Page 101 of More Than I Can Bear

There was something ever so slightly tremulous about her voice, but Mum forged on, staring across the table at me.

“We all—”

“She—”

“This is—”

“Yes,” I said, cutting through everyone and everything, facing down the family I loved with the family I’d made sitting around me. I wanted them to get along, to join the two parts of my life together, but I wouldn’t compromise. I couldn’t. Just like the time I told them I wanted to be an artist. It’d been a painful process, followed by a whole lot of shouting, but we’d gotten through it together. I willed them to understand itt, to accept us, to see what I saw, when Mum turned to Dad.

“I saw an article about this on the news. Polymorphy they call it?”

“Polyamory,” I corrected with a smile.

“When multiple people love each other and want to spend their lives together, making each other happy,” Kaine explained, then reached over and took my hand. “That’s what we want to do for your daughter. She means the world to us and we are hoping that the people she loves the most in the world can support that relationship.”

Dad crossed his arms and regarded the table with a long look.

“I know Adams is a Glenelg man, but what about the rest of you? You’re not Port supporters, because I can’t abide my daughter getting into a relationship with a Magpie fan.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” River said, leaning forward to take my other hand. “Tigers all the way.”

Chapter51

Freya

“So who is this Cressida?” Jack asked, her heels making a rapid click, click, click sound as we walked across the car park towards the Bear Claw Gallery. She stopped and eyed the tattoo shop, as if seeing it for the first time. “And this is the hot new gallery you were talking about?”

“Yes, it is and it’s amazing, so I don’t need super protective Jack right now, I need open minded Jack. I invited you along to make sure the contract was on the up and up—”

“OK, fine,” she said with a huff, then strode over to the front door and jerked it open. It didn’t stop her from scanning the flyers on the door, then the view inside. Yeah, the protective part was still in full swing, she was just masking it real well. But she couldn’t mask this reaction when we walked inside.

Cressida was standing at her desk, a black lacquered thing of majesty, looking like an eighteenth-century antique that had been given a goth makeover. She was wearing perilously high patent black heels, fishnet stockings, a pencil skirt that nipped in severely at the waist and knees and a black bustier that displayed a wealth of black and white tattoos across her shoulders.

“Ah…”

Jack took an abortive step forward, frowned, her mouth falling open as she took the other woman in. I didn’t think it was in response to Cress’ more edgy fashion sense, but something else altogether. I hadn’t heard much about Laila, Jack’s ex-girlfriend, for a little bit, which made sense. My bestie was crushed every time shit went wrong, but she bounced back quickly.

And, from the look of things, potentially right into Cress’ arms.

I smiled wickedly, all of my nerves about this meeting suddenly dissipating.

“Hi, I’m Cress,” the woman said, clicking over and offering me her perfectly manicured hand. I shook it and then turned to Jack.

“I’m Freya and this is my best friend and PR manager, Jack Maynard.”

I watched Cress’ gaze lift to take in Jack, scanning my friend’s face. Did Cress’ eyes widen slightly? Did her lips part? Did Jack’s drop down to take in those perfectly painted black curves and stay there for far too long? Damn, everything was looking up right now, but this was one step better.

“Jack?” I prompted.

“Shit, sorry, yes, Jack Maynard.” Jack took Cress’ hand but rather than shake it, she just held it. “And Freya already said that.”

“She did.” Cress’ lips quirked in a small smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Jack.”

“Likewise.” Jack extricated her hand with a rueful look. “So, Freya said you were interested in offering her a show at your gallery?”

It was easy to see why Bear Claw had earned such a great reputation. Apparently the building was a blacksmith’s forge back in the day, but it’d since been renovated. The walls were covered with a thick whitewash that still allowed the texture of the old stones to come through, and the knotty pine floorboards had been stripped and sanded to a soft glow. But it was the artwork that drew me forward, just like the last time I was there.

It was as if all the ‘rules’ about subtle colours and good taste that were shoved down our throats at university were pushed to one side. What was on the walls was raucous, savage, alive. Grotesque creatures and cute ones sat side by side on canvases or in small sculptures, as well as riotous patterns and free splatters of paint.

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