Page 52 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

I couldn’t help it. Despite his innuendo, the indignant tone of Rochelle’s protests coupled with this man’s completely unbothered air made me break into a full grin.

“We met at my shop. Rochelle viewed one of my paintings and thought it had potential.”

He raised his brows. “Did she? Well, I’d be curious to see it myself. Rochelle has a knack for discovering pieces that show their value very well over time.”

A rush of pure pleasure raced through me at the thought that one of my pieces would be considered valuable, then Rochelle snatched my hand from Roger’s grip. “You won’t be seeing any of Tristan’s work. He’s mine and I’m not sharing him.”

I was struck with panic. What did she mean by that?

Roger kept his gaze on me and smiled coyly. “But my love, we used to be so good at sharing.”

“Not anymore!” She scoffed and turned; her grip tight on my hand as she led me away.

I didn’t dare to interrupt her as she led us outside into the warm, Soho air. The symphony of honking cars, sirens, and endless chatter of people coming and going was a stark contrast to the close-door event. It was like another world in there. A glamorous, bright world of indifference.

She stared over the balcony, at the busy street below us, and breathed in, letting my hand go so she could grip onto herself. I watched her, letting time stretch without a word, thrusting my hands into my pockets.

She faced me, and I was surprised to find tears in her eyes as she said, “Roger and I used to be married, and I was his personal curator. We would go to showings, and he would buy whatever piece of art I decided had value. He’d do it without question, as if my opinion was all that mattered, and it was all so wonderful back then. We were together for years, building his collection. It took a while before I realized he’d been cheating on me.”

“Oh, Rochelle. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “That’s no reason to be sorry. Rich men cheat, don’t they? I constantly hear about how the most faithful and devoted of wives are pushed aside for the next hot thing. I knew it was coming. Roger was so… he was fun and smart and sexy. He was wealthy, interesting and cultured. And who was I? Just some pretty girl with a passion for art. Obviously, he cheated. I expected it.”

She shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. “Still, when I found out, it hurt more than I thought it would. But I couldn’t let him go. So… I curated people for him instead. I chose who he would cheat on me with. Then when he got bored enough with that, he asked me to share with him. I’ve had more passionless three-ways than I’d care to admit.”

Her laugh was wet, filled with pain, and I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t seem right to put my arms around her… it wasn’t my place. So I stood still, nodded and waited for her to say more.

“I finally realized I was worth more than he was willing to give me, and I left believing he must’ve valued me somewhere along the line. After all, he’d made me feel valued… once. Instead, he let me go with a parting gift. A picture of him with another woman, and scribbled on the back was: The next Rochelle, isn’t she a work of art?”

Her tears fell; full, hoarse sobs that shook her shoulders, and I couldn’t just stand there. I handed her a napkin from a nearby table and watched as she wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been to go through.”

She shrugged, then closed the gap between us to lean on my chest. I tensed, not wanting the contact but not knowing how I could refuse her while she was so upset. I put an arm around her and patted her shoulder blades. It must’ve seemed awkward to onlookers, but what else could I do?

“Maybe that’s why I felt like I couldn’t just ask you to be my date,” she admitted against me. “I had to offer to trade something in the hopes you’d… I don’t know… maybe you’d come to like me eventually? If I showed you what I could give you?”

I took a breath and struggled to let it out. “Rochelle, I…” would never have said yes if I’d known. I want someone else. I need someone else. I can’t do this.

But I couldn’t say the words. Not with her so upset, looking for comfort. So instead, I said, “I don’t need a gallery showing, Rochelle. You shouldn’t feel that… that’s the only thing you have to offer.”

She shifted and pushed more of her body against mine, her hands gripping onto me. Looking up, she met my eyes, a coyness in her voice as she said, “I could show you what else I have to offer, if you like.”