Page 107 of Caper Crush
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I say.
“Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily.” He hugs me tightly and then releases me but keeps hold of my hand. I squeeze his in return. Holding hands, we walk around the exhibit. Vinnie still hasn’t texted back.
We circle the main room until I stop in front of one sculpture I like. It’s a stone hand holding another hand.
“I like this,” I say.
William tightens his grip of my hand. “Yes.”
We’re back together like last night didn’t happen. Just like that, without any drawn-out drama, we’ve moved past my freak-out behavior. I kiss him on the cheek.
“What’s that for?” he asks.
“I’m happy.”
“Do you want a drink? I realize you never got one.”
I nod. We walk over to the bar and wait in line behind some other patrons.
“I have no idea why Vinnie thought I should come see this exhibit,” I say.
“It doesn’t seem to be the same intensity as your work,” William says. The bartender moves to the other side of the bar. It may take a while to get drinks.
I don’t see Vinnie anywhere. I text him.
Me:Vinnie, I’m at the exhibit. Which painting did you want me to see ?
“We forgot to check out the alcove,” I say. “Let’s take a look, and then I’ll call him. And then we can get a drink.”
We head toward the alcove, still holding hands. It’s crowded in there, and I can’t see any of the artwork yet.
“Did you paint today?”
“Yes. You’ve now got a painting named after you.W 2:30.”
“What colors did you use?”
The group of people in front of the painting on the far wall suddenly moves on to the next, allowing us to see the piece. I stop short and grip William’s hand—hard.
“That’s my painting—copied.”
“Where?”
I point to the wall at the far corner.
I am hyperventilating. That’s a forged copy ofPlaying Around 1:30. I stride toward it.
William grabs me, stopping me. “What are you doing?”
“I am taking that down.”
“Think, Miranda, think.” His hands are on my shoulders. “This is a trap. Someone did this on purpose—to get a rise out of you.”
“They succeeded.” My voice breaks.
He pulls me to his chest and holds me tightly. “Let’s call Johnson and tell him. Can he seize it as a forgery?”
I peer out over his shoulder at the copy of my painting. My eyes water.Who is doing this? Why do they hate me this much?
