Chapter 27
R osie knocked on the gallery door, trying her best not to drop the arrangements she’d made and brought with her in a taxi.
The tallest one had sat next to her on the seat, her hand held over it like a seatbelt.
The taxi driver had found it very amusing and Rosie laughed along with him at the absurdity of it all.
She was excited to see her work in situ amongst the amazing pieces of art and a thrill rocked through her at the prospect of doing more of this type of thing, if the festival idea worked.
Jeroen had invited her to stay for the opening so she’d worn her favourite little black dress and a pair of kitten heels– not so high she couldn’t be on her feet all evening, but stylish enough to make her legs look good.
Despite her promise to herself not to think about him anymore, she r ealised that had things been different, she and Max could have been arriving together.
The taxi pulled up and Jeroen spotted her through the window, coming to the gallery door and letting her in. The kind taxi driver unloaded the displays from the trunk onto the pavement in front of the gallery.
‘Thank you for driving so carefully!’ Rosie said as she paid him the fare.
‘I could have arranged a van if you needed it,’ Jeroen replied.
He was looking particularly stylish in another tight-fitting blazer and his signature ankle-grazing trousers, this time in a deep burgundy.
Polished brogues and a yellow bow tie finished the look.
He adjusted his thick horn-rimmed glasses before picking up one of the displays and carrying it inside.
‘I bet I can guess what this is inspired by.’
‘Have you just read the card?’ Rosie asked teasingly.
He smiled. ‘No. I can tell from the colours. It’s the Milkshake Festival, isn’t it?’
‘Correct,’ she replied, happy that he’d recognised it. ‘How did you know?’
‘Well, it’s bright and colourful, the flowers are bold and vibrant, and you’ve added tiny signs with the names of the different tents. It’s genius! I love it.’
‘Thanks. Be careful of the glitter, though. It gets everywhere.’ She’d included a few large fake flowers in different glitter-covered shades.
It was big and bold and one of her favourite displays.
She’d also made one of the garden Max had taken her to at the Van Loon Museum.
That one w as softer and calmer, with its blue and white theme and small delicate flowers.
The one she adored most, though, was inspired by the canal boat ride Max had taken her on when they’d stared at the stars, and kissed in the moonlight.
The memory of his kiss made her lips tingle.
The round display combined blue irises that sprung out in all directions like the canals of Amsterdam, set off by gentle green ferns, like the tree-lined streets.
Rosie placed it where they’d agreed it would go and went back outside, eager to get the remaining arrangements off the street and into the gallery.
‘Wow, Rosie,’ Jeroen said. ‘They look wonderful. And you have cards to go with them?’
‘Yes, I named them as you suggested, just as the artwork is named. I’m afraid they’re not very imaginative.’ The one inspired by the Milkshake Festival was simply called ‘Milkshake’.
‘That doesn’t matter. They look stunning.’
Soon the waiting staff arrived and Jeroen left to brief them on their roles.
He hadn’t mentioned Max once and Rosie thought it pretty mean, actually.
Surely, given that he’d made her deliver the news, he could have atleast asked how Max was.
Standing awkwardly with a glass of champagne at the back of the gallery, Rosie gazed at the artwork until the other guests began to arrive.
As soon as there was a decent-sized crowd, she edged forwards, introducing herself and joining in conversations about the art.
She was pleased to hear comments on the flowers and the beautiful gallery spa ce, and when one woman gushed about the inspired arrangements, Jeroen introduced them, winking at Rosie as he stepped away to circulate.
‘They really are wonderful. So unique and exciting. Normally –’ she leaned in, speaking nearer to Rosie ‘– flowers can be so dreary. I’m honestly so bored of tulips.
But I’ve never seen a display like “Milkshake” before.
You know, it’s my daughter’s twenty-first birthday in a few months and I’d love to hire you for the flowers. Do you have a card?’
Rosie’s cheeks burned. Not only did she not have a card, but could she commit to something a few months away when she had no idea if she’d even be here?
Unwilling to let the opportunity go, Rosie decided she would somehow have to make it work.
Even if she had to come back over from England and ask Finn for a workstation at his stall to do it.
‘My cards are still being printed, but let me take your email address.’ She pulled out her phone.
‘And I’ll contact you next week, if that’s all right? ’
‘Wonderful!’ The woman gave her details and then began speaking to someone else about the art piece they were standing in front of.
Rosie turned away, a huge smile on her face, but that smile faded the moment she saw the latest couple to walk through the gallery door.
Max, looking more handsome than ever in a suit and tie, his beard trimmed, the angles of his face clear, and his hair swept back so his gorgeous eyes shone brightly, was standing with Johanna.
She was wearing a cream form-fit ting dress and carried a Chanel bag.
As Max’s eyes scanned the room, they met hers and he rocked back in surprise.
Clearly he hadn’t known she’d be here. This must be why Jeroen hadn’t offered an apology over the situation with Max or asked after him.
He’d invited him, but why would Max come when it was going to cause him so much pain? Rosie didn’t know what to make of it.
Max’s eyes were still locked on hers and flitted over her body, quickly up to her face.
If he hadn’t been standing with his ex, she’d have been sure that his eyes were hungry, his mouth tightening as he resisted the urge to come and talk to her.
She turned away, swiping a glass of prosecco from one of the passing waiters and swapping it for her empty one.
‘Max and Johanna!’ she heard Jeroen say behind her and she studied the painting hung on the wall in front of her. ‘It’s so good to see you. Max, I’m so pleased we were able to squeeze in one of your pieces.’
What? Unable to stop herself, Rosie spun around, but when Johanna’s eyes were the ones to meet hers, she spun straight back again.
The people beside her began looking at her strangely, like she’d just randomly decided to pull out a dance move even though there was barely any music and definitely no one else was dancing.
One of his pieces was here? Why hadn’t he said? Or maybe he would have last night but she was too busy ignoring him, not giving him the chance to speak. Had Jeroen taken pity on him? How had this happened?
‘Come and see it hung,’ Jeroen replied to Max.
Their voices dissipated as they moved away and, unable to stop herself, Rosie glanced over her shoulder to see Max looking back at her.
Thankfully, his hands were by his sides rather than wrapped around Johanna’s waist. If she’d been met with that scene she might have cried.
For a moment, she considered leaving, but the woman she had been speaking to previously had introduced another lady who was after flowers for a retirement party.
And there was no way Rosie could pass up these and whatever other opportunities might be coming her way through the evening. She’d have to grin and bear it.
Grin, Rosie did. So much so that by the time she felt she could leave, her cheeks hurt.
She’d collected four emails to arrange quotes for, and had received so many compliments on her work she was in danger of growing arrogant.
Her mum would also say how unfair it was that men could speak of their talents and achievements and it wasn’t considered big-headed but for a woman to do it, those comments had to be prefaced with platitudes.
It wasn’t fair and Rosie refused to have her achievements that night dimmed.
Not only had she done something for her career, she’d faced Max and his ex and she’d survived.
As Rosie walked out of the gallery and down the street, the night air brushed her cheeks. Cooler than it had been before, it whispered through the trees in the quiet of the city.
‘Rosie!’ She spun at the sound of her name, and the familiar voice. Max jogged down the street towards her. He paused, not out of breath, but his chest rising and falling. ‘I was hoping to speak to you.’
‘You seemed a little busy with—’ She wanted to say your girlfriend , but didn’t want to appear petty.
‘Yes, it’s been mad.’
The chronic over-sharer in her demanded more information and she refused to hold her tongue. ‘Your girlfriend must be very proud, though you did say she wasn’t exactly up for the life of an artist’s partner.’
‘My...?’ He glanced back towards the gallery. ‘Johanna? No, no. She’s not– we’re not– it’s not what you think.’
‘It’s fine, Max, you don’t have to try and protect my feelings. I saw her at your boat. I know you two are trying again. I’m happy for you.’
‘No you’re not,’ he said with a sly grin.
‘No! I’m not!’
‘Rosie...’ He shook his head vehemently, his hair falling about his face. ‘We’re really not... an item. I mean, she did come by, but she wanted to talk. She wanted to let me know that she’s getting married. She didn’t want me to hear it from someone else.’
Rosie felt her jaw drop and hang loose. ‘Oh,’ was all she managed to say. Then a moment later, ‘I’m sorry. What?’
Max smiled and his eyes burned into hers. ‘She’s getting married. And not to me. She wanted me to know rather than hear it through friends.’
‘So you’re not... You never...’
‘No.’
‘Then why are you here together?’ She pointed to the gallery.
‘She wants to buy her fiancé a painting. She might not have liked being an artist’s girlfriend, but she loves art and wanted to get him something special as an engagement gift.
We were here choosing a piece.’ So they weren’t together?
Why hadn’t he just said so? Her heart still felt broken at his pushing her away but he could have just told her they weren’t an item.
‘Isn’t that a bit... weird?’ She couldn’t help but curl her lip as she spoke and Max burst out laughing, the sound filling the cool, quiet night around them.
‘It is a bit. But she wants to be friends and I’m not childish enough to say no.’
‘I heard Jeroen say you had a piece here.’
Max’s eyes immediately lit up. ‘I did. Someone withdrew at the last minute. It’s not quite as good as being accepted from the start, but it sold and I’m not going to refuse the money.’
‘I’m glad. I’m– I’m happy for you. Are you sending work anywhere else? Or teaching?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
Despite everything, she wished she could give him the confidence he so desperately needed, but as she knew herself, that was a journey only he could take.
‘I haven’t seen you painting,’ she replied, a part of her not wanting the conversation to end. ‘Not on the boat anyway.’
‘No, I– I miss it.’
The growing breeze ruffled her hair and sent goose bumps over her skin.
She drew her arms around herself, protectively.
The sky was lit with stars just as it had been the night they’d first kissed.
A silver moon, momentarily obscured by a passing cloud, shone out again in all its glory, casting shadows over the ground.
Rosie’s mind whirled with everything she’d just heard.
She needed time to process her thoughts.
Questions and statements were whirling through her brain at a thousand miles an hour.
If Max was feeling better about his work and wasn’t with Johanna, then why was he still pushing her away?
Was it because he’d come to realise they weren’t a good match?
The only way she’d know was to ask but she couldn’t face the humiliation.
Not when she’d had such a successful night otherwise.
It could only be that he’d realised he didn’t want to take their relationship any further than it had already gone.
Sadness rose like bile, a bad taste tingeing her mouth.
Over Max’s shoulder, Johanna appeared in the gallery doorway.
By the confused look on her face it seemed Max hadn’t told her anything about them, or if he had, it was probably PG-rated with no mention of the night they’d spent together.
‘Max?’ Johanna called, moving to one side to let another couple leave.
‘Can you help me? I’m running out of time. ’
Max turned and raised his hand in acknowledgement and with a final glance at Rosie, which she wasn’t sure was friendly or not, Johanna went back inside.
‘I’d better go,’ he said quietly. He reached out for her a little and Rosie’s breath stilled, unsure if he was going to touch her.
Her brain told her to not make this easy for him, while her heart wanted to feel his skin against hers, the weight and heat of his body nearer to her own. ‘Will you be all right? Rosie?’
Her eyes were still locked on his wavering hand and she suddenly looked up as he said her name. ‘All right to what?’
‘To get home.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll be fine.’ She took a step backwards and continued on her way.
‘Goodnight, Rosie.’
But she didn’t answer, unable to say the words as her brain hummed.
Her synapses fired but nothing was connecting into a coherent thought and her emotions were spiralling so she couldn’t tell one from another.
He’d said so much, but there were a hundred and one things buzzing in her head that remained unsaid.
The only thing she knew was that despite saying she would be all right, she absolutely wasn’t. She wasn’t all right at all.