My smile deepened, and I looked into the sky, wondering if it would be childish if I screamed in joy. My gaze dropped to Chase, drawn by the way he toyed with his lip piercing. It was a tick, and half the time he didn’t seem to realise he was doing it.
“You’re staring, Nadia,” he said, his voice a loaded whisper.
“I didn’t mean to…”
He cut me off short, taking a step in and weaving his hand through my hair then fastened his lips on mine, parting them slightly and digging the round, smooth piercing into my lower lip.
The cigarette fell out of my hand. My mind drew a blank for the shortest moment before sirens blared and red lights flashed. I pushed him away with both hands, my heart thumping.
“What are you doing?!”
“I’m sorry, I thought…” He clasped his hands at the top of his head. “You’ve been eyeing my lips all day. I thought that’s what you wanted!”
“Because you keep toying with your piercing. It’s involuntary! We’re friends, Chase! God! I’m with Thomas!”
Chase opened his mouth, but I didn’t let him say more. I stumbled back inside. My hands shook for ten minutes while I analysed the whole day wondering if I did, somehow, encourage Chase, but there was nothing that stood out.
Ty and I were much closer, but neither of us ever considered our relationship anything other than friendship. I slept in the same bed with him more times than I could count, sat on his lap at the clubs, kissed his cheek and hugged him for no reason.
“You okay? You’re pale, sis.” Nick snapped me out of my thoughts.
“I’m fine. I just need a glass of water. It’s too hot in here.”
“You’ve got goose bumps and you’re hot?” He pressed his hand to my forehead. “I don’t think you’ve got a fever. Thomas just called. He’ll be here in twenty. Hold on, I’ll get you some water.”
My stomach tied in knots, the grim possibility of losing Thomas’s trust gathered above me like thunder clouds. Hiding the incident wasn’t an option. Two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead.
My thoughts raced a hundred miles an hour until Nick handed me a glass of water. I gulped half, took a deep breath, and focused on the task at hand, smiling at everyone who made eye-contact.
Thomas entered the gallery twenty minutes later as promised, a three-piece charcoal suit partly hidden under a black smart coat and a large bouquet of red roses in his hand.
He stopped in the foyer, scanning the room with a small smile. His eyes roamed over the many paintings that hung on the walls first, and the approval written all over his handsome, albeit tired, face calmed me down in an instant. He searched the crowd of elegantly dressed art connoisseurs until his cinnamon eyes landed on me.
I rolled my eyes a little when he sized me up and down, smirking under his nose, probably amused by the string of pearls on my neck and the long, elegant black dress Mel made me wear.
“Sorry I’m late, baby doll,” he said, handing me the flowers.
“You’re here now. And thank you. They’re beautiful.”
He kissed my forehead, even though we both wanted more after three days of not seeing each other.
“The turnout is great. Everyone looks in awe of your work.”
He drew me to his side, draping his arm around my shoulder. The unease that settled over me thanks to Chase amplified with Thomas’s proximity. He pushed me away a moment later, looking into my eyes, concern in his. I loved and hated that he read my mood with ease as if he had a first-row seat into my thoughts.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice tense.
I shook my head, glancing around the room. Chase stood at the back, talking to someone about one of the paintings. I tensed even more when our eyes locked. He didn’t seem apologetic but stood taller when he noticed Thomas, as if bracing for all hell to break loose.
“We’ll talk later, okay?”
Thomas followed my line of sight. I felt his muscles tense under my touch. Chase still watched us, ignoring whatever the woman in her fifties sporting a pink wig next to him was saying.
“What did he do?”
This wasn’t the time or place to come clean. Thomas had more restraint than Adrian could wish for, but he sure wouldn’t be able to wait for a chance to confront Chase. I hoped he would drop the subject, trust me and wait for the vernissage to finish before pushing for answers, but instead, Thomas took the first step toward Chase.
I caught his hand, halting him in place. The evening was going great. Sketches and paintings were selling well, and a local newspaper journalist was on site. A fight would take priority over my art, and I would never get a chance to showcase my paintings anywhere else.