And maybe, someday, when all of that has passed, I’ll be able to show you this letter. Then you’ll start to understand, if only a little. I’m sorry for everything.
I love you, Madeline Thorne.
Hot tears were brimming in my eyes. I folded the letter up again, quickly, shoving it back into the box and hurriedly fumbling the lid back on. I hurried back to the closet and shoved it back into the compartment, which was as far as I got before I crumpled up on the floor and let myself cry.
Finally, I picked up my phone and hit the speed dial for Daniel. My throat tightened and my heart thumped in my chest as it rang and rang and rang, finally clicking over to his voicemail.
I hung up.
Taking a deep breath, I reached back into the closet and pulled out the box again. I took out the letter, unfolding it and smoothing it across my lap. His hand was still so even and elegant, even as he wrote something like this.
I went to his dresser and laid it out, carefully, weighting down the corners with a couple of cufflinks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the morning of the showing, I woke up early. And alone. I looked at the phone on my bedside table and thought about calling Daniel again, but I still couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.
"Ready for your big night?" Lindsey said, brightly, when she saw me in the kitchen.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "What should I wear, do you think?"
"Something flirty," she said. "But still semi-formal. You want to seem approachable, right?"
"Well, I don't know about that," I said. "But I'm hoping there won't be much of a presence from the media. Curtis didn't tell anyone that I'd be there."
"Ooh, you're the surprise guest? How romantic. Okay. Let's see what you've got."
She helped me rummage through my closet for a while, finally pulling out a slightly asymmetrical black cocktail dress that fell mid-thigh at its shortest point. I'd never actually worn it; it always seemed a little too sassy for more formal events, but still not quite right for something casual, either.
"You think?" I asked her, holding it up in front of me in the mirror and trying to imagine how it would look - me, the disgraced billionaire's wife, showing that much thigh at an art gallery.
"You're a featured artist. I don't think there's a dress code." Lindsey laughed. "And even if there was one, I'm sure that would be just fine." She went for my jewelry box and started picking through it.
"I guess," I said, sitting down heavily on the bed. "Pantyhose, or no?"
"I dunno, will they even be able to tell in that lighting?" She held up a pair of silver earrings that almost looked like little bunches of grapes. I couldn't remember buying them. "What about these? They're sort of fun and elegant at the same time."
"Sure," I said. "I almost wish the paparazzi would show. Let them see me ready for my close-up."
"Oh, they don't care about that. That's boring." She held the earrings up on either side of my face, tilting her head to look at them. "I mean, they might show up if you tip them off. I did some design work on a house - I'm not allowed to say whose, but it's somebody you'd know. His publicist had every single trashy newspaper and gossip blog on speed dial. It was completely ridiculous. He got pissed if he went to Starbucks and there weren't candid shots of him in line plastered all over the internet by the time he got home."
"God. I can't imagine."
Lindsey shrugged. "It's a different world, you know? That's what some people live for."
"I just want people to maybe like my paintings," I said. "Then I'd be happy."
She looked at me, serious for a moment. "Is that really all you need?"
"Well, you know," I said. "And maybe some other stuff too."
She smiled.
***
Lindsey had been right about one thing - the lighting in the gallery was incredibly dim, with the room mostly illuminated by the individual light sources that were dedicated to each work on display. I got there early, and I had to rap on the door for Curtis to let me in.
"Hey, sweetie! I'm so glad you could make it!" He clasped my hand as I walked in. "How are things going?"
"Well," I said. "Do you want a real answer, or just pleasantries?"
"Real answer, always. Of course."
"Not great," I said. "I mean, things were going better, but then I f**ked up. As usual."
"How so?" He took my coat and went to hang it up in his office.
"It’s weird," I said. "We were able to successfully petition for a new judge, so we got exactly what we wanted. But afterwards, I just felt worse. And I ended up starting a fight about something stupid."
"That’s understandable," said Curtis. "You’ve probably been bottling everything up for months because you didn’t want to add to the general stress, and now that things are better, you can’t really tamp them down anymore."
"Yeah, I guess." I shook my head at the memory. "I had a couple beers, and all of a sudden it seemed like a good time to hassle him about a bunch of things that don’t really matter. You’re right, there’s a lot I’ve been ignoring. This journalist who’s been flirting with him…and, you know, other stuff…" I certainly wasn’t going to get into the prototype lawsuit now.
"Well," he said. "Couples fight about things like that all the time. I'm sure you'll bounce back just fine. It's not like anyone really did anything wrong." He glanced at me. "Right?"
"Right," I said. "As far as I know." I was talking about the prototype, but I was really talking about Gen, too.
He raised his eyebrows slightly.
"I mean - I don't really think anything happened," I said. "But does it really matter? I mean, ultimately what I want is for him to want to be with me. If he stays with me out of obligation even though he'd rather be with someone like her, it feels like winning on a technicality."
"I'm sure that's not true," he said. "I’m sure he’s with you because he wants to be, because you’re not like all the people who hang on him because of his money and his reputation."
"He's said stuff like that before," I agreed. "But I don't really understand. Like…if he was interested in just any old average woman, he could go down to the grocery store and pick one up just like anybody else could. He doesn't have to be with models and heiresses if he doesn't want to."
"But you're not ordinary," said Curtis, softly. "You're pretty extraordinary, actually, I think."
I felt my ears turning red. "Thanks," I said. "But a lot of people can draw."
"I'm not just talking about that." Curtis took a step towards me, and I didn't step back. "You're…I mean…I don't know you well, but honestly, I know exactly what he sees in you. I can't really explain it." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I - this is weird. I'll shut up."
"No, it's okay," I said, smiling. "This is…it's nice to hear. Sometimes I never know when Daniel is being…you know, genuine."
"More than you think, I'm sure," said Curtis. "He's very…he's a very lucky guy."
I cleared my throat and looked up at him. His clear, gray eyes were fixed on mine. I felt myself turning up to him, further, almost as if -
"Oh, my God," we both said at almost the exact same time, stepping away from each other hastily.
"I'm so sorry," said Curtis. "Maddy, I'm really - I'm really really sorry. I never do this kind of thing. I - this show is crazy, I'm stressed out, it went to my head. I'm….I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," I said. "Really." I smiled, encouragingly, even though my legs felt like jelly. "I understand, we both got….caught up. But it's okay. We didn't…it's fine." I pushed my hair behind my ears, smoothing it and clearing my throat. "I'm going to go take a look at my installation and get ready."
"Of course," he said, staring at the floor. "I'll see you later on."
I hurried into the cramped bathroom on the other side of the gallery, considering splashing some cold water on my face until I remembered that it would ruin my makeup. I leaned on the sink, instead, taking a series of deep breaths until the red in my face started to disappear. I washed my hands, smoothed my hair again, and went back out into the gallery.
People were just starting to filter in. I grabbed a glass of champagne and a few mysterious little puff pastries, standing next to my installment like a kid at a science fair. Truth be told, I really had no idea what was expected of me. I mean, I knew in theory - but I felt incredibly awkward, shoving little hors d'oeuvres into my mouth and drinking down all my champagne in one go. I stood there, awkwardly holding my empty glass, and trying to figure out what I'd just eaten.
"Oh my God," I said, softly, to no one. "I think those were tiny Beef Wellingtons."
"They were," said Curtis, suddenly appearing beside me. "Smile, you're on camera. Not literally. But you know what I mean."
I let out a long breath. "Okay," I said. "I think I'm ready."
"Don't get too nervous. You barely need to do anything. Just stand here and look stunning, but that's not hard. I'm sorry. I just - I mean, you look great. But if someone asks you a question, just answer it. If someone wants to buy it, be extra nice. That's pretty much all you need to know. And I'm here if you need anything. I'll be mingling. Just look for me."
"Thanks, Curtis," I said.
"No problem." He smiled. "Now, I've got to go be social for a while."
He wandered over to a group of people that had congregated towards the back of the room. With me being the focal point, I could feel everyone's eyes being drawn to me as they walked in, but most seemed to lose interest quickly and keep moving. I wasn't sure if they just felt awkward that I was standing there, or if they thought my drawings were terrible. Either way, it wasn't terribly encouraging.
There were only a few other artists there, and none of them seemed to want to make eye contact. So I went to fetch another glass of champagne and tried not to wonder if I'd be standing her all night, alone and silent, watching everyone walk around me in droves.
When I turned back to my installation, I saw an older businessman type standing there, frowning at it.
"These are very beautiful," he said, matter-of-factly. "Very…simple. But I like that." He eyed me for a reaction.
"Thank you," I said.
"Oh, you're the artist?" he said. "Very lovely." His eyes drifted to the name plate, then back to my face, then back to the name plate again. I could tell he wanted to say something, but was perhaps thinking better of it.
"Yes, well," he said, at last. "I hope you keep drawing, I'd love to see more of your work."
I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it clearly wasn't going to lead to a sale tonight, so I went back for another round of appetizers and tried to sip more judiciously at my champagne. I had to survive the rest of the night standing on heels, after all. It probably wouldn't look too great if I had to lean on the free-standing wall just to stay upright.