Page 90 of From West, With Regret

The scent of fresh paint lingers in the air, and undisturbed furniture is placed throughout the room. It’s interesting how Emily has used nature throughout even those pieces. Stools and tables look like sawed off trees. The walls and ceilings aredraped in artificial leaves and vines. It looks like we’ve stepped into the forest.

When I point out the sawed-off tree stumps, Emily explains how she wanted to showcase the beauty of nature and how man easily destroys it with no regard.

London nods in agreement, and I fall in love with her even more. If I thought that was possible.

Her gold rings glint in the subtle lighting of the gallery as she tucks her pin-straight, black hair behind her ear. Her lips are painted a deep purple-red, and fuck me, I want to kiss her, absorbing the happiness she’s feeling in this moment. I can see her dream of meeting Emily Rapture glowing in her eyes now she’s realized it’s her reality.

London is so fucking happy. Just like I’d seen her that day at Coney Island. Only this time, she’s with me.

It’s hard to explain, but being out here, surrounded by nature, stirs our souls. I can see it in London’s entire body. The way she carries herself. Like the air is lighter and she can breathe easier.

I was nervous, considering we’re in Upstate New York, but Emily’s new gallery isn’t as close as I thought it was to where London and I grew up.

Taking the weekend off, I’d decided to drive us up here ourselves, away from the stress of my bars and the city. Away from the knowledge that London has almost completed her twentieth piece, and I’ve already hired an event coordinator to plan the grand reopening of The Veiled Door.

After seeing the last piece of Emily’s work, the three of us saunter back to the entrance of the gallery.

“I don’t even know what to say, Emily,” London gushes. “This gallery is next level.”

The attendant standing at the front door hands us our coats. Aside from the three of us, there are only two others here. Oneman following about ten feet behind Emily, who I’m assuming is a member of her security team. And the attendant, who must work for the gallery in some capacity.

I hold London’s black coat out for her, and she slips her arms into it, still talking to Emily.

“Thank you. I wanted this gallery to be an immersive experience.” Emily grins, placing her hand over her chest. “I hope the both of you will return when we’re officially open.”

“Of course.” London beams, turning to me and slipping her hand in mine. “We would love to.”

“Absolutely,” I agree, looking between London and Emily. “Since you’ve been so gracious with letting us preview your gallery, I’d love to extend the invite to the reopening of my bar, The Veiled Door.” I gesture toward London. “We’ll be unveiling London’s pieces that she’s curated for it and auctioning off a few others.”

Emily’s jaw drops. “I would love to.”

“Really?” London gapes in disbelief.

“Of course.” Emily laughs. “From the work I’ve seen of yours, I would love to see them in person. Just email over the details, and you can count me in.”

London blushes. “I can’t believe you’re coming.”

Emily reaches out and gives London’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad your friend Holt got in touch. It’s always nice to meet a fellow artist that shares the same passion for their work as you do. Makes us feel less alone.”

“Agreed.” London nods. “Thank you.”

With that, London and I say our goodbyes and leave Emily’s gallery. I keep my hand wrapped around London’s the entire walk back to the car parked in the lot down the street.

It’s midafternoon, and unfortunately overcast. Heavy fog hangs low, hovering just above the dead leaves coating the ground. The trees of Albany are nearly bare, the promise of thecoming winter evident with every day that passes, and the temperature drops.

But that doesn’t detract from London’s mood.

Even in the misty air, she hasn’t stopped smiling.

“I know I’ve said this a million times,” London says, squeezing my hand, “but I can’t believe we’re here and that just happened.”

“This might be a foolish question,” I start, unable to contain myself. “But I need to ask. Was it worth the drive up here?”

London screeches to a halt. Her heel scrapes against the pavement as she spins to face me. Emily’s gallery is located on the outskirts of Albany, set in a small town wedged between the city and the more rural parts of New York. Although we’re outside of the city, we’re pretty isolated out here.

She tips her chin up. Although she’s wearing heels, she’s still a head shorter than me.

“Are you fucking kidding me, West?” Her eyes spread wide, full of happiness and awe. “This was incredible.”

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