“I… you bought your own painting?” I asked.
He smiled. “I put it up without thinking that anyone would actually be interested in buying my work. When I realized that my pieces were popular, I wanted to take it down before someone decided to buy it. Except that Gordon refused to do that because it meant foregoing his cut of the painting. So I paid him off.”
I shook my head. “But why?”
“Because I thought that you and I were really over,” Devlin admitted. “And I realized that that painting might be the only thing I would have left of you. And I knew I couldn’t give that up… no matter how many thousands I was offered.”
“Wow,” I breathed.
“I love you, Zoey… and that’s never going to change. The only thing that is going to change is that from now on I will tell you everything… full transparency… always.”
I nodded. “Good… because this time we have to do it right.”
“I agree… no more mistakes and no more lies,” Devlin promised me, as he stroked my hair and kissed me gently on the lips
And despite everything… I believed him. “Hey,” I said, cupping his face with my hand. “I have an offer for you?”
“Oh?” Devlin asked, and he sounded intrigued. “What is it?”
“I just moved into this apartment,” I said.
Devlin looked around as though he were seeing it for the first time. “It’s nice.”
“Thanks,” I said. “So anyway… I just moved in, but I can’t afford to stay here alone. I need a roommate.”
“Oh yeah?” Devlin asked, with a knowing smile.
“You know anyone who’s interested?”
“What are your requirements?” Devlin asked innocently.
“Someone… tall, handsome… good in the sack,” I said.
Devlin laughed. “I know a guy,” he said. “He lives in a basement at the moment.”
“We can’t have that,” I said. “Tell him there’s a room for him here.”
Suddenly Devlin’s face grew serious. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Are you really sure?”
I nodded with certainty. “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure about you.”
39
Devlin
I stared at the check that Gordon had written out in my name. It was the second most beautiful thing I had seen in my life. The first of course was Zoey, and then it was this. It wasn’t the check itself; it was the numbers scribbled across it in Gordon’s flamboyant air.
“Seven thousand, eight hundred dollars,” I read out loud because I needed to process it.
“I obviously deducted the amount you owed me for The Muse,” Gordon said defensively.
“What? Oh right… yeah… that’s fine.”
“It was a successful exhibition,” Gordon said. “In no small part due to my attention to detail.”
“And your perfectionism.”
“I prefer to think of it as attention to detail,” Gordon continued.