Page 111 of Muddy Messy Love

Likely not used to being questioned, Gloria flinches but recovers in a nanosecond and warmly smiles. She cradles my elbow reassuringly. “Avery, I have an exceptional eye, a top-notch reputation, and extremely wealthy clientele who won’t bat an eyelid at handing over that kind of money if they love a piece. You’ll be my shiny new breakthrough artist—the one to watch and invest in now. The question is, areyouready, my dear?”

I stare at her as I search my insides. They scream in terror, but I ignore them. No one and nothing will cost me this opportunity. “You bet I am.”

“Who was that?”

Mum’s voice Tasers me as I close the front door behind Gloria, and I spin to face her, clutching my chest. “Shit, you scared the crap out of me. I didn’t hear you come home.”

Draped against Beth’s bedroom door frame, Mum arches a brow. “Well?” She taps impatient fingernails against the glossy paint, but not even she can wipe the grin from my face. I can’t wait to tell Cole.

“Gloria Browne,” I reply. “Owner of Green Bird Gallery.”

I glide past Mum towards the kitchen. Her footsteps patter behind. “And what did she want?”

Hesitant to answer, I open the freezer door in search of dinner, but the excitement is too damn much. I want to tell the world. Mum included. “I just booked my first ever exhibition. It opens in two and a half weeks.”

“Oh,” Mum says as I close the freezer door, frosty box in hand.

I rip open the cardboard and shove the plastic tray of chicken risotto into the microwave, then turn around. “Just ‘oh’?”

Mum rolls her eyes and drops to sit on a barstool at the island, sliding a gossip magazine closer to her. “Well, what would you have me say?” She flips open the busy cover, flaunting the latest celebrity fail.

“Um, maybe ‘congratulations,’ ‘way to go,’ ‘that’s wonderful.’ It’s kind of a big deal, you know.”

Mum sighs. “Well, congratulations, then. Is that better?”

I return her eye roll, shaking off her apathy. It’s unfair to expect everyone to be as excited as me, but I hope Cole is, at least. And Beth too. Jen will be for sure.

The microwave beeps, and steam sizzles from the bubbling risotto when I open the door. I slide the plastic tray onto a dinner plate.

“Will lover boy be dropping by tonight?” Mum asks.

Grabbing a fork from the drawer, I glance over my shoulder. Mum licks her index finger and flips another page. “Later,” I reply, settling down on a barstool opposite. Mum will be asleep by the time Cole comes and not awake until after we leave for work. Crazy hours bring some perks, at least.

“He works late a lot, doesn’t he?” She flips another page, casually eyeing me before looking back down.

I swallow a mouthful of gluggy risotto, trying not to gag. It’s like eating Clag glue, and yes, I’ve tasted it. Hazard of the job. I shrug. “He has a firm to run. Law is notorious for horrific hours. Beth works the same.”

“Well, you’re braver than me,” Mum says, and I frown.

“What’s that meant to mean?”

Mum hitches her dainty shoulder. “If my man worked late every night, I’d assume he was having an affair.”

My heart stutters, and my fork clatters to the granite. Had the thought occurred to me? Sure. Most terrible thoughts do, but that’s one I quickly dismissed. However, now that Mum’s mentioned it too, maybe I shouldn’t have.

I pick my fork back up and force nonchalance. No. She’s just trying to rattle me. “Cole’s not like that.”

Mum chuckles her breathy laugh. The one that makes my skin itch. “That’s what all the wives and girlfriends think. None of us believe it will happen to us until, of course, it does.” She shrugs. “Men are men. Expecting them to look but not touch is like asking a toddler not to eat their candy.”

I shake my head, but knots bind my chest. “Men have more self-control than toddlers, Mum. They don’t all cheat, and Cole wouldn’t do that to me.” The words sound more confident than I feel, but I believe them. Mostly. I take another bite of Clag risotto and find it still tastes better than this conversation.

Mum traces a nude fingernail across her pouty bottom lip, staring at the two-page spread of Ariana’s gorgeous beach bod. “Hmm, I wonder how many female colleagues stay late with him?”

This time, I deliberately slam down my fork and glare at her. “What are you doing?”

Her head jolts up. “Whatever do you mean?” But beneath feigned innocence, turquoise sparkles in her eyes, and my skin grows hot.

I’ve been strong all week. Refused every bait. Fulfilled her requests, kept my distance, and ignored her veiled comments. But, alas, she’s finally cracked my armour and achieved her goal. I was in a good mood, goddamn it. “Why do you play thesegames? Do you want me miserable, is that it? Do you get some sick satisfaction from breaking me bit by bit?”

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