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“Mom, Dad, this is Sophie Wright,” Elias says, pride beaming in his eyes. “She’s the one who did all of this.”
His mom’s expression softens a little as she looks at me, shaking my hand with a delicate one. “Thank you for sharing your talent with us, Sophie,” she says. I never knew a voice could be elegant, but hers somehow is. “They’re beautiful pieces.”
Elias’s dad offers similar praise of my work, and I manage to take their compliments and conversation without feeling too awkward. After a while, they move on, and Elias goes with them to meet a couple of business friends of his father’s.
“Come on, Sparrow. Why don’t you come meet some of your guests?” Gray suggests, stepping up and offering me an arm.
Ugh. This part, I’m truly dreading. As amazing as it is to see people checking out my pieces, the idea of actually talking to any of them makes me nervous as fuck.
“It’s all right.” Gray seems to read my thoughts, and a grin pulls at his lips. “They want to meet you. You can’t put all this amazing shit on display and not expect people to want to talk to you about it.”
I suppress a grin. Between standing up to Cliff and using his family’s connections in the art world to set this up, Gray has gone a long way toward proving that he’s seriously on my side. But he doesn’t seem content to stop there, going out of his way every chance he gets to let me know just how solidly he’s in my corner.
I like it.
For the next couple minutes, we make our way around the room. I meet people who run in the Sinners’ circles, though I realize later into the evening that neither Declan nor Gray’s parents were able to make it. And to my surprise, I even catch some faces I recognize f
rom the school—a mix of staff and students, likely hoping tonight would turn into a shit show, but all silently subdued by the display in front of them.
“Shit,” Gray murmurs as he steers me away from an older couple who stopped me to compliment me on my work. “Alan Montgomery is here.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Montgomery. As in… Cliff’s dad?”
“Yes. He’s over there.”
He points out an older looking gentleman, movie star handsome, with a few gray streaks in his reddish-brown hair and an expensive suit. He looks exactly like what I’d expect Cliff’s father to look like, and something unsettling stirs in my stomach at the sight of him.
I don’t know this man at all, but having met his progeny, I’m sure I don’t want to.
“Fuck. What’s he doing here?” I ask, my shoulder brushing against Gray’s as I swivel my head to take in the room. “Is Cliff here too?”
Would he fucking dare?
Then again, if he did come, what can I do to stop him? Would it be worth me causing a scene at my own show? Probably not, and he probably knows that.
Gray frowns, his eyes going hard. He jerks his chin, and I follow his gaze to see the asshole himself making his way through the crowd.
Cliff stops near his dad, their heads bending in conversation, and my pulse quickens in my throat. Cliff’s expression is pinched and tight, but his dad looks like he’s trying to calm his son down. I hope for one fruitless second that Alan knows how stupid his son is and won’t let anything happen.
But somehow, I don’t think I can count on that. Alan Montgomery obviously hasn’t reined in his son’s worst tendencies before now, so I doubt he’ll start tonight.
I try not to look at them, but every couple minutes I find myself searching Cliff out in the crowd, hoping not to find him destroying my art or displaying blown up pictures of my little strip show somewhere. Hell, if he’s really got texts and emails between Brody McAlister and his late wife, he could slap those up on the walls too.
Thankfully, he does none of those things. He seems content to glare at me occasionally in between schmoozing with other guests, like he’s daring me to be the one to start something.
I catch sight of a few other familiar—and unwelcome—faces in the crowd too. Caitlin and her little posse are all here, and I wonder if they were invited by Cliff as another way of fucking with me. Reagan and Gemma glare in my direction as Caitlin critiques my paintings in her shrill voice, calling them derivative and simplistic.
Fortunately, I don’t have time to worry about whether that smug bitch likes my art, because I’m quickly pulled into another round of introductions and compliments from people I don’t know, praising my work. I even talk to a few people who inquire about buying my pieces, but I turn them all down, despite some of the astronomical sums they offer.
Declan was right. There’s something incredible about putting your work out there like this. And one day, I’d love to sell some of my work, but right now, it feels too close to letting someone own a part of me.
By the end of the night, I hang back in the shadows a little bit, watching people still milling around, talking with their friends, admiring my art. I’m still on a high from the entire evening, a rush that I need right now to cancel out all of the other shit going on in my life.
It’s something outside of school, something outside of my struggle with Cliff. It’s something that is completely me, and I love it. I never thought I would feel this good, this excited to share such a vulnerable part of myself with others.
“Hey, there you are,” Declan says softly, coming up behind me. His arms are wrapping around my body and pulling me close before I even have time to turn around, and I lean into his touch. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I can’t believe this is real,” I murmur as he turns me in his arms so that I face him. “Thank you, Declan.”
