Page 77 of None Of Your Business

“Obviously I can. I’m choosing not to.” He takes another step toward the third canvas. “Do stop hovering. You’re breathing on my neck.”

I take a step back.

Twenty-one days. That’s all I have left.

Twenty-one days until this room is full of people holding champagne and discussing my work as if I’m not standing three feet away.

Fifteen days until installation starts.

A week until the final press images go out.

Somewhere in there, I need to decide what goes on the end wall.

The very large, very blank end wall I’ve been deliberately avoiding looking at since I walked in.

I thought showing Alistair these would make me feel better. That it would be proof.

See? I did it.

I didn’t disappear.

I didn’t leave you with an empty gallery again.

Instead, I’m watching him stare at the evidence and wondering if I’ve somehow failed in a completely new way.

Finally, he steps back and turns, but his face gives me nothing.

“Well?”

He smiles. “Spectacular.”

I look at the paintings. “Spectacular?”

“Don’t become irritating. Yes. Spectacular.”

The word settles inside me, but I don’t trust it yet.

“These hurt to look at.” He points to the couple at the dining table. “There is extraordinary loneliness in this one.”

I stay very still.

“They could touch. That’s what makes it painful. If you’d put them at opposite ends of a room, I’d understand the distance and move on. But you’ve put them within reach.”

He moves to the second. “This one is worse.”

“Worse good?”

“Yes, darling. Keep up.”

I smile despite myself.

“You’ve always understood bodies.”

“That’s a weird compliment.”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “I’m discussing your work, not propositioning you.”

“Just checking.”