Chapter 27
"Hey, baby." Lucy presses a pouty kiss on my mouth and her eyes sweep me from head to toe.
White pants, white open blazer, my silver bra underneath catching light the light.
I'm praying the pants don't become the highlight.
"You absolutely don't match my artistry, but I love the audacity," she says.
She's dripping green—nails, heels, attitude—standing in front of walls that are basically a riot of fire as always.
"I changed about three times," I admit.
"Let me guess—you spent forty-five minutes debating whether cleavage is appropriate for feminist art or if that makes you a paradox."
"That—plus period."
"Oh," she coos and gives me another once-over. "Then you're perfect."
Not surprised she'd say that. Lu's the kind of artist who would sign your purchase with her blood if you asked her, or even if you didn't.
Sometimes I think she'd immolate herself if it meant better light.
I guess it pays off because the gallery—three big rooms, white walls stretching endlessly—is packed with artists, friends, and press.
"Are you still having a mental breakdown?" I ask bluntly, because with her I can.
"Nah... too tipsy for that." Lucy lifts a flute of black champagne, making the inky bubbles catch the spotlight. "Don't you love it? My idea. Makes every tongue black as sin."
"Did you custom-design it for me?" I stick my tongue out to check it just as she sneaks a look at the girl across the room she's been hovering around all night.
I catch it and nudge her lightly with my shoulder. "You didn't introduce me."
She waves me off but her eyes don't follow, still locked on the petite blonde who looks like she walked straight out of a paperback romance. Sweet face, big round glasses, but you can see the wildness simmering under her skin.
She's already holding court with someone, head bent in deep conversation.
"Wait, she's talking to Micah?" I ask, surprised.
With his impossible height, rich brown skin, hair dyed as white as the walls, and that coat collar popped like he's on permanent standby for a Vogue spread, Micah is a spotlight you can't dim.
Always made me wonder how he and my pint-sized Lucy did it. Anyway...
"What's he even doing here? Didn't he piss you off?"
"Self-invited?" She shrugs, squinting at him. "Or I might've invited him between two orgasms. Fuzzy on the details. The past few weeks have been a blur."
I choke on a laugh while eyeing him. "I can practically lip-read his seduction. Don't you mind he's into your girl?"
She pulls a humorless face. "Micah's a slut for carbon dioxide. If it breathes, he'll flirt with it. And Sophia isn't my girl," she says, not very convincingly. "She's been posing for me. Wants to learn how to paint."
"So she's the one who posed for you that day when we called? Not Micah?"
Lu grins devilishly. "Actually, I had both of them in there."
"Oh." My brows shoot up, impressed.
Lu shrugs, her expression naughty. "Sophia is different, though. Her aura's pure. Like, maybe the world isn't completely rotting."
I've never seen her so smitten—doesn't matter what she says—so of course, I sing to her: "Lucy's catching feelings."
She snaps her head my way, finally. "Please. I have enough mental illnesses on rotation. Don't need romance to join."
Then her eyes slice me up and her mouth curves. "Why'd you walk in like you're recovering from a horseback accident?"
I blink, caught off guard. Then nod. "Okay. Deserved that."
"Drink plenty of cranberry juice," she lectures, her sharp nail pointing at me. "And speaking of cures, the Doc's got you two a place now. So is this still an affair, or did Richard finally get benched?"
I take a sip of the champagne. "It's not the right time."
"Uh-huh." She gives me an unimpressed look. "What are you waiting for, growing a spine?"
"Hah-hah. It's complicated."
"No. You're just scared Bellini's gonna flake out again, or do something stupid, and honestly? Not the dumbest fear." She peers into her glass like it's a crystal ball and she sees something. "Why didn't you take him with you? Or does feminist art make his balls itch?"
"No. That's Richard," I say, making a face. "I didn't think it was a good idea. Plus, we just had a massive fight."
Lu looks at me curiously and opens her mouth to ask but I cut over her. "I don't want to talk about them. Tonight's about you, and I am so, so proud of you, baby."
I pull her close and for a second, she melts, even purrs softly before she pulls away and says, "I have to show you something."
She steers me to the middle of the main room and sweeps her arm toward a sculpture, like it's her pièce de résistance.
"When life breaks you, you turn yourself into a 3D masterpiece," she says.
I trace the thousand shards of broken mirror, fused into a mosaic sculpture. A woman with a cracked skull, eyes asleep, and a tiny crystal heart lodged between her lips—proof of a love she'll never speak, because if she tried, it would tumble from her mouth and shatter.
"Is that the mirror I broke?"
Lucy taps on the head, nodding. "It's you."
"Me?"
I read the plaque: The Anatomy of Eurydice.
"Lu—this is unreal," I say in awe. "But wait, didn't Eurydice die tragically?"
"Seen the one I made of me? A carved out Medusa's eye. Don't worry, tragedy photographs well. Art can't be censored." Suddenly, her eyes narrow. "Speaking of things that refuse to be contained, didn't you say Bellini wasn't supposed to be here?"
My brows knit. "What? He's not here. He doesn't even know where it is."
Lu nods her chin somewhere behind me and I turn around to realize she's right.
Ben's making it past the main entrance in a black suit, crisp white shirt unbuttoned enough to flash the collarbone, to whisper bad boy in disguise.
I thought his body was made for casual, but this? This is weaponized tailoring, a headline walk-in. People swivel, women stare, hypnotized by his devil-may-care smile.
But his eyes are on me. Only on me.
My pulse trips into the bass line floating from the speakers and I actually gasp—loud and pitiful—which Lucy notices and mocks with a snort.
"Baby, you're completely dickmatized."
"Shut up. I just didn't expect him, that's all," I say, too fast but can't rip my eyes from him.
"Mmmm. You know, he's got that fuck in his eyes for you," Lu says, admiring, almost envious.
"The what?"
"The fuck. The way he's watching you, that carnal get on your knees right now, I want you naked, I'll feast on your p—"
"Okay, stop."
"Relax," she singsongs. "I was going to say something cute, like peach, or papaya."
"No, you weren't."
"I wasn't," she admits just when Ben stops in front of us, smile cocked, everything about him impeccable.
He smirks like he's heard the whole exchange. "Did I interrupt something?"
"You always do," Lucy says and checks her nails.
Ben smirks at her. "Hi, Lu."
Lucy blinks, incredulous. "Did you just Lu me?" Her eyes flick to me—tame your boy—then back to him. "I guess you forgot I bite?"
"No." He gives her his careless smile. "Lesson learned. Won't point a finger at you again."
She smirks with dark eyes.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh. Those two have always been a disaster whenever Ben stopped by, bickering over things no one else would remember. I can't even place the finger incident, but they clearly can.
That's not my main focus, though.
I turn to him, my face flat. "What are you doing here? Thought you needed a nap."
"Came to see some beautiful art," he says easily, eyes dragging over me.
I fold my arms. "Is that a euphemism for me? Because last time I checked, you couldn't stand the sight of me."
"I just needed sleep to reset my vision," he says and steps closer, his arms around me before I can protest, pulling me into him.
I let him squeeze me tightly before I step back, forcing a bitter smile. "Or did you come to see how much of a liar I am, if I really didn't take Richard with me? Go on, scan the rooms. You might find him somewhere."
Ben shoots me an unimpressed look and turns to Lu instead. "Would it be too much to ask the artist for a tour?"
Lu's gaze darts from him to me, reading the tension. Then she shrugs and strides off toward the wall, calling at him over her shoulder. "Come, Doctor Bedroom Eyes."
Ben arches a brow at me, curious. "Doctor Bedroom Eyes?"
I give him a shrug that's supposed to look worn out, but doesn't. "Just go with it. Better than all the other unprintable versions."
He snorts amusedly, and then he's after Lucy, discussing everything she shows him with genuine interest.
He fires questions, one after another, and his cadence is smooth enough to trick even Lucy into playing along. Meanwhile, I trail them silently, deciding if I like him here or not.
When we get to The Anatomy of Eurydice, Ben halts.
Lucy eyes him sideways. "Like that one?"
"Yeah," he says immediately.
"What do you see?" she asks, tone neutral, not giving anything away.
"I'm no art critic," he says, his finger running over mirror shards, unafraid they can cut him. "Your other pieces rage, and bleed. They look like torn veins and fire in the gut. Which—don't get me wrong—I don't mind. I like it."
Lu's brows lift for a second. She obviously likes Ben's edge, but holds her ground, not giving him anything.
His finger makes it around the crystal heart in the mouth. "She's not raging. She's waiting, hurting, but doesn't want anyone to know. Makes you want to save her. Actually..." His voice drops, head tilted sideways. "I love it."
Simple. Determined. And I... I think I might have just forgiven him for being a relentless pain.
Lu glances at me briefly and I catch the little fracture in her face as well.
"Yeah," she says, gently. "Actually, me too."
I bite back my smile and slip away to refill my glass, say a quick hello to some of our mutual friends here, and when I come back, my mouth drops because the world has shifted.