Page 92 of Trailer Park Billionaire
Tell the truth?
“I’m not here about the art,” I admit, instantly realizing how strange that must sound in an art museum.
Elaine cocks her head, confused and possibly a little intrigued (and maybe also concerned for my sanity). “You’re not?” she asks. “Then why are you here?”
I exhale through my nose and motion for her to sit back down in her chair. “Because of Helena,” I explain.
She leans in, now definitely intrigued. “Go on.”
“Well… I wanted to talk to you. About her. Because you two seem close, and I thought maybe you could help…”
Elaine smiles faintly, but doesn’t interrupt.
I start pacing through her office. Because apparently, instead of being good at running cons, I’m now good at running my mouth and sweating.
“Well, she’s brilliant, and funny, and gifted, and terrifying in the best way. She looks at me like she sees every part of who Iam… and somehow still doesn’t run away screaming. She’s also so pretty I’mthisclose to commissioning a portrait of her just so I can stare at it whenever she’s not around.”
Elaine lets out a quiet laugh.
I stop pacing and meet her eyes.
“And I don’t want to screw it up. Which is unfortunate, because I already know I will. There’s no way around it. It’s… fate.”
Elaine studies me for a moment. Then she says, “You’re worried you’re not good enough for her.”
I nod.
Of course, I’m not good enough.
Not only am I not good enough for her, I’m using her. To make this heist work.
“Well,” Elaine continues, “you’re right. You’re not good enough.”
Ouch.I know it’s true, but hearing it out loud still stings.
“But,” she says before I can fully sink into the floor, “no one is. Not really. Helena is… exceptional. She deserves the world served on a silver platter by someone who thinks she deserves the world served on a silver platter.” Elaine gives me a look. “But it’s not your call to make. Or mine. The only person who gets to decide whether you’re good enough is Helena herself. So maybe… you need to let her decide.”
The air shifts then. My heart stutters, or at least it would, if it wasn’t already halfway across the museum—with Helena, for her to do with as she pleases.
And for the first time today, I relax. I’m just... here. With Elaine. With the realization that I have truly fallen head over heels for this woman a few rooms over. That I’d give up every fake name and phony smile if it meant I could wake up next to her every morning.
Elaine lifts her glass. “To hopeless cases,” she says.
“To hopeless cases…” I repeat, then raise my glass, “and the fools dumb enough to try anyway.”
The moment I step out of the museum, the cool night air smacks me in the face like it knows exactly how close I came to blowing everything.
I exhale hard, loosen my tie (well, technically Alexei’s tie), and make my way toward the RV. The museum behind me is silent, but I swear it’s still buzzing. Or maybe that’s just me.
No, definitely me.
My nerves are still shot, my blood is still pounding, and every part of me is screaming one thing:
Helena.
I spot her the second I round the corner. Arms waving, mouth moving, hair bouncing as if even her ponytail is hopped up on adrenaline. Her tote bag is slung over her shoulder like a treasure.
She’s muttering to herself. Animated. Wired. Electric.
