Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Raf threw himself into his work. There were deadlines for everything—for the catering and the bartenders and the insurance policies and the framing of the paintings.
The inaugural event at the underground museum was in two weeks, and everything had to be perfect.
He was glad, in fact, that he had so much to do.
He could stay busy at every moment, do everything he could to fight the burning in his chest that liked to remind him that he could never have Grace Cameron and he was supposed to be fine with it.
There were deadlines for dealing with that, too.
Grace was moving out in a matter of days, her apartment almost back to perfect condition, and then they would go back to being strangers.
They’d hardly seen each other lately since he’d been avoiding his home like the plague despite promising to act like nothing was wrong, but he still liked to imagine her there in her little bedroom, staring out the window over the tops of nearby buildings, concentrating so hard on something he could never see.
He couldn’t imagine how lonely the place would feel without her, so he mostly tried to never let himself think of it, to pretend it wasn’t real.
They offered each other polite nods when passing through the kitchen. He rushed out of whatever room she was in, even when she opened her mouth to speak, even when she managed to say his whole name, he was gone before she could finish a sentence.
It was rude, certainly, but also, he’d never hurt so much in his life, so he thought he deserved to be a little rude to the person who’d done this to him, the person who’d made him feel like he was gliding through the night sky with liquid skin, only to splash him all over the pavement.
He wasn’t speaking to Alma, either, not that she minded.
She was off with her boyfriend, because for some reason she deserved a chance at love even if Rafael did not.
He’d pursued the wrong woman, and he’d known it all along.
It was stupid to develop feelings for your sister’s best friend, even stupider to act on them.
But it wasn’t exactly like he’d picked Grace.
She’d shown up with her blue eyes and her pink lips and her perfect laugh and her long, rambling descriptions of Picasso paintings, and she’d wriggled her way in before he’d even noticed, before he'd even had a chance to fight her off.
“It’s looking good, mijo,” Christian said, striding into the biggest room of the gallery.
Rafael shook himself, trying to remember what he was doing.
He was standing in front of one of the paintings of Dora Maar, one Grace had described in great detail.
She’d loved this portrait and how it captured Maar’s passion, the way you could see that Picasso’s lover challenged him and lit a fire inside of him.
Rafael always felt trapped by it whenever he walked by, like it was reaching out and holding him still.
“I’m glad you approve,” he replied. “Any complaints?”
“That one over there that looks like an octopus? Odd placement next to the naked lady with the book, don’t you think?”
Rafael cleared his throat. “Grace said the octopus one is also a naked lady, I think.”
Christian let out a barking laugh. “I’m teasing you, Rafa,” he said. “Lighten up. The place is beautiful, and it’s about time to have a little fun.”
“It’s not quite ready yet,” Rafael admitted. “One of the frames—”
“Relax,” Christian said. “It will be ready in time for the first event. We’re almost there. Anyway, where is Grace? I was hoping she might have another look before opening to make sure everything was hung in the right place. She mapped it all out so well.”
“Oh, right. Well, she…did this as a favor, so I can’t really ask her to come back again.”
Christian frowned. “That’s a shame. Why am I paying you so much money instead of her?
” He wiggled his fingers at Rafael. “I guess you’re the one with the connections.
You certainly got the job done, but I think maybe I should be offering a position to Senorita Cameron.
She will be at the first party, though, right? To see how it all turned out?”
“I—uh. I don’t know.” Rafael scratched the back of his head as Christian eyed him warily.
“What’d you do?” Christian asked, his voice teasing.
Rafael started, giving himself away. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”
Christian’s tone turned somber as he studied Rafael more intensely. “You break her heart?”
Rafael sighed. This wasn’t a very professional conversation, and it certainly wasn’t something he ever would have discussed with any other client.
But Christian wanted to know, and Rafael thought it might be nice for at least one person to be aware of his utter agony.
“The other way around, really,” he admitted.
Christian nodded knowingly. “Any chance to win her back? Grand gesture? Anything like that?”
Rafael rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, pretending to think this over as if he hadn’t thought all of it over a million times. “It’s complicated.”
Christian slapped a hand on his back. “It always is,” he said. “But let me know if I can be of use to you.”
Rafael shook his head. “What would you do?”
“Well, I don’t know, really. But I’m one of those men who likes to think they can solve any problem. Love is a little more difficult than most things, though, no doubt about that.”
Love. Rafael had been unwilling to even think the word.
Even as Christian stood there considering him, he wouldn’t let it enter his thoughts, wouldn’t give it the opportunity to spark a flame in his brain.
That wouldn’t lead to anything good. Only more pain.
There was no use even thinking about the possibility of loving Grace.
There was no use wondering if he already did.
“Thanks for the offer,” Rafael said, scrambling to think of a way to change the subject. “Didn’t you say you wanted some kind of signature cocktail for the evening? What were you thinking it should be?”
They stepped away from Dora Maar’s almost lifelike eyes, but Rafael could still feel them on him, like she was seeing right through him.
He’d meant it when he said he didn’t know if Grace would attend the first party. She’d been invited and had planned to come before everything had happened, but since they hadn’t spoken, he had no idea if she would attend.
He hoped she would.
He wouldn’t ask, though, or try to convince her.
He knew there was no use if she’d made up her mind.
And soon he wouldn’t even have the opportunity to avoid her.
She would be gone from his apartment, leaving the largest void he’d ever known, and he couldn’t help feeling impossibly dramatic about the whole thing.
If only Alma could have witnessed it, she would have been shocked.
Her cool, collected, hard-as-stone brother brought to his knees by his own wretched emotions.
There was a light under Grace’s door when Rafael returned from work.
Well, from work and the hours-long dinner alone he’d indulged in just to get home as late as he could.
He’d hoped she would already be sleeping, which helped to curb the temptation of bursting into her bedroom and trying to convince her to reconsider.
He was quiet in the kitchen as he fixed himself a drink, quiet as he eased onto the sofa, book in hand.
Usually, he retreated to his room as quickly as possible, just to limit the chance that their paths might cross, but he let himself linger there, hoping she might emerge and try to talk to him and simultaneously dreading it as well.
He was almost drifting off on the couch when the sound of her door creaking open startled him, and he turned his head to find her there in her hamster pajamas, her hair swirling around her shoulders, her eyes immediately searching for his.
“Sorry,” she almost whispered. “Just getting some water.”
“By all means,” he said.
She padded across the room in her bare feet, and he didn’t bother to take his eyes from her, didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t looking.
She glanced back at him, and their eyes met again. “How are things going with the gallery?” she asked.
He couldn’t help the glare that slipped onto his face, the sarcasm that crept into his tone. “Is this us being normal?”
Even from his position on the sofa, he could see her frown. His words had hit their mark.
“Sorry,” she said. “Should I just get my water and go? I thought you might want to talk.”
He tried and failed to keep his tone even. “What’s there to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Whatever we used to talk about? Life?”
He let out a little hmmm. “The gallery is good. Thanks for asking. Still coming to the event?” Damn, he was asking her after all.
“I’m not sure.” She fidgeted with a button on her pajamas without looking at him.
“Don’t let me stop you. It will be crowded. You can just pretend I’m not there. And you put a lot of work into making it look right.”
She looked up again and met his gaze. “I didn’t do much.”
He hated when she tried to belittle her contributions. “It would be a mess without your input.”
“It was you, Raf. You did great work.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Have to appease the billionaires, right? I’m good at that.”
She watched him, and he wished he could know what was going through her head. What did she think of him? Did she hurt half as much as she did? Probably not. She’d been through worse. He was just another bump in the road.
“You ready to get back to your apartment?” he asked. He could make small talk. No problem at all.
Her face didn’t change, and she still just stared at him, her fingers wrapped around a water glass. “I guess so.”
“And your classes? It’s about the end of the term, right?”
“They’re good. Some of my students promised they’ll come see me and keep in touch.”