Page 21 of For the Love of Art

He nodded. “I do.”

“Use it.”

“Have a good night, Lianne.” He squeezed her arm and I swore I saw Lianne melt.

Lianne linked arms with me, looking at him dreamily until we were far enough away that he was lost in the crowd. I took one last look around the world I wished I could stay in. I caught a glimpse of Nathan with the same woman he had started the evening with. He gently lifted her chin with his index finger and smiled as he spoke to her. She smiled back, biting her lip and gripping his wrist. The gallery doors closed before I could see the rest of the interaction.

Lianne and I walked up the street.

“So, why the sudden desire to leave?” Lianne asked after a block.

“I saw Don.”

Lianne stopped walking.

“What?”

I stopped, too, turning to face her.

“Don. I saw him… and talked to him.”

Her brows raised. “No way.”

“He was there with Marissa.”

“The pregnant bimbo?”

“That’s not fair to her.”

“I’m sorry, she didn’t sleep with your husband?”

“Don shares blame,” I reminded her. “She didn’t do it to herself.”

Lianne adjusted her glasses and shook her head, clearly not okay with that answer.

“The divorce papers are being drawn up,” I said quietly.

That sentence snapped Lianne out of her unhappy state. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, hon.” She reached out and rubbed my arm.

“It’s not a shock. It’s been six months.”

“You said it. It’s not like Don was just some guy you were seeing. Just because you know something is coming doesn’t make it less painful.” I nodded my head but didn’t say anything. Lianne narrowed her eyes. “Is there more?”

“I walked out of an emergency exit and puked in an alley.”

“Oh my God! Why didn’t you come to get me?”

My cheeks burned. “Because Nathan found me in the alley.”

“Sounds eerily like the start of many true crime podcasts. Or if you hadn’t already met him, the least cute meet cute you could ask for.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “It wasn’t an attempted murder, and it definitely wasn’t cute. It was embarrassing. Only made worse by what happened after.”

“There’s more?”

“Yeah. He took me back into the gallery, but to the part they’re still renovating. Anyway, he showed me some art pieces, we chatted about them, and I pointed out that he should switch up how the pictures were hung, and he fired his curator,” I explained.

“Wow. If I’d known just how much drama an art opening could garner, I’d have come with you to one years ago.”