Twisted In You_A Twisted Romance

by Rachel A. Marks

  Heat spreads over my cheeks. “Thanks, I—”

  I pause, noticing movement beside him. And realize he’s not alone like I thought. Emma appears at his side with a small hand wave. “Can I come in?” she asks, her voice horse. “I need to help Jade get ready.” She’s still so pale. But she’s standing, and she’s smiling.

  “Oh, Emma, how’re you feeling?” I ask, feeling a bit of relief at seeing she’s okay.

  “Much better.”

  “Doc got her some better meds for the nausea,” Fin says.

  “You took her to the doctor?” I ask, still dumbfounded how he ended up as Emma’s friend.

  “She needed a ride.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing.

  Willow comes up behind me. “We’re almost ready. Where’s Lance?”

  Fin helps Emma inside. “He texted that he’s on his way.”

  “Wow, you look steamy, Fin.” Willow gives him a wink.

  “Down girl,” I say, patting her on the shoulder. I watch Fin take Emma to Jade’s room, only able to wonder about the story there.

  When I turn back to Willow, she’s giving me a look. “You don’t get all the boys, Ver. That Irish meat is free game now. Since you’ve thrown your lot in with the old folks.” She looks pretty stunning herself with a hot red dress that shows her ample cleavage, her long blond hair rolling in waves over her shoulders. She’s got these white strappy heels on that wrap around her ankles like ballet shoes, and a white fur-lined shawl hanging over her arms.

  I’m going to have to encourage Jade and Emma to make sure Fin doesn’t drink too much tonight. It brings out his stray cat nature. And I don’t want him waking up beside Willow this time.

  Lance comes to the door. “Let’s go, girls! I’m itching for LA action.” His head jerks back when he sees me. “Whoa, Sis, you look . . . you need to go change.”

  “Hey!” Willow says, sounding offended. “She looks sexy as hell.”

  “Exactly.” He walks past me with a frown and kisses Willow on the cheek. “You, on the other hand, my sweet, are all fire. Don’t change a thing.” He gives her a knowing look and I roll my eyes. Willow doesn’t seem to like it this time, though. Her body moves back from his touch. Not that Lance notices. He yells into the other room, “Come on Jade, let’s roll!”

  “She’s still getting ready,” Willow says. “Chill.”

  It only takes about twenty minutes for the sisters to emerge from the room.

  Lance releases a low whistle when he spots Jade. “Well, Fin, it’s official, we’re about to be the most envied men of the night.”

  Jade is about five shades of red as we all admire her. Her newly short hair is slicked back, tight to her head, her make-up smoky around her eyes with red lipstick. Her long tight skirt is perfectly shaped to her curves. But it’s her shirt that really seals the deal; a sheer, long-sleeved piece that shows her bra line. It’s all really ground-breaking for Jade. And when I glance at Emma, who’s standing a bit behind her sister, I can tell she’s the one who got Jade to take the daring road tonight.

  I’m surprised when Emma says she’s almost ready too, disappearing back into Jade’s room. I turn to Fin, asking him if she’s too sick to come.

  “That’s up to her,” he says, absently.

  After another fifteen minutes, we’re making our way down the stairs, Emma’s arm tucked into Fin’s side. Lance can’t seem to stop touching Jade the whole way to car. He helps her in and asks her if she wants the heater on once we’re all settled. It’s actually very sweet and Jade isn’t the only one noticing Lance’s attentiveness—she’s gone into shock, I think. Willow seems a little confused by everything, frowning at Emma and Fin and staring at Lance like he grew a second head as he stares at Jade’s bra.

  This should be an interesting night.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  When we get to the studio there’s no parking and we have to pay for a spot in a garage a few blocks over. We begin walking down the sidewalk in a pack, but we’re soon strung along in pairs, Jade helping Emma as they walk in front, Willow and Lance chatting quietly behind them, Lance keyed on Jade, and Fin and I in trailing in the back.

  It’s awkward at first, he’s giving me one word answers to everything I ask about Emma, so I switch to asking about the project he and Lance are working on.

  “So, it’s still going well?” I ask.

  He nods, absently. “Yeah, it’s good.”

  Well, that’s three words, at least. “Have you heard from the producer guy?”

  He shakes his head.

  No words that time. Hm. “Are you okay?”

  He jolts to a stop and I nearly stumble on a crack in the sidewalk.

  “No,” he says. “I’m really not. Things in my head right now are a mess.”

  “Oh.” I turn and face him. “Fin, I’m so sorry. I know it’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not. Everything is just . . . weird right now.” He steps closer and takes me gently by the upper arms, his thumbs moving back and forth over my sensitive skin. “But it’s your night, you focus on that. You look mind-blowing, little nymph.”

  He starts to move in for what I assume is a kiss. I jerk back my head and burst out, “I’m in love with Diego!”

  He pauses and searches my face for a second and then he laughs. “Well, that’s nice, but I was going in for a hug. We can still hug, right?”

  My pulse slows a little and I’m totally mortified, but I nod my head. “Sure. A hug is good.”

  He winks at me, his smile only growing. “Grand.” And he wraps me in his arms.

  It takes me a second but I eventually settle into his warm embrace. “Sorry. Thanks, Fin,” I say after I can gather my thoughts again.

  He pulls away and kisses my forehead. “For what, love?”

  “For being you.” I give him a kiss on his cheek in return. “You’re a good friend.”

  “Ah, yes, the dreaded friend-zone. I’ve heard about this from your ma’s telly.”

  “The telly, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah, that telly tells me all things about colonial culture. And from what I could surmise, the friend-zone is a vast sexual desert that only dumbshites end up in.”

  I laugh and lean in whispering, “Ah yes, but you get all the fist-bumps and high-fives you can handle.” I take his wrist and hold up his hand to give it a high-five, then I weave my fingers through his and tug him into walking again.

  “Lovely,” he says, curling his fingers over mine and pretending to sound annoyed as he follows me.

  “Oh!” I say in my best Irish accent. “But it’ll be grand as all things, you’ll see, little one.”

  “Oh, gods in all, you sound like that Lucky Charms fella.”

  “So do you.”

  He gapes down at me, looking offended. “I do not!”

  I hold up my fingers an inch apart. “A little bit there, fella.”

  “Ugh. Not nice. I thought we were friends.”

  “Friends tell friends the truth.”

  “Ah, well, I guess I should tell ya that it looks like cotton candy got in a fight with your hair.”

  I gasp and try to hold in a rising giggle. “I’ll have you know that I paid very good money to get this cotton candy perfectly placed on my head.”

  “Well, it looks grand.”

  “Grand, grand, grand, everything is always grand with you.”

  “Isn’t it, though.”

  We banter back and forth the rest of the way, laughing and teasing, arms swinging, hearts light. I haven’t felt this free in ages. I look as stunning as I feel for once in my life. I’m making my way to see the man I love, among things I love best, in the place I love best, with a guy on my arm who’s set to be an amazing friend. I don’t see how things could get any more perfect than they are at this very moment.

  THE STUDIO IS A DREAM come true. Diego set up the paintings exactly how we discussed, and they look perfect. He highlighted the wall I worked on by placing the three statues by Bowan along it. The dark metal looks
amazing against the fall colors and geometric shapes.

  The prospective buyers, critics, and collectors are peppered throughout the space, standing in front of certain pieces, drinking wine, and chatting. Several people that I recognize mill around but most of the faces are unfamiliar. There are sure a lot more attendees than I expected. It’s only eight o’clock, and usually the big money doesn’t come in until around nine.

  “Wow, this is amazing,” Fin says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and squeezing me to him.

  “Which one’s yours?” Willow asks.

  “The one with the tree,” Lance says, absently, as he grabs a glass of red wine from the passing waiter’s tray.

  “They all have trees,” Jade says.

  “You’re hilarious, Lance,” Willow says. “Now, where’s the good stuff? I need tequila and Diego always has the best open bars.”

  “I think he’s just doing wine and cheeses this time,” I say, looking around, taking it all in. I don’t want to go see my piece yet. I’m too nervous. What if it’s suddenly clear how over-my-head I am once I get a look at it among works of actual genius?

  Willow whines. “This is lame and a half. I’m going to need a stiff drink after the week I’ve had.”

  We all look over to her and Jade asks, “What kind of week did you have?”

  Lance scoffs. “Yeah, I thought you were living it up with Bobby or Billy or someone.” He finishes off the glass of wine in a third gulp and grabs another one from a waitress—he winks at her as he takes it and she gives him an inviting smile.

  Willow suddenly looks distracted and nervous. “His name was Jack.” Now she’s looking like she wishes she hadn’t said anything. “And I did have fun. A lot. Of fun. I’m just tired.”

  Both Fin and Lance groan and Fin says, “Ah, yes, the tired defense.”

  “Code for moody,” Lance says.

  Willow rolls her eyes and walks off, grumbling, “Whatever.”

  Lance points at Willow’s disappearing back. “See?”

  Emma’s watching us all with a wistful smile in her eyes as Jade nudges her over to a table by the window so she can sit.

  Lance gulps down the last of his second glass of wine and hands it to me, empty. “Wish me luck,” he says. “I’m gonna try and get that waitress’s number.” And then he’s gone as well, stalking the red-haired girl holding the tray of drinks.

  Fin and I stand alone in the middle of the growing crowd, his arm still over my shoulder. “Well,” he says, giving me another squeeze. “Looks like this night is off to a deadly start. Lance’ll be full in about ten.” When I scrunch my face at him he laughs and adds, “You know, he’ll be sloshed. Drunk.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “You’ll catch on.”

  “Maybe you should just speak English.” I raise my brow at him in challenge.

  “You mean, American?”

  We’re grinning at each other when I feel someone walk up in front of us. I turn to look and my heart nearly leaps from my chest with glee as Diego fills my vision. I was just curled up in bed with him six hours ago but it's like I haven't seen him in ages.

  Fin releases me like I’m on fire. “Hey, man, what a place. Looks amazing.”

  Diego smiles, but it’s a tight grin. “Thank you. And thank you for bringing Verity.”

  “Oh! I didn’t.” Fin waves his hand like he’s trying to wipe the idea of him and I together away. “I mean, we all came together. As a group thing.”

  Diego nods then turns his attention to me. “You look absolutely stunning.” His smile becomes genuine.

  I grin back, my face almost hurting from the joy bursting from me. And the night’s only begun. “Thank you. And you look . . . not so bad yourself, there, Mr. Santiago.” And that is a total understatement. He is by far the most stunning human in the room in that perfectly-fitted vest and white dress shirt. I give him a wink and he takes my hand, pulling me to him. He kisses me gently on the neck and I’m fairly sure I turn pink to my hairline as the memories of last night fill my head.

  “Okay, so I see you two have worked things out,” Fin says, breaking through the fog Diego seems to put me in.

  I step from Diego’s arms, a little embarrassed by how my body is responding to him in public. “Yeah. We did.”

  Diego looks over at Fin. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  Fin studies him, eyes intense, like he’s searching for something. “Not as long as Verity’s well taken care of.”

  Diego nods, and Fin nods back, and it’s like they’ve come to some instinctual male understanding that feels very mysterious to me. But they’re not punching each other so I’m taking it as a win.

  I hit Fin’s shoulder like I would with Lance and play off the moment. “Hey, are you saying I can’t take care of myself? I am a woman of the new millennium, you know.”

  Fin blinks at me for a second like he’s trying to change gears.

  Diego gives me a patronizing smile. “You’re a very independent woman.”

  “Extremely,” Fin adds. “You’re like a ninja.”

  I give them both a wide grin, feeling like I’ve accomplished something huge, seeing them stand beside each other with no tension in the air. I want to sigh in relief and giggle all at once.

  “Exactly!” I say. “And don’t forget it.” I plant a kiss on Fin’s cheek then turn back to Diego. “Now, the moment of truth: how does my piece look?”

  He frowns at me. “You haven’t seen it yet?”

  “She’s avoiding,” Fin says. “I think she’s worried she’ll make people feel bad with her incredible talent.”

  I laugh, but I look at him like I’m offended.

  “Well, Miss Independent,” Diego says, holding out an arm, “would you like to be escorted to your debut?”

  I smirk at him, but my sudden nerves at the idea of seeing my painting won’t let me speak, so I just curl my arm in his and then hold my hand out to Fin, inviting him to join me for the moment of truth. Because it feels right. He’s been a part of this journey too.

  He glances at Diego and when Diego doesn’t glare at him he must decide it’s a sign of consent because he takes my offered hand and we walk together to the center of the studio, past groups of people quietly chatting. Some turn to look at the three off us in curiosity, the great Diego and his intern and some Irish guy. I try not to hear the gossip.

  As we come to the spot my pulse picks up and I try to focus on not chewing the inside of my cheek into mincemeat.

  “Wow,” Fin says, sounding breathless. “It’s different than before. That’s . . .” He glances sideways at me. “Whoa, Verity. It’s amazing.”

  Diego looks over to Fin. “Stunning, isn’t it?”

  My insides shake and I have to cover my mouth because my nerves are spilling out now. There are so many feelings rolling around in my chest; exuberance, panic, giddiness, and total shock. Because I see a little card below the image. It says, ‘Entwined’ by Verity Landon. The price is insane. But that’s not why I’m losing it. On the edge of the card there’s a small red mark, telling everyone in the room: SOLD.

  Oh. My. God.

  I giggle into my hand again and try to make myself breathe. It’s not going to be good if I burst out like a crazy toddler when I’m supposed to be poised and professional.

  “Is this the artist?” a voice asks beside Diego.

  Diego motions to me and then shakes the man’s hand. “Hello, Mr. Frasier. Yes, let me introduce you to Verity Landon, a new acquisition for the gallery.”

  The man moves forward and I get a better look at him. He’s middle aged and distinguished, an obvious shark, with sharp eyes and a very expensive suit. And I recognize him immediately: Baxter Wilson Frasier from W.R, a huge design licenser and dealer. They work with museums like the Smithsonian and the New York Art Museum. And I’m about to pee my pants right now.

  He holds out a hand, “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Landon. I would love to see more of your work sometime. It has a certain s
park, if this piece is any indication. There’s a naked quality, mysterious in spots but with a realism to it that creates such an effect on the observer, it’s almost jarring, really. Wonderfully done.”

  Wow, did he really just say all that? Jarring. Naked. Oh my God. I’m going to scream and pee. I’m having trouble controlling my body, but I manage to make myself shake the man’s hand. And I think I mutter a thank you, or something non-committal.

  “We’ll all be seeing a lot more of her work very soon, I think,” Diego says.

  “Very good.” Mr. Frasier gives a gentlemanly nod. “Keep me updated.” And then he’s walking away.

  When the man is out of earshot I let myself release a tiny squeal.

  “Wow, that was important, wasn’t it?” Fin asks.

  I look at him, nodding, and bite my lips together, to hold in my excitement.

  Diego squeezes my hand. “He tried to buy it for his personal collection but I had to turn him down.”

  I suck in a breath and gape at him. “What?!”

  “Well, I couldn’t let such an amazing piece go.” He shrugs. “So, I bought it myself.”

  “Diego! Why did you do that?!” I have to swallow a wash of disappointed. When I saw the sold mark I was beyond thrilled, and now it feels fixed. Plus, doesn't the gallery need the money? How could he afford this?

  “Relax.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Stop that. I can see your mind already deciding it must not have passed some test.”

  “But you have to say you like it!”

  He gives me an offended gape. “I do not. I fought off six buyers to have this piece. I paid three times the asking price to get it.”

  Now I feel like fainting. “You paid three times that?!” I point at the ridiculous number beside the red dot.

  Fin releases a low whistle. “Whoa, maybe it’s time to go into the art business.”

  “Highest bidder.” Diego shrugs.

  “But, Diego, the studio—”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not important right now. I wasn’t about to let this go.” He kisses me gently on the forehead. “I’m not about to let any of it go.”