Page 93 of Sin of Love

46

ONE MONTH LATER

“This is it.I can’t believe it.”

I nod, squeezing Nate’s hand. “It doesn’t seem real, does it?”

He shakes his head, glancing around the gallery with awe. “If you asked me ten years ago if I could see us here, now, being all fancy and shit, I’d tell you to stop smoking crack.”

My laugh is hard, genuine, and too loud. People milling around us give me the side-eye, but I ignore them. So does London, whose laugh is just as loud as mine.

Nate’s eyes mist as they return to me. “I’m so freaking happy for you, Dee. But I’m also in denial about you leaving tomorrow. I feel like I just got you back.”

“Same,” adds London, giving me puppy eyes. “Are you sure we can’t convince you to stay?”

“Not a chance,” I say, then laugh at their exaggerated pouts. “Just because I’m done with L.A. doesn’t mean I’m done with you two. Weekly Skype calls, remember? And now that you have a passport, Nate, you can visit us in Paris whenever you want.”

His pout vanishes, eyes brightening. “Travel safely.”

London gives him a playful shove. “Traitor.”

He shrugs, grinning, and they launch into a debate about the best time of year for a trip to Paris, and whether or not Dominic will let London leave the country without him. After what happened to her a few years ago, he’s a smidge overprotective.

The gallery is filling fast with an eclectic mix of artists, suits, and socialites. I spy my former colleague, Trent, across the room, and wave. Because of him and his contacts in the industry, this whole event was organized and executed in record time. He grins and gives me a nod, then bows his head to listen to whatever his date is saying.

On the other side of the room, I spot Gideon’s bright hair. For a minute, I admire him—and the man he’s talking to. We saw Finn briefly when we returned to the city, but he’s been overseas most of the last month for photoshoots.

Maybe I’ll give him to you for your birthday.

My face heats at the memory of Gideon’s words, and I down the rest of my water.

“I’m going to grab a refill,” I say, holding up my empty glass.

Still deep in discussion, Nate and London wave me off. I weave through bodies toward the bar, careful not to touch anyone, my gaze averted to discourage eye contact. After grabbing another glass of water, I retreat to a sparsely populated corner to people-watch. My nondescript dark clothes, messy bun, and minimal makeup help me blend in—I’m anyone. No one important.

I’m not being antisocial because I have to for self-preservation, or because I’m afraid or anxious, but because I can. I can do whatever the hell I want, because I don’t have to perform for anyone, for any reason. Not anymore. Not ever again.

When I asked Gideon what he expected of me tonight, what he wanted me to wear, who he wanted me to meet, et cetera, his answer was a laugh and, “Why are you asking me? I don’t care.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised, but old demons die hard. I’m still learning how to live separate from the roles I’ve either chosen or been forced to play all my life. And unlearning methods of survival that served me well for years, but ultimately cut me off from having real relationships.

Thank God for Nate and London. They’re my support group, my confidants, my therapists… Because of them, I’ve been able to air what happened during those eighty-four days. All the bare, warped, brutal details of my detour into Hell at the Devil’s behest.

Soon, I’ll tell Gideon about those weeks. Not everything. Not the worst of it, like the night in the dining room, which would only scar and haunt him. But enough. I owe us a chance to air out the past, then close the door on it.

“Lurking in a corner, I see,” says the object of my thoughts. I smile, turning to watch him sidle up to me.

My heart lights up at his nearness. Everything lights up. My body, my spirit, my mind. He’s helium. My road to freedom.

Shoulder against the wall near my head, his gaze strokes my features like he missed me even though we’ve only been apart an hour or so. And the weirdest part—I know it’s real. I believe, because I feel the same.

Unkempt in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair unbrushed and two days of red-gold hair on his face, Gideon nevertheless radiates majesty. He’s king here. Phrases have been floating through the air tonight, gaining power with repetition. I’m taking mental notes so I can tease him later.

“A once-in-a-generation talent.”

“Master of his art.”

“Second to none.”

---