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I nod slowly and glance over at Eden once more. She’s trying to avoid our conversation and staring at the sculpture again.
“How soon can I nail her?”
“Nail her?”
“Myrtle. How soon before we can prove it?”
“Oh. Well, have you even confronted her about it?”
“Aw, come on, man.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Do you think she’d just come out and admit it? That she’s trying to eat off my idea? No way someone would just cop to that. We have to prove it.”
I nod yet again. Yeah. He’s a hundred percent right.
“You’re not gonna let me down, are you, mon frère?” he asks. I get a thousand-yard stare, looking nowhere in particular. “And?” he says.
“Sorry. Uh, no, no, of course not. No way. We’ll get her, man. OK? Don’t worry. You and Serilda just go off tonight and … do … I don’t care. And within a week we’ll have this sorted. Don’t sweat it. I got you.”
“Je t’aime,” he says, kissing me on the cheek.
“Yeah, yeah, moi aussi.”
“Eden,” he says, taking her hand and kissing it once again. “Eden,” he repeats.
“Yes?” she says, hesitantly.
“Just locking it in.” He points at his head and winks. He and Serilda take off. I don’t tell Serilda it was a pleasure. Because it wasn’t. She’s got good taste in nameless, faceless geniuses though. I’ll give her that.
“So,” I say, reaching for Eden’s hand. “You still good to get out of here and go pop the cork on that grown-up juice box?”
She sighs, heavily, says, “Yeah. Sure,” and starts to walk.
“Hey.” I pull her back to me, “What’s up? No bullshit. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just. I dunno.”
“Eden… I’m not gonna make a thing out of this. I’m really not. K? I promised myself I wouldn’t and I’m not gonna. But… is there anything you need to tell me?”
I bear down into her eyes with mine. She gets a little teary. Shit.
And then she says, “No. No. Just… I think maybe being around all this art has made me emotional.” I let out a breath and hang my head. “Is that weird?” she adds.
I take a long, long inward breath now, stroke a hair from her face, and finally, I tell her, “No, cupcake. It’s not weird. Art is an expression of the artist’s truth.”
I give her a small kiss on the forehead, pull her into a hug, and whisper over the thrumming heartbeat-like drone in the space…
“And the truth can do that to people.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – EDEN
My perfect night is blown. First the apartment mistake. Wow, how did I not see that coming? And my reaction at the door earlier? Totally batshit crazy.
Then the gallery. That was not the quiet evening I envisioned. Don’t get me wrong, it was super fun. But now Andrew is even more suspicious of me than he was before we went out.
Why is this happening to me?
Seriously? Why does my perfect guy have to be my sworn enemy out to destroy me?
It’s not fair.
“Well,” I say, unable to hide the fact that I’m now depressed. “This is me.” I fish around in my purse and find my key card, then look over my shoulder at Andrew one more time. It might be the last time I ever get to gaze at his beautiful face because I’m pretty sure my pink apartment covered in frosting is a dead giveaway that I’m the Sexpert.
The lock flashes green, but I hesitate.
“Allow me,” Andrew says, turning the handle and pushing the door open. But then he waits, waves his hand, and says, “After you.”
I sigh and enter, flipping the lights on as I throw my arms up and say, “Here you go. Me in all my teenage glory.”
Andrew enters, walks to the center of the room, then spins in place. It’s so small he can see everything in this one spin.
“That’s the kitchen,” I say. “The bathroom is behind that door. My closet. My living room,” I say, pointing to my mini loveseat and the coffee table in front of it. “And… bedroom.”
He takes it all in, slowly studying everything. The couch, the pink fuzzy pillows, the bed and princess mosquito netting. And then… yup, he sees the cupcake picture and walks over to it to get a closer look. Like he can’t see the four-foot-by-four-foot dessert from six feet away.
“Interesting choice of art,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder. “And it’s the only thing you have on the wall.”
“I have more,” I say.
“Yeah? Where?”
“In my closet.”
“Let me guess. Is it a picture of strawberry shortcake with whip cream on top?”
“No,” I say, getting irritated with him. I want to scream at him. I mean, he knows it’s me. He knows! And right now this whole night feels like… like he’s just waiting for me to admit it.
But I don’t scream at him. I don’t have the energy? Fight? Whatever. I just walk over to the closet and pull out the small picture frames I didn’t have the time or patience to hang up. “See?”
