Page 35 of Room 1003

Raising a skeptical brow, I said, “Don’t tell me you’re also a tailor.”

He laughed. “Well, I could take a pair of scissors and cut down the seam in the back so you can button the front, but I don’t think that’s the kind of help you want. I was more thinking you could borrow one of my jackets instead.”

It was the most obvious solution, short of wrapping myself in a bedsheet, so that was what I did. Even with my round belly, I was swimming in it. It nearly came down to my knees. It reminded me of when my grandmother would buy clothes for me when I was a kid. “They’re wearing them big these days,” she’d say with a laugh, but she really just wanted to make sure I had room to grow into it. Better too big than too small.

“Are you sure I don’t look stupid?” I asked for the umpteenth time as we approached the art gallery’s front doors.

“You always look perfect to me,” Ben replied, like the marvelous man he was.

The art gallery was salvaged and upgraded industrial space, so it had exposed brick walls and a refurbished hardwood floor marked with years of stains. The lighting was new, though, making the large room bright and inviting, and as we walked through the doors, my eyes were drawn immediately to my paintings on display. My breath caught. This whole experience was so surreal. Artists dreamed of this day, but it always seemed to feel just out of reach. There was only a slim margin of chance where “painting for passion” and “painting for paycheck” could overlap.

We got a few weird looks when we walked in the gallery, curious gazes trailing down my outfit, but the gallery owner saw me and swanned over, stopping me from second-guessing myself. “There’s our guest of honor,” he gushed, taking my hand, entirely ignoring the jacket’s awkwardly rolled cuff. “You are just in time. The first guests have begun to arrive.”

“Hi, Dante. Thank you so much for organizing everything. I really appreciate it.”

He shook his head sharply, his face taking on an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Are you kidding? I’m just glad you chose me. You’re going to be big, I can already tell.” I had originally approached them because I’d heard they were looking to fill a gap in their schedule after a last-minute cancellation. Even if they chose me out of desperation, I was grateful for the opportunity.

I had promised myself that I would keep my standards low. If a few people showed up, maybe said some nice things, I would be happy. But as the evening wore on, people started showing up—and I didn’t even know them!Strangerscame to my art show!

Dante brought people over to introduce them to the artist, and everyone smiled, friendly, praising my skills. It was probably just the alcohol, because of course Dante kept the champagne flowing. The man knew how to throw a party. Waiters navigated the crowd with trays of drinks expertly balanced. The guests were all decked out in gowns and tuxes, pearls and ties. Now I really felt like a slob in my oversized jacket. I picked at the cuff, trying to disappear in the crowd.

Ben, who was so in tune with my moods, planted himself behind me so I couldn’t back straight out the door. He leaned in and whispered in my ear, his whiskers tickling me in that way I loved, “Don’t you dare feel self-conscious. You’re a fucking star.”

“I am not,” I said, brushing off his praise and bumping him with my hip, but I could feel the blush taking over my face. It didn’t help when Ben snuck his hand under the hem of the jacket, massaging at my hip with his fingers.

That was the other part of the mood swings—along with anger and tears, I was also horny as hell. Like, all the time. I was halfway tempted to drag Ben into the bathroom with me when I heard a familiar voice shout over the subdued hum of the crowd, “Hey, Papa!”

I turned to find Kit zigzagging through the crowd toward us. My dad was following behind him. “Papa! This is so poggers!”

I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn’t know what to say. I assumed it was a compliment of some kind, but who knew anymore. Slang was forever changing. “Is that good?” I asked.

“Of course it is. It’s the best!”

“Oh, good. Thank you.”

Dante joined us, smiling at Kit before turning to look at me. “No, you know what’s poggers? Your paintings sold.”

I blinked at him owlishly. “What, like one of them?”

His smile widened, all orthodontically straightened teeth. “Nope. I meanallof them.”

I nearly choked on air, coughing, and Ben went and grabbed a glass of water from a waiter for me, pressing it into my hand. I sipped and cleared my throat to say, “Allof them? Are you sure? There must be some mistake.”

“Congratulations, Shane. You’re a star.”

“Told you,” Ben said, his smirk mostly hidden by his beard, but I knew his face almost better than I knew my own. Hell, I’d been sketching and painting every square inch of his body for months.

The night progressed in a sort of dreamlike state. People liked my paintings. Not just liked but loved enough to pay a significant amount of money for them! My bank account was padded in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time. I could pay my dad back the money I borrowed—with interest! Best of all, I finally had some room to breathe.

“You’d better cash those checks now, since I can finally afford to pay you,” I teased Ben, but he just laughed. He and Dmitri had already moved in with us, and we’d set up a joint bank account for our shared expenses, so he could go ahead and cash the checks, but the money would just end up right back where it started.

“Well, kids, it’s getting late,” my dad said, steering a much-subdued Kit by the shoulder. The poor kid was done. “I think someone’s had enough of the art scene for one night. I’ll take him home to bed.”

“Thanks for watching him, Dad.”

“Always my pleasure. Oh, and I almost forgot…” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, passing it to me. “Why don’t you two take the night off. It’s my treat.”

I stared down at the ornate brass key in my hand. “Dad! The Scarlet Hotel? You don’t have to—“

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