Page 32 of Shame

“Hasn’t happened to me yet.” He leans in. “Only five in the world is still a pretty exclusive club, you know what I mean?”

“Mmm.” It’s something to think about for sure. It would be easier for me to recreate some of my existing pieces rather than start a whole new collection right now.

My brain is not up for being a full-fledged creator. But creative mechanic? I could swing that.

“Maybe we should grab a coffee sometime. Talk more about the business end of things. Compare…processes. Do you like visitors to your studio?”

I absolutely hate that. “It depends,” I say with a coy smile. “What’s in it for me?”

His eyes flash with a feral heat. “That’s up to you.”

The door swings open and Alex walks in. I twist away from Damien, not that I’m doing anything wrong.

If Alex notices my cheeks are pink, he doesn’t say anything. He joins us and slings his arm over my shoulder. “How’s my favourite artist doing?”

I laugh as Damien insists he’s great, and Alex gives him the finger.

“But, Grace, I’m serious…” Damien grabs my hand and rubs his thumb over my wrist. There’s no way Alex will miss that. “I want to talk business later.”

“Uh huh,” I murmur as Alex steers me away.

He brushes his lips against my ear. “I should have warned you about Noble. He’s a bit…hedonistic.”

“It’s kind of the theme of the whole show,” I murmur. “It’s fine.”

“He’s harmless.”

I doubt that, actually, but I’m not going to tell Alex I’m suddenly painfully aware of people who don’t care about boundaries like marriage vows.

Obviously to my inner storm, Alex changes the subject. “Are you ready for the show?”

“Yep.” This is safer territory, even though I’m not going to give him a completely honest answer. I give him a bright smile. “Can’t wait.”

He hesitates. “How’s Luke?”

“He would be able to tell you best,” I hedge.

“He’s not taking my calls.”

“Oh.” I frown. “Well…”

“I don’t want to pry,” he says hastily. “If it’s…personal?”

I lean into him and give him a hug. “You’re a good friend, Alex. Give him some space, maybe.”

“Is he going to come to the show?”

“We talked about that just this morning,” I say, which is a factual statement that leaves out an entire novel worth of asterisks and caveats. “I think so.”

He better. If Luke doesn’t show up on opening night, I’m never speaking to him again.

* * *

By the timeI get home, the plump, squishy part at the top of my thighs is bulging out the top of my stockings, and I’m glad nobody is around to see me strip out of the ridiculous outfit.

Climbing into familiar around-the-house clothes feels better.

I had fun with my little performance, but that’s not who I am. I look at the text message Luke sent back to me immediately after I sent that photo from the elevator.

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