Page 102 of Real Fake Husband

Matilda gives me a bright smile and a nod. “That’s right. This coming Monday. It’s the perfect day. Monday’s the first day of the month. I haven’t forgotten—your obligations as Cal’s wife will be done on Sunday evening. You’ll be back in your old apartment and regular life. See, I’ve thought of everything. I even set up an appointment with a lawyer with the plan to hopefully sign the papers next Friday. How exciting is that? You’ve got a whole week to get the hang of things, and I’ll be here every day to help out and answer any questions you’ve got. Wait, it gets better. Instead of you shadowing me over the next few weeks, I’m going to shadowyou. Let you get a feel for it before I officially step down. How does that sound?”

It sounds terrifying. Not because I can’t do it, but because the whole thing about taking over the diner is getting serious. I should be happy. After all, this is what I’ve been working towards. This was the agreement between Matilda and me. The Diner has always been an integral part of my future, even after I found out about the inheritance.

“Great. Whatever you think is best.”

Matilda’s smile widens, and she reaches out to pat my hand. “I’m so happy that you agreed to take over. Knowing the old girl is in good hands makes me feel better about retiring.”

At that, I smile back and squeeze her hand. “You’ve done so much for me over the years, Matilda. You’ve been like a mother to me.” I need to tell her this, to get it out, because it’s true. In her eyes, I see she needed to hear my words as well. “I can’t even begin to repay you for your kindness and support. I hope this is a start.” When her warm eyes meet mine, I feel terrible. I need to believe I’m making the right decision. Because I am.

* * *

When I arrive home that night, I take a moment to catch my breath. Cal isn’t home.

Kicking out of my shoes, I decide to take advantage of the sudden burst of energy I have and start to pack my things. There’s so much more stuff than I had when I arrived on my first day, and what I do have has made its way around the apartment.

Especially my art supplies.

Luckily, Cal hasn’t given me a hard time about it. I toss my phone to the side and scramble around the room to collect my sketchbook and canvases. Looking at all the many drawings in my hands makes my heart ache. I flip through the pages of my book.They are so good.Surprisingly, there are many good ones.

I flip, and flip, and flip, feeling happier as I go.

A card falls out.

I pick it up, and see it’s the art gallery business card.

I stare at it, flipping it around in my fingers. For once, I can’t find a single excuse for not calling Bryce Armbruster.

What it boils down to: I hate being stagnant.

And, Cal’s right—I have to take a risk.

I have to shoot my shot.

After not even one minute of collecting and organizing my things and mulling things over in my brain, I’ve made a decision that even flusters me.

I’m going to call the art gallery guy.

You know, give the good old impulse another shot.

Right now.

Because honestly, screw off, Professor Osgood Ramstraat. Screw. You. Screw you, and your mean, stupid article, and for being such a jackass on the biggest day of my life. I’m going to prove you and the whole art world wrong. For years, your criticism was my mantra—I’m not good enough.

It’s over. Revenge is a dish best served cold, so they say. My revenge burns like a thousand fires—and it is a need to prove Ramstraat wrong.

I can draw.

I am an artist.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr.Chumphead, I have an important phone call to make.

The art world is waiting.

Gosh, I miss the girl I was before the review.

Talking to Kaylin’s friend Bryce won’t hurt—at all. I take out my phone and dial his number with trembling fingers.

“Hi, this is Josephine,” I say. “I got your number from my friend Kaylin, who’s a friend of a friend.”

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