Chapter 25
chapter twenty five
i wanna trade fates with ophelia
Ihadn’t been to an art gallery in literally a million years.
We sometimes went for our classes, and before the attack, if you couldn’t find me, all you had to do was head to The Met or the Whitney, and you’d find me wandering around, usually in the Impressionist or Post-Impressionist sections.
I used to make a beeline for Monet’s Water Lilies, or if I had Mum on my mind, I’d hover around any Mary Cassatt painting I could find.
It was the only time in my life that I’d feel any sort of safety and control.
And for someone whose life had been out of her hands practically from the moment she was born, it was no wonder I craved the feeling.
How it became everything to me once I’d found it.
The only other place I’d felt like that was when I was surrounded by my friends.
Which meant right now, with Daisy by my side, I felt that feeling in buckets.
“I still don’t know how you roped me into this,” Daisy groaned as we walked up the stone steps to the entrance of the Tate Britain, showered in morning sun. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train.”
I slung my arm around her shoulder, carrying her up the last few steps. “And have I mentioned that you’re my new favourite now?” I squeezed her a little. “It means a lot that you came with me.”
She tugged her cardigan—with the little green stars on the elbows—around her tighter.
“Like you had a choice. Goldie is still throwing up, Rory is nursing Finn back to his usual sarcastic self, and Tristan has tour rehearsal. I was the only one sober enough to let you convince me that this would be fun.”
My hands slipped into hers, clutching them between us. “And it will be. I promise!” I set them down as I turned to her, making our way through the entrance along with the other eager tourists. “I could have brought Jess and let you wallow in shame at your table dancing—”
“Please never mention that again—”
“But I respect you too much, and I also couldn’t find him.”
I watched her eyes fall to the tips of her shoes the second his name hit my ears. “Any idea where he is?”
She shrugged, still not looking at me. “No idea. Maybe he went for a run.”
I hummed in response as we went to the ticket line. Jess was probably the only one out of all of us who could get blackout drunk and go for a run the morning after. That part didn’t concern me. What did was the look on Daisy’s face.
Those two falling out had only happened once or twice since we’d all been friends, but now it was becoming a monthly thing.
We never asked her what it was about after the first time we tried, but it was getting to the point where it was clear something was going on.
And I just couldn't bare seeing Daisy so upset. And Jess even quieter.
But before we split off from the natural crowd of tourists, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and looked up, the tension I hadn’t even known was sitting on my shoulders slipping off like melted butter.
Marcus smiled once he saw me. “I’m going to be outside in the car. I’ve got a link to the cameras so I’ll still be able to see you inside. You’ll stay visual?”
I nodded, smiling like I was staring up at Michelangelo’s David. “I will.”
“Stay out of trouble,” he warned, but his smile had become more earnest, like his natural reaction was to smile when he saw me now. And if I was being honest, it was becoming mine, too.
My lashes batted. “I will.”
“And if you see anything, if you need me at all you—”
“Call fire?”
His eyes darkened. “You call me.”
Yes, sir.
Giving him a salute and a bashful smile was all I could do without completely crumbling.
Which was insane, because this wasn’t me.
Blushing wasn’t in my arsenal. Rarely ever had been.
But apparently all it took was a bodyguard who genuinely cared for me and a bit of a command kink, and I was strawberry red.
I watched him leave the gallery, through the glass doors and down the steps, a silhouette of black t-shirt and blue jeans swallowed by summer light and strangers. And I hated that my pulse didn’t slow once he was gone—it only got louder, like it was reminding me I was in trouble.
Avoiding the crowds, Dais and I went the opposite way around the gallery than we should have, but it only meant that the hallways and rooms filled with breathtaking pieces of art were empty. Enough for us to stand in front of each one for several minutes and not be disturbed by a single soul.
Sometimes Dais and I would split off when we entered a room, purely because it was obvious she needed some alone time. In one room in particular, I found her enchanted by Ophelia by John Everett Millais.
I brushed up beside her, but she didn’t take her eyes off the painting.
“I get her,” she whispered.
My eyes glanced to her before looking back at the painting. “You know, Ophelia is the painting that would always make me think of you whenever we discussed it in class.”
She turned to me, green eyes gentle. “Why?”
I shrugged, looking deeply into the colour swirls that made up the river.
“Well, it’s Ophelia. She’s lived a life where people overlook her, manipulate her, and she’s known grief.
She was who others needed her to be—selfless and agreeable and sweet.
” I took a breath, inspecting every detail.
“And the flowers say everything. She’s hiding her pain with everything that’s beautiful because that’s the only way she knows how to survive.
She drowns internally in her emotions instead of upsetting everyone else with them. ”
I felt Daisy still beside me, and while I had her, I let her know, “If something happened with Jess, you can tell me.”
She looked up at me, her teary eyes almost on the verge of overflowing. I watched her chest rise and fall, before her head turned away to look back at Ophelia. “I think he slept with someone.”
Before I could react, her eyes were back on me.
“I know we’re not together and he has every right to do whatever he wants, but when I overheard him talking about it with the guys… I got so sad.”
I slung my arm around her, tugging her into me until her head was resting on my shoulder. “I get it.”
She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t. I’ve had years to tell him how I feel, and now I’m getting upset that he’s living his life exactly like he’s allowed to? I don’t want to be that girl.”
I squeezed her tighter. “You’re a girl in love who’s just had her heart broken. You’re allowed to be upset.”
“Not in love,” she batted back.
Holding back my giggle was pointless. “You’re about two years too late denying that, Dais.”
“He found me crying in the stairwell last night.” She shook her head. “He looked so worried and I wouldn’t tell him why I was crying, so I stormed off like some pathetic child who can’t handle her emotions.”
My eyes hovered up to find the painting staring back at us, and I lowered my voice. “Maybe that’s why you’re freaking out—because you expressed them in a way that made them real.”
Her sniffle echoed. “Well, making them real scared the shit out of Jesse.”
I stifled my laugh. “Because that boy cares about you.”
“He cares about someone else now.”
Both of our eyes on Ophelia, I whispered, “Not the way he’s always cared about you.”
Her sodden eyes turned up to me, like dewy spring meadows. Her mouth glided open, but before anything could fall out, her eyes drifted over my shoulder, and as I turned around she wiped at her eyes, ridding them of whatever tears she could.
As I spun I found Jesse, who looked like he’d run all the way from the hotel and not stopped until he found us. Or found Daisy, more likely.
I smiled up at him. “Hey Jess.”
“Hey.” His dimples deepened, but not as much as they usually did when he smiled. He took a step forward—his blue jeans, vintage Nike sweater and high-tops making that sense of familiarity sweep over me. He nodded his chin at me. “Mind if I steal Dais for a sec?”
I shook my head. “Nope, she’s all yours.” I narrowed my eyes as I finished the sentence, and I knew he knew what I was saying. The way he bobbed his head from side to side and the slight roll of his eyes said everything.
He knew he was in trouble, even when, technically, he wasn’t.
I moved aside and looked back at Dais, whose eyes were tracking Jess, not budging even when I slipped my arm off her shoulder as she breezed by. And before long I was on my own, wandering the near-empty halls and basking in the beauty of art surrounding me. All mine for the perusing.
I stumbled through a few more rooms before coming across one where the lights were dimmed, only the spotlights above the paintings warming the walls. I slowly wandered, basking in the eerie quietness, before stopping under Proserpine by Rossetti.
We’d studied it in first year, when we were dabbling with fruits and bodies and the relationship between the two. It wasn’t my favourite, but I appreciated the beauty of it. It was even more beautiful up close.
I was getting lost in the details when I felt another person brush up beside me. Thinking nothing of it, I kept on admiring the art.
Until the person spoke.
“What do you like about this one then, prey tell?” My head whipped around and the panic that made my heart sink evaporated entirely.
“Patrick.” I quietly gasped, right as he turned to me. “Fancy seeing you here.”
It took me a few seconds for mind to catch up, our encounter at the premiere a few months back replaying in my mind.
I wonder what he was doing here.
One of his shoulders lifted, his mouth pulling. “Committee business calls. And besides, I love it here. London is the art capital of the world.” He brushed off some lint on his blue suit, dipping his voice. “Don’t tell Paris.”
My giggle was quiet, and before long both our attentions were back on the painting.
“So,” he breathed. “What do you like about it?”