Page 118 of Rivals
I grunt and angle my foot to get the strap on, and then Lachlan’s long fingers wrap around my ankle. He kneels and places my ankle across his knee. He latches the strap and then sets it on the floor. Reaching for my other foot, he rubs his finger on the divot of my ankle before he puts my shoe on for me. Once he sets my heeled foot on the floor, he rubs his thumb over his lips while he takes me in. He groans a little, making the hairs on my arms stand at attention. “That’s my new favorite color,” he points to my lips. I purse them playfully. “Yeah, favorite color,” he grunts. I smile, leaning in to fix his shirt and bow tie, and he tilts his chin slightly, resting his hands on either side of my legs, still staring at my lips.
“Ready?” I ask him.
“Yes, we are,” he says, pulling me off the couch. He twirls me around, then dips me.
“Where did you learn to do that?”
He smirks and straightens us while keeping his hand on my lower back. “You forget, my love, that I was raised on proper everything, which includes ballroom dancing. We had cotillion in high school, and none of us had a choice. With all the dancing we’ve done, I’m surprised you’re just now noticing. “
“I don’t know what cotillion is, but I believe you.” He kisses my temple and leans his forehead against me, breathing me in.
“We’re going to be ok,” he says quietly. I can tell he’s saying that to himself and not to me. I lift my arms around his neck and tuck my nose under his jaw.
“We will be ok. Whatever happens, happens.”
He squeezes me a little tighter. “Whatever happens, happens,” he repeats. I nod, and we head out the door. Our future will be determined by people we don’t know. The lack of control over our current situation should be making me keel over in anxiety, but I’m surprisingly ok for now. It’s my turn to hold us up. Lachlan is nervous and unsure. It’s my turn to be sure for us.
The bus dropped the artists off early before everyone else got here. I brought a tote with anything we may need to touch up our work in case it got damaged during transport. Please, dear God, don’t let it be damaged. If it is, I might break, and then Lachlan and I will really be in for it.
The event is being hosted in a ballroom. It is stunning, classic, and timeless. The tablecloths and centerpieces are all black or white, so it doesn’t detract from the art on display. The way it’s set up is unique. It doesn’t feel like a gallery opening so much as an event in and of itself. There are no fake walls set up to hang things on them. Acrylic stands hold the paintings up at eye level, making them feel like they are floating in the air. If there is a sculpture or pottery, they sit on acrylic pedestals of various heights. My stomach churns as we approach our piece. It fits in with the others, meaning we have the same level of work presented.
But ours stands out for its style and how it was put together. Everyone else stayed relatively traditional, whether on a large-scale painting, pottery, or sculpture. All we can do now is hope we didn’t go too far outside the traditional that it turns people away. I had that feeling in my gut when Lachlan told me about the idea. It was just out there enough that it would do exactly what it’s doing—speak for itself.
We circle our six-foot column, inspecting it for any little scratch or dent, but I don’t spot anything. I glance at Lachlan, and he’s frowning at the same place I told him to leave alone yesterday. “What do you think?” I ask him.
He slides his other hand into his pocket and looks at me. “Whatever happens, happens,” he says again.
“I need a drink,” I mutter. I head for the bar with the champagne tower off to the side. Lachlan comes up behind me and orders two gin and tonics. I peer at him under my eyelashes. His jaw twitches like he’s trying to hide a smile because he remembers the drink I ordered when I was on a date with another man.
“Yes, I remember,” he mutters. The bartender slides our drinks over on a fancy napkin, and I smile into my drink and take a sip.
“You are the most thoughtful man I’ve ever met,” I say quietly. His eyes flash, and I think I see a blush rise on his fine cheekbones.
He takes a drink, swallowing thickly, and says, “Only for you, Revna. It’s only ever been for you.” My mouth goes dry, and I take another sip, even though I want to down it. He makes my blood rush through my body and my heart pump like I’m running a marathon. This man stole my heart, but I think I let him take it because I noticed it worked better in his hands. He might be the death of me.
***
The night has gone well so far. Lachlan and I watched from afar at a table. I know Lachlan and I aren’t the talking-to-possible-patrons type. We were asked questions about our inspiration, and I let Lachlan do the talking. He seems to be better with that than me.
An announcement is made that the finalists will be selected in an hour, and bidding for the works will start promptly after. “Welp, here we go,” he mutters to me. I nod and reach for his hand. We stand by our piece to wait for the judges. I hate this part. My body feels all twitchy. I’m uncomfortable, and I want to run. I understand the purpose of judging, but I’ve never been able to separate myself from the work I create. It is an extension of me. If you judge it, you judge me.
Lachlan slides his hand around my waist, and I relax into his touch. I’m supposed to be the strong one right now, and I’m incapable. “Breathe, baby,” he says into my ear.
My cheeks puff like a blowfish, and I release a slow breath. His fingers tap on my stomach again, and he tugs me tighter, telling me good job. I watch the judges slowly make their way over to us. Blood rushes in my ears, and a bead of sweat runs down my spine. It’s fine, everything is fine. Whatever is supposed to happen is supposed to happen.
We’re up next. The judges are at the large painting that speaks to cubism and is done in graffiti. It’s interesting, to say the least. Lachlan’s hand tenses on me, and I put mine over him to anchor him, or maybe I’m just trying to steady myself.
The three judges step to ours next. Lachlan and I are far enough away from it that they can walk around it to get the full experience. I kept staring at it because I noticed something dried funny, but I kept my mouth shut. I knew it would make it worse for him if I told Lachlan. It is what it is, and we can’t change it now.
Nonetheless, I’m going to puke. I know it. The little food I managed to choke down is about to reappear all over the judges’ feet. One of them leans into the other to whisper something.
They hate it, I knew it.
“If you lose it, I’m going to lose it, little bird,” he says into my ear. I nod and keep my eyes on the judges, breathing through the blood-boiling anxiety. They stay at our piece a little longer than the others because there’s more to look at. At least, that’s what I tell myself unless they are picking it apart. In that case, we’re done for. We’re not just going home. We’redone.
They finally make their way from us and to the last few pieces. I let a breath loose, and Lachlan links his fingers through my hand, spinning me. “Let’s go get some air,” he says, tugging me behind him.
“But what if they announce the—“
