Chapter 38 Reyna
REYNA
“Thank you.” I force a smile as I hand over my coat to the attendant, shivering from the combination of cold and anxiety.
I run my clammy hands over my black dress, trying to pass the move off like I’m straightening it. I can’t count how many times I’ve attended the opening night of an art exhibit, but this is the first time I’ve ever felt like throwing up from nerves.
Showcasing my work never gets any easier. It’s worse since I didn’t start recording Maddox in the creation process until all the pieces were relatively complete. Despite his assurances that I’m freaking out over nothing, I’m worried people are going to think I half-assed my job.
People walk around in suits and dresses that probably cost more than I make in a month. I recognize some as critics or artists who attended Mom’s showcase. It’s weird to think any number of people here could be part of the Order.
And anyone here could drunkenly tell me how bad the videos are.
I’ve been intentionally avoiding looking at the screens around the foyer since I arrived.
My eyes slip, just once, and I see something that spikes my panic to new heights.
People sidestep around me, grabbing drinks and canapés from the servers while they walk around the exhibit, but I can’t move as he makes his way to me.
“Reyna, it’s good to see you,” Dad—James—greets. I can’t decide which to call him yet. I’ve been interchanging them for the past week.
I took Maddox’s advice and agreed to meet up with my dad. It went… surprisingly well. We exchanged stories about Mom the entire time, and even if it doesn’t mend the bridge between us, it’s nice to talk to someone who knows her as well as I do. Common ground is a safe place to start.
An awkward chill settles between us when he puts his hand on my shoulder in a show of what I can only assume is meant to be affection.
I clear my throat and shift my weight once he pulls away. “What are you doing here?”
An art exhibit is the last place I expected to see him. According to Maddox, neither of his parents will be attending tonight. If I thought he was an arrogant prick before, it’s nothing compared to how cocky he is now that his dad is in the doghouse because of mine.
I mutter a quick thanks when a server offers me a glass of champagne. My dad looks at me with concern when I throw my head back and down the drink. Liquid courage is the only thing that will get me through tonight.
“I haven’t missed a single one of Maddox’s exhibits since he was a boy,” he answers.
“Oh.”
I shouldn’t be upset that James was there for Maddox, sort of. Yet the thought of it makes my stomach sour.
“That’s nice,” I add, because I don’t know what else to say.
“Miss Sinaga.”
I turn toward the deep voice and almost dissolve into the floor. Maddox in a tux might be the death of me. The fabric fits perfectly, tailored around his frame in a way that has me wanting to wrap my legs around him. With one hand effortlessly tucked in his pocket, he oozes sex appeal.
His eyes darken when they land on me. The slow perusal of his gaze raises my temperature by ten degrees, getting hotter when his sights land on my cleavage that’s peeking out above the sweetheart neckline of my dress.
Blush colors my skin pink. My professor is unashamedly checking me out in public.
I jolt when Dad clears his throat. “Maddox, we need to have a chat about the pieces you made of my dau—”
“I’ll be stealing your daughter now, thank you,” Maddox interrupts, placing a warm hand on the bare skin of my back to lead me away.
“Dinner tomorrow, right, Reyna?” Dad calls.
Glancing over my shoulder, I give him a hesitant nod. Common ground is a good place to start.
I’m slightly unstable walking next to him, both from the alcohol that’s gone straight to my head and from Kimi’s heels, which I thought would be a good idea to wear.
The dress I have on isn’t fancy by any means.
Maddox had insisted on giving me his credit card to buy myself something to wear for tonight, but this dress has been sitting in my closet for the last three years, waiting for a special occasion.
Mom bought it for me before Dad faked his death, and after she died, I thought I’d never wear it because it didn’t seem like anything good would ever happen to me.
So this afternoon, I put the dress on, did my hair, let Kimi do my makeup, and wore shoes that are outside of my comfort zone, because this is a new chapter. Growing was never meant to be comfortable or easy. If it were, everyone would be the best version of themselves.
The tips of Maddox’s fingers dip ever so slightly beneath the fabric of my dress in a secretive show of intimacy. A hum of approval sounds from the back of his throat. “No tights?”
“No panties either.”
Green eyes flash with excitement as he winks, grabbing a booklet from the reception desk to give to me. For months, Maddox has kept the collection’s name private. Seeing it in bold lettering at the front of the book makes a funny feeling stir in my chest.
The Immortalization.
We come to a halt before reaching the threshold of the exhibit. “A private tour? You spoil me.” I grin, feeling the champagne work its magic.
A soft smile tilts his lips. “Remember what I told you?”
My brows knit. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Wow, yes. I know exactly what you’re referring to. For sure.” I roll my eyes, but unease settles in my stomach.
The nervous wrinkle on his forehead gives me pause. I can only imagine the pressure he must be under after being ridiculed by critics for years. In the time I’ve known him, he’s always internalized any concern he might have over today’s event.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Sighing, he gives me a small nod, then holds his hand out, gesturing for me to go in first. His secrecy regarding aspects of the exhibit has my heart skip with trepidation.
I inhale deeply, grip the stem of the champagne glass tighter, then step through the open doors.
The smooth strings of a violin and the piano in the corner of the room mix with the chatter of people congregating around each installation.
Photographers and videographers move about the room to record the evening, capturing conversation and looks of what I hope will be awe.
Maddox’s paintings and other mixed-media pieces are hung against the room’s walls and dividers, and his sculptures have been placed strategically for people to flow between each piece.
My sights fall on the sculpture beneath the spotlight in the middle of the room. I recall seeing it in Maddox’s studio the day we went to Halenbeek Museum. It was far from finished back then, but seeing it now, on display for the whole world to see… It’s surreal.
The woman is sleeping in water, surrounded by a bed of…
peonies. She rests on her side, using her hand and a lily pad as a pillow.
Even without any color on the plaster sculpture, her face looks serene, as if she’s miles away from all the world’s dangers.
My heart squeezes. I can feel her peace.
It’s unlike anything Maddox has created before.
He’s known for the dark themes he weaves into everything he makes.
He’s always tried to evoke sadness, disgust, or rage, but never contentment.
Slowly, I circle behind the sculpture to see what’s attached to her back.
Wings. Big, sinewy wings lie against the water, as hornlike ridges trail from the top of her spine down to the tail curved around her leg.
My pulse races as I tentatively pad toward the plaque. Somehow, I know what the sculpture is going to be called without seeing it.
Tears prick my eyes when I read the engraved words: The Little Dragon.
I whip around, searching for Maddox, but he’s nowhere in sight. My attention catches on a nearby sculpture instead; the one I saw in his studio when I woke up from my concussion.
A green two-headed serpent climbs up the scythe strapped to a woman’s back as she cries pink tears. Poison ivy coils around her hand pointing heavenward. A cross between armor and silk covers her body and leaves a hole in her chest exposed.
Perseverance & Death.
Against the wall is the painting of an angel standing at the side of a cliff with seraphim-like wings. Her face was unpainted when I saw it, but now she… The painting is of me.
I’m the angel. I’m the one who was painted through the eyes of a lover.
Below the piece are two words: My Muse.
A tear breaks free. He painted me like a promise and signed it like a confession.
I move to the next painting and falter at the man plunging a spear into a beehive as he steps on the dead bees littering the ground. A small smile tugs at my lips as I read the title: Liberation.
Each piece in the exhibit pays homage to me: a woman bleeding into the same type of chrysanthemum that’s tattooed on my thigh, another of a girl stabbing a dagger into a mountain of skulls, even one of a lady with the same hair as me.
I move through the room, noticing the reference to things I didn’t think he’d notice.
I’m his exhibit.
My hands are trembling by the time I make it back to the sculpture of The Little Dragon, and I open the booklet up. The cover page is the collection’s name against a backdrop of dark scales. Turning the page, my lips part as I read the only other thing on both sides.
To my muse,
To be loved by an artist is to become immortal.
This is for you.
Yours always,
Maddox Shaw
“Penny for your thoughts.”
I twist around to find Maddox behind me, appearing bashful like he’s worried I might tell him that the collection is anything other than a masterpiece.
“I love you.” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
I hate that I can’t hug him. Hate that I can’t kiss him so he knows how much this means to me. Hate that our relationship needs to be kept in the shadows until I receive an expensive piece of paper telling me I’m qualified enough to carry out my passion.
His eyes light up, and it’s like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders, and his cocky grin slides right back into place. “As you should.”
I bark a laugh, feeling like a meteor could hit and it wouldn’t matter.
“Not going to say it back?” I can’t contain the smile spreading across my lips.
He shifts his weight to shorten the distance between us, still too far away for my liking.
“I believe I’ve shown it about fifteen times,” he says, referencing the number of pieces in the exhibit.
I edge close too, practically begging for a scandal. “Tell me anyway. I’m not a very astute observer.”
When his smile matches the intensity of mine, I swear the heavens open up.
“I’ve killed a great many men for you. Harassed a substantial amount of the teaching body for you.
Created and dedicated an entire collection to you because you consume every one of my thoughts.
You alone brought me to life. So let me say it simply: I love you too, Reyna.
” He pauses, then his smile turns wicked.
“Now, if you’d be so kind as to follow me into the back, I need to see what your dress looks like on the floor. ”
“Maddox,” I hiss. “This is your opening.”
“I thought I’d made it clear that you take precedence,” he murmurs. “As I said, after you, Miss Sinaga. There’s no such thing as a bad time for private tutoring.”