small pink box on the kitchen counter. ‘Have you ever offered me hospitality before?’
‘Well you eat at least half the time you’re here.’ It came so naturally to antagonise him, even if what she really wanted was to pull him close. Be sweet with him, somehow, in a way that would be completely new to them.
But Alex’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I’d say it’s far more than half, Princess. And yeah, coffee would be great. I’ll hold off on the whiskey until it’s after’—he checked that sleek, fancy watch on his wrist—‘nine in the morning.’
Too bad. She could have used a drink, Sarah thought, as she brewed a pot of espresso in their ancient percolator, a hand-me-down from her mum during uni. Something solid disturbed the air behind her as Alex opened the cabinet above her head to grab two mugs. It was hard not to lean into it. Harder still when his arms came around her to deposit the mugs on the counter. He didn’t move as she stirred in milk and sugar— when had she learnt his coffee preferences? —so when she turned to hand him his mug, she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes.
‘You wanted to talk?’ she asked, her voice annoyingly small.
Her face was at the perfect height to watch his Adam’s apple bob obscenely. ‘I did. Do.’
‘We could…talk…after?’ She’d looked up at his face. It was a mistake, because it meant she could see his eyes flick to her lips again .
Alex looked pained as he took a large step back, leaving cold air to douse her body. ‘I shouldn’t have— I didn’t come here for that. And I have an appointment soon that I— Fuck . ’ His eyes focused in on hers. ‘It just feels impossible to stay away from you,’ he murmured, stepping back around the island.
She really ought to have been grateful for the barrier between them, but even his eyes on her felt tangible. The promise of something better. More.
‘I have a proposition,’ Alex said. ‘You’ve said before that you don’t want my help meeting people in the art world, and I suspect you have some weird hang-up about not wanting to owe me or whatever—which is ridiculous, by the way. I have friends and connections, and there’s no reason for you—’
‘Aleksander,’ she said, surprising even herself with the softness in her voice. ‘You’re rambling.’ Another first.
What he said was true. He’d offered early on in their acquaintance, when she’d been holding on to some disdain for him, unwilling to take anything more than physical pleasure. And as her feelings had begun to change, it had felt too weird, too transactional, to bring it up again.
‘I need a favour. In a situation that I think could be mutually beneficial.’
‘More than the benefits we already have?’
He smirked. That was better. Alex nervous was disconcerting.
‘A friend has an art show opening tonight. The gallery’s curator is my ex, and it would be nice not to show up alone.’
‘You want to use me to make her jealous?’ Sarah asked.
Alex smiled, and there was a layer to it she couldn’t parse. As if he was laughing to himself. ‘Funny how things come full circle, isn’t it?’
‘Are you—’ Sarah paused. Gathered herself. ‘Do you want to get her back?’
That strong, perfect nose wrinkled, and something settled within her stomach. As if she had any right to care either way. Especially given the email she’d just sent.
‘No. But it would be nice to rub it in her face that I’m spectacularly happy with my stunning new girlfriend.’
‘I’d be playing your girlfriend? Not just a date?’
‘You’re becoming quite the expert in that particular role. In exchange, I introduce you to some people. It’s a big show. There’ll be press, agents, collectors, friends from other galleries.’
Sarah hesitated, chewing her lip. He wasn’t wrong about her concerns. Gregg had worked similar events, taking photos for the culture pages, and while—largely regarded as the hired help—he didn’t have anywhere near the connections Alex did, he’d still managed to make her feel like a hanger-on the few times she’d accompanied him, as if she was using his job to worm her way into spaces she hadn’t been invited.
Noticing her reservation, Alex continued, his voice low and soothing. ‘You are so talented. And frankly, I find it upsetting that you’re stuck painting Labradors when you’re capable of that.’ He gestured vaguely at the easel behind him, where his painting still stood on display. ‘We both know this world. And we know it’s not a meritocracy. Your work deserves to be seen. You just need help getting your foot in the door. Think about it this way—one day when you’re as famous as you should be, I can sell that and recoup my investment and then some.’ His lips kicked up on the side.
Sarah tried and failed to tamp down the affection fluttering in her chest. Because somehow, between fucking her on every surface of his house, he’d come to know her. To know how to approach her. What she needed to hear. And the easiest way to hide that affection was to default to their usual dynamic. ‘You overpaid me for the painting, you know.’
The bank notification had come through with one zero more than her invoice.
‘I paid you what it’s worth. I did some investigating. And I was not paying less than half what you charge for painting a dog.’ An air of distraction coated his final words as he checked his beeping watch. ‘Shit, I’m running late. Traffic will be a nightmare tonight. Can I pick you up at six?’ His words sped up while he moved to grab the painting.
‘I can get the trai—’
‘I’ll pick you up at six,’ he said firmly, one last blinding smile making her heart explode before he disappeared out the door, canvas in hand.
The pink box still lay on the counter, her name on it in Alex’s bold handwriting.
When she opened it, she found a set of handcuffs in soft, lilac-coloured leather and a note:
These seemed more your style - A x