“Now,” Thomas turned to Chase when the two guys walked away, tossed from the left to the right side of the street by imaginary wind. “Apologise for coming onto her and apologise for making her feel like it was her fault you tried your luck.”
Chase’s complexion blanched. “I’m sorry, Thomas, it was a complete misunderstanding.”
“Not trusting my gut was a misunderstanding, Chase. Coming onto my girl was your fucking mistake. Be a man and own up to it.”
Chase looked at me, toying with the lip piercing. “I’m sorry, Nadia. Thomas is right, I took a chance, but it was in no way your fault. It was just a spur of the moment, stupid decision.”
“I’m not mad, just surprised. I thought we were friends, and I don’t understand where you got the idea that I wanted more.”
“Wearefriends,” he insisted.
“Not anymore you’re not,” Thomas cut in. “Don’t mistake your nose not bleeding for my understanding.” He turned to me and pressed a kiss to my head. “Go back inside. This is your night; enjoy it. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
Chase inched toward me as if to grab my hand and apologise more, but he must have reconsidered, sensing impending doom if he chose to touch me in front of Thomas.
Good call.
I pushed the metal door open, welcoming the warmth. Amelia hooked her elbow in mine the moment I emerged from a short corridor that lead to the back exit. She led me toward the centre of the room, muttering under her breath in a hushed voice.
“What’s going on? Thomas looked pissed off just now. I thought he was going to hit Chase.”
“He tried to kiss me.”
She stopped. “Are you serious?!”
“Keep it down. Yes, I’m serious. It was a misunderstanding, though.”
“Excuse me, miss.” An older gentleman approached, dressed in jeans and a smart shirt with a bright red scarf casually twisted around his neck. “I’ve been told you’re the artist who painted those amazing pieces. I just bought a couple, and I would kindly like to ask for a written dedication at the back of the canvases if possible.”
“Of course. Should I make it out to anyone in particular?”
“Yes,” he outstretched his hand. “Cyrus Cox.”
Amelia held her breath beside me, recognising the name immediately. It took me a little longer to realise who the elegant man was—a TV producer responsible for Mel’s favourite soap operas.
“I’ve got to say, you’re extraordinarily talented for such a young age. Your art speaks volumes while still leaving room for interpretation. I’m particularly fond of this piece,” he gestured to a large puppeteer painting, similar to the one that used to hang in my apartment but was now the central feature of Thomas’s living room.Ourliving room.
“That’s one of my favourites, too,” Thomas appeared next to me, shaking Cyrus’s hand. “Thomas Calix. How about I give you a little insight into the creative background behind this piece?”
I was ready to oppose, considering the idea behind all the art in the room was Adrian’s abuse, but Amelia squeezed my hand, and waited for Thomas to wander away with Cyrus before she spoke.
“Trust him here. He could sell a gun to a pacifist, babe. He’ll make you rich and famous, you just wait.”
Twenty minutes later, Thomas returned long enough to tell me that Cyrus bought two more pieces. Then, off he went, mingling with the crowd, selling my art without ever asking anyone to buy. He could easily talk a Scotsman out of a penny.
I overheard him a few times, interpreting the paintings in his own way and comparing me to the big names. It wasn’t about the money tonight. Thomas was focused on making a name for me.
He found me an hour later, and immediately took my hand, lacing our fingers. “Your mother is here. She just arrived.”
I glanced in the direction of the foyer, my palms damp. Karen stood out of the way wearing a tight-fitting blue dress, talking to my brother and Amelia. The day of their wedding was supposed to be the last time I had to endure her presence.
They exchanged a few sentences, and Karen walked in further, her eyes darting from wall to wall, taking in the exhibition. Nick joined me and Thomas, letting Karen wander around.
“You had no right to invite her here,” I seethed dabbing a finger into his chest. “Show her the door or I will.”
“Stop acting like a spoilt brat,” Nick hissed. “She’s your mother. Do you think Mel would treat her parents like this if they suddenly showed up even though they abandoned her?”
“I don’t care what Mel would do,” I whisper-shouted. “This is me. This is my life, and you don’t get to decide what’s best for me!”