She’s my girlfriend. A moving work of art, with eyes so expressive I feel like I can read her mind.
Mine. Ours. How can it feel so natural to share her with Rett?
Because of the dreams?
In a simple black dress, hair twisted up, she steps into the art exhibit and then stops. Her hand lifts to her throat.
“Sweetheart?”
Her face pales as she grips my hand.
“Oh, look at this,” Rett says beside us, not realizing she’s frozen. He points to a copy of Botticelli'sThe Birth of Venus.
One of the Regents is giving a presentation in the room.
“...John D. Rockefeller is widely considered the first billionaire in the United States and the wealthiest American in history. His fortune came from Standard Oil, which became thefirst great American business trust and went on to dominate the oil industry…”
I’m familiar with his history, just like every other Rock Am student is.
Hell, Rockefeller had accusations leveled against him that no one wants to talk about, like pushing petroleum-based products and plastics into nearly every facet of society, then profiting from the resulting health implications by expanding into hospitals.
Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Times have changed. It's all done in secret now.
I don’t think we use public humiliation and shame enough. Back in the day, it stopped a lot of people from doing a lot of things.
The Regent goes on about the Rockefeller name and legacy being synonymous with authority, power, and leadership. Blah, blah, blah.
Rett has pulled Bizzy away to meet a friend of his while I peek out into the hall at the painting I want her to see most:The Divinities.
It’s locked behind glass, alarmed and displayed near the Chapel.
A sudden compulsion to leave, to avoid the painting altogether, catches me off guard.
It’s the whole reason I wanted to bring her here.
Then I spot Hart standing near it.
A cocky expression firmly in place. He tips his champagne flute toward me, catches my eye, and with a slight nod, fixes me with a glare.
What does he care about art?
Is he here on House business, or is this about Bizzy?
That daggum…
We leave the Renaissance display and start towardThe Divinitiespainting when Bizzy reaches out to steady herself against the wall. Her shoulders sag slightly.
She excuses herself to the restroom.
“Is she alright?” I ask Rett.
“I honestly don’t know. But maybe we didn’t let her sleep enough last night.”
We continue down the hall to Hart.
“Surprised to see you here,” I say, keeping an eye out for Bizzy.
