Page 44 of The Substitute Fiancée

“I saw the photos you sent,” he begins, taking his seat. “And I must say, your style truly intrigues me. There’s a sensitivity in the way you treat light. An emotion that comes through.”

My heart starts racing.

“Thank you, it’s—”

He raises a hand, stopping me with a smile.

“I’m prepared to take three of your paintings on trial.”

No. That can’t be real. I must be dreaming.

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Ms. Chevalier?”

“I… yes. Yes, sorry. It’s just… thank you.”

He smiles, clearly used to artists’ emotional reactions.

“Just so we’re perfectly clear,” he says, “this is a consignment agreement for a period of three months, not a purchase. We’ll set the prices together, and in the event of a sale, the commission will be split fifty-fifty. The works remain under your name. They’ll be held on consignment and insured by the gallery. There will be no exclusivity for now. Let’s first see how the public responds.”

Three paintings on trial for three months.

It’s an incredible opportunity.

“Thank you… thank you so much,” I murmur, my throat tight.

He smiles indulgently at my barely contained enthusiasm, then slides a contract toward me.

“Take your time to read it. If you agree with the terms, initial each page and sign the last one. You’re welcome to take it with you if you’d like to have it reviewed.”

“No, no. I’ll read it now.”

My hands tremble slightly as I take hold of the document.

I lower my eyes to the paper. The black lines seem to waver—adrenaline, no doubt.

What’s happening now is far more than a simple exhibition.

It’s a door cracking open.

A future within reach.

15. Public Fallout

Samantha

I’m floating on a little cloud when I get home. I still can’t quite believe it.

A gallery accepted me. A real gallery.

Levasseur Art Gallery, no less.

Euphoria wraps around me—light, almost unreal. All I want is to tell Emelyne and Mara. Just imagining their reactions makes me smile to myself as I walk down the street.

Too happy, too excited, I don’t pay attention to my surroundings, even though it’s already dark.

As I’m about to open the door to my building, a hand suddenly grabs me and yanks me violently backward. I don’t even have time to understand what’s happening. A sharp, brutal blow explodes against the side of my face.