"What do you think?"
"You're different with her."
"Different how?"
"Happy."
"I am."
He teases me as she mingles. People lose interest in us. Turn their attention to Danielle.
She's as luminous as the sun. It's impossible to look away.
I finish another glass. Settle into the space.
Simon joins the three of us.
At nine, Danielle raises her glass, taps it with a fork.
Everyone turns to her.
"Hi, if you don't know, I'm the artist. Danielle Bellamy. This set is called The Promise. I made a promise to my model, that I wouldn't expose his identity. Some of you might guess, but he wanted to stay anonymous, and I wanted to honor that."
Half the room turns to me.
She presses on. "That was the seed of my inspiration, this promise I made to honor my model's wishes. Then it became more. The promises we make to ourselves. The promises we make to each other. The trust and vulnerability we share when we take off our clothes, invite someone to truly see us." Her eyes flit to me, then they're back on the room. "I asked a lot of my model. I asked him to trust me with pictures that… well, pictures that didn't make the set, pictures that most people would want to keep private."
A collective gasp fills the space.
"And more than that, I asked him to trust me with his fears, his hopes, his secrets. And he did. Even though it was hard. I want to thank him for that. For being so open and giving. And I want to thank all of you for coming. Enjoy. Drink wine. Eat cheese. Spend a lot of money." She takes a bow.
The room claps.
My stomach twists.
And right on cue, that asshole steps into the room.
Cole Fitzgerald. His jealousy is written all over his face.
It doesn't fill me the way it's supposed to.
Yes, his envy is killing him.
Who fucking cares?
He crosses the room to us. "Mr. Pierce." He extends his hand.
Liam shoots me a who the fuck is this asshole look, but he shakes.
"And Mr. Pierce." Fitzgerald looks at me like he's contemplating how he's going to destroy me. "Lovely to see you."
"Always, Cole." I shake.
Simon doesn't hide his disdain either. He ignores Fitzgerald's hand.
Fitzgerald tries to shrug it off, but everyone around us notices.
"Where's your wife?" Simon asks.
Fitzgerald's eyes fill with surprise.
Simon continues, "She's an art lover. Is there a reason you didn't bring her? Besides the obvious?"
Liam looks to me for a clue, but I stay quiet.
Simon knows something.
Does he know everything?
"Should we talk outside?" Simon asks. "Or do you want everyone to hear what I'm about to say?"
Fitzgerald plays along. "I could use some air."
"Of course." Simon motions after you.
Fitzgerald moves toward the door.
Then Simon.
Liam starts to follow.
I stop him. "Don't."
"What the fuck, Adam?" he asks.
"I'll explain later," I say. "Make sure Danielle is okay."
"Adam."
"Later." I follow them outside.
The crisp air hits me immediately. It's a cold night. With the tall buildings making wind tunnels, the entire city is howling.
Simon turns to me. For the first time in years, I read him like a book.
He knows. Maybe not everything, but he knows about Bash and Fitzgerald's wife.
He knows I know.
And this, Danielle, the setting, our agreement, Fitzgerald's obsession—
He knows that too.
"I don't like to waste time," Simon says. "So I'll skip the pleasantries. I know who you are. I know who your wife is," Simon says. "And I know what you do when you lose your toys."
Fitzgerald holds a poker face.
"You weren't all that careful, Cole. Foolish, really. You should have known better. This isn't the first time you've fucked with one of your wife's boyfriends," he says. "But it is the first time you went this far."
"I don't have the faintest—"
"Save it for someone who buys it. Bash wasn't like you. He wasn't restrained, jealous, angry. When he was happy, everyone knew. He couldn't stop talking about Celine. At first, he tried to be discreet. He'd refer to her as the married woman. But, well, you don't know Bash, but if you did, you would know he couldn't hold out for long. Fuck, Cole, the way he talked about your wife. You'd probably deck me if I repeated it."
Fitzgerald scowls.
"No. You wouldn't, would you? You're a coward. You need someone else to do your dirty work. But I'm not. I'm happy to repeat a few choice phrases about the low, deep groan she made when she came. The secrets she shared with Bash. That her husband ignored her. That he had no fucking idea how to please her. That she was desperate to leave him. But afraid she didn't know where to land."
"That isn't true," Fitzgerald says.
"That's why you went this far," Simon says. "She was going to leave you. And you wouldn't have that. Better to leave her a broken shell then let her be with someone else. Not because you love her. Not because you need her. Because you can't let anyone else take what's yours."