37. Emerson
EMERSON
The Painted Muse is gorgeous, cream and gold dominating the space from the floor to the walls to the accents. It’s luxurious while still being understated, the art the showcase as we meander through the displays.
In the short time we’ve been here, I’ve acquired two paintings and a few pieces of pottery, ignoring that nagging question about where it’ll all live after tonight.
Garrett’s place?
My apartment?
The questions come to a screeching halt in my mind as Garrett and I wind our way through the auction items.
“What?” he asks as I stare at the stunning painting before me. I know without looking that it’s a VinCo original. Reds and pinks and grays move across the canvas like a well-timed dance. The blending of colors gives the piece movement and emotion in a way that steals your breath.
It’s enchanting and also curious.
“This painting is done by an extremely elusive artist. For a long time their work would show up sporadically—never in the same location. But this is the second painting that’s been auctioned off in the last year.”
“In Chicago?”
“No, I think the last was in Savannah. They don’t take commissions. At least they haven’t in years.”
“How do you know?”
“VinCo is incredibly sought after in certain circles.”
“Are you saying the matching highland cow prints that Colt, Roan, and I each have in our bathrooms aren’t sought after in certain circles?”
“You all have the cow picture?” I ask, amused as I sip my champagne.
“First of all, it’s a highland cow.”
“Because that makes a difference.”
“It does. Roan and Colt fought about it and that ended in a broken coffee table and stitches in Roan’s forearm, so I ordered each of us one while we were still drunk in the ER.”
I gape at him because I have so many questions, and he grins because he knows it’s a hell of a story.
“I can’t imagine Roan and Colt fighting,” I admit, hooking my arm through Garrett’s as we continue through the row of auction pieces.
“It was more of a spirited debate of whether or not the cows can see with the hair covering their eyes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” His lips twitch and I snort out a laugh trying to imagine Roan with his fancy law degree engaged in that debauchery. “It escalated, and one thing led to another, resulting in them crashing down onto the table.”
“I feel like you should tell that story more,” I muse as we make our way to one of the high-top tables off to the side. The cream tablecloth is layered with a smaller gold one, and we’ve stopped for no more than a minute when a waiter lingers with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
Garrett takes a bacon-covered scallop, but I almost never eat at these things.
And he already promised me we could get pizza on the way home.
I hope Tom doesn’t mind.
“Fuck,” Garrett growls under his breath, his eyes focused on something across the room, and it doesn’t take much to realize who he’s looking at. Steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation, I straighten my spine and watch as Darren walks toward us with a willowy blonde on his arm.
“That’s her?” I ask, honestly shocked because we couldn’t be more different.
“Yes.”
“That’s your type, Rockstar?”
“My wife is my type,” he fires back, heat in his gaze as his eyes drop to my lips.
“Do you still have feelings for her?” I ask, as his hand slides around my waist and he pulls me close, those dark brown pools seeming to swallow me up in this moment.
“None.”
His answer is fierce, leaving no room for doubt. Not that I had any to begin with, but a jealous part of me wanted to hear it because Heather and I are nothing alike. And while I’m very sure of myself, I wanted to hear him say that he can only see me.
And he did.
“My wife is my type.”
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the newlyweds,” Darren grunts, sidling up to the cocktail table with a sneer.
“Do they still call you newlyweds five months in?” His brown hair is slicked back and his suit is wrinkled either from engaging in extracurricular activities or because he’s lazy and doesn’t care about making a good impression.
I’m surprised they even let him in, but more than that, I just want to get this over with, for my sake and for Garrett. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jace walking slowly to where Ozzy is already stationed directly in my line of sight about twenty feet away.
Show time.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask sweetly, tilting my head to the side slightly as I stare at him, his face reddening the longer I stay silent.
“Is she fucking joking?” Darren bites out, disdain clear in his tone as Heather looks between us, her plain black dress at least one size too small if the way her boobs are practically falling out is any indication.
“I told you she got that girl fired—” Heather starts, but I cut her off.
“I didn’t get that girl fired,” I say slowly. “I fired her. Because I don’t tolerate wannabe groupies moonlighting as influencers. And loyalty is important, wouldn’t you say?” This last part is directed at Darren, who looks like he wants to flip the table.
“I can’t believe you married this bitch—”
“Don’t fucking talk to my wife, you piece of shit,” Garrett snarls, and I place my hand on his chest to keep him from lunging at his former bandmate. This is merely a friendly conversation compared to the things men have spat at me through the years.
My skin is thick, but my forgiveness is merely a thread.
And besides, it’s only a matter of time before Darren and Heather are escorted out of here, so I need to get my shots in while I can.
“Do you feel better?” I bat my eyelashes at Darren, as Heather’s mouth falls open. “That attitude certainly didn’t help your career, did it?”
“You have no idea what he’s going through—Darren is under a lot of stress,” she barks, but she has no idea the kind of man Darren is, the kind that will drop her in an instant, because I have no doubt she’s here because he thought it would make Garrett jealous.
Or to hurt him and make Garrett regret kicking him out of the band.
But I won’t let that happen because I watched Garrett grieve that decision as years of his life and career ended because the asshole in front of us couldn’t get his shit together.
“I can imagine. Drinking, womanizing, and starting fights for no reason sounds exhausting.”
“Garrett, you’re really gonna pick her over me? After everything we’ve been through? You’re fucking pathetic.” Darren fumes, hatred and disgust dripping from every word.
“Talk to my husband like that again and I’ll have you blacklisted from every event. Every venue. And every reputable professional in your industry.” I smile sweetly as Heather’s eyes flick from Garrett’s to Darren’s before she tries to pull him away.
“She can’t do that. Let’s just go,” Heather murmurs to the former lead guitarist of Descending North, but I keep my smile in place.
Garrett’s hand wraps around my hip, his fingers digging into me, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to reassure himself or me that everything will be all right.
It must be him because I know damn well I won’t settle for anything less.
“I can and I will.”
Darren snorts, and I’d love to slap that smug expression off his face as he drapes his arm around her shoulders in the way that looks sleazy instead of protective.
“She thinks she can, but she’s got skeletons in her closet like everyone else.” His gaze rakes over me and Garrett stiffens, his restraint slipping as he clenches his jaw. “Won’t be long till we dig them up.”
“No need to dig,” I offer, and Darren grins like he’s won, but I simply trace my fingertip around the rim of my champagne flute.
“My name is on the building, so I keep my skeletons out front for everyone to see.” When Heather blanches, I grin.
“I like people to know what they’re getting into because there are no second chances…
and those skeletons serve as a reminder. ”
Darren’s expression is hard as he looks at Garrett, my husband casually sipping his drink even though his fingers are most likely leaving little bruises on my hip.
“You think you’re better just because you’re hiding in your ivory tower with Daddy’s money. You’re nothing but a—”
I feel Garrett lean toward the table again, my palm moving to his chest to hold him back because what’s the worst Darren can call me? A whore?
Oh no, I’m devastated.
“That’s enough.” Ozzy’s voice is low, his expression pissed as Darren turns into him with his arm cocked back and swings.
Heather gasps as Darren is subdued almost instantly—not that it shuts him up—his drunken punch missing Ozzy completely.
With Jace and Grimm flanking him, Ozzy leads Darren through the crowd with Heather in tow as Darren yells to anyone within earshot what a piece of shit Garrett is and how I’m the bitch who ruined his life.
Charming.
I want to say a million nasty things back because Darren really did ruin something incredible, not just with the band but his friends too.
“I’m sorry, Garrett, I—”
He doesn’t let me finish, just cups my face in his hands and kisses me, with gratitude and promise and the kind of possession that marks a woman for the rest of her life.
And tonight I’m okay with it.
Tonight, I just want to be Garrett’s wife.