Marriage Lessons

by Katie Allen

  “There she is.” Raising his voice, Max called across the crowded room. “Velvet! Velvet, I’ve found Louis for you!”

  At a touch on her wrist, Annabelle jumped in surprise. Louis didn’t seem to notice her staring at him as he lifted her hand and looped it through his arm. Even after she automatically gripped on to him, he didn’t move his fingers, leaving them clasped over hers, as if worried she was going to pull away. He needn’t have worried. As pathetic as it was, she would take every touch she could get from Louis, even if he was just clinging to her for moral support.

  “Hello,” Velvet said as she moved toward them. “How are you, Louis?”

  Annabelle was always impressed by how Velvet always looked like the movie version of an artist. Her short, dark hair was artfully mussed, emphasizing her high cheekbones and delicate features. Her dress was airy and floated around her graceful limbs. Annabelle considered herself to be tall at five-nine, but Velvet still towered over her. Her heels boosted her another few inches, allowing her to top her father in height and come up to Louis’s eyebrows.

  While he was returning her greeting, Velvet’s gaze swept past him and settled on Annabelle. “Annabelle. I’m so glad you came.” The warmth in her gaze ticked up another few notches, making Annabelle wonder how her father still remained clueless regarding his daughter’s dating preferences.

  “Thank you, Velvet.” Annabelle’s smile was sincere. Velvet was friendly and easy to get along with, as well as being an amazing painter. Louis’s gallery showcased Velvet’s work three or four times a year. “What’s this big news of yours?”

  Velvet rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, making Annabelle shoot a quick look at Louis. That didn’t seem like the right reaction to what Max had referred to as exciting news. “I got a big commission.” Her tone was flat, making Annabelle even more curious.

  “That’s good news,” she said cautiously, carefully feeling her way so she didn’t accidentally offend either Max or Velvet.

  “Sure.” The word came out as an impatient puff, and Annabelle decided to drop the subject. There was something going on, and she didn’t want to put her foot right in the middle of it.

  “If it’s good news, why do you sound so unhappy?” Of course Louis just blurted it out. Tact would never be his strong suit.

  Max looked like he’d just eaten a sour pickle, but Velvet didn’t seem offended. “It’s a family portrait,” she said meaningfully, and both Louis and Annabelle groaned in sympathy.

  “Why’d you take it?” Louis the anti-diplomat asked. “Commissioned portraits are the worst. Tears are guaranteed—on both sides.”

  With a strangled cough, Annabelle tried to inject some politeness into the discussion. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. You’re talented enough to make anyone look good.”

  “Of course she is!” Max put an arm around her back and gave her a squeeze. “Luther Bonn only buys the best, and my daughter’s painting will be hanging in his home. Not bad for such a young artist.”

  “Luther Bonn?” The name popped out before Annabelle could stop it—or the incredulous tone of her voice. Bonn was known for three things: his insane wealth, his unsavory business practices, and his wicked—even irrational—temper.

  Louis winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Velvet’s tone was dry as her father, seemingly confused, looked between the three of them.

  “What are you talking about, Louis? This is an honor for Velvet.”

  “An honor...right.” Louis didn’t sound convinced. “Why don’t you plan an extra show, instead? Tell Bonn to take a photograph and then paint what you want. We could squeeze in another show in the next month, couldn’t we, Annabelle Shay?”

  Flipping through her mental calendar for the gallery, she gave a slow nod as she worked out a possibility. “That first weekend in October, we can shift Jonah to a time later in the month and sub in Velvet. So many people love her work that we can turn it into a surprise, customer-appreciation-type event, with exclusive invitations and lots of VIP-only hype.”

  “Jonah?” Louis’s brow wrinkled, as if he was trying to place him.

  “Textile art. Lots of purple. He texted me last week about possibly needing to push his show back.”

  “Right.” Recognition dawned, and he gave a decisive nod. “That’s a good plan. See, Velvet? Everything’s working out. You can tell Bonn to shove off.”

  Max gave a sort of wounded yelp of protest. “Velvet can’t tell Bonn to shove off!” His voice had quieted slightly, but it was still shriller than normal as he turned to his daughter. “Do not tell Bonn to shove off. I worked Bonn for months to get you this commission. This is an excellent opportunity for you. It’ll be a real boost for your career.”

  At Velvet’s flush and uncomfortable silence, Annabelle tried to come to the rescue. “We’ll clear the weekend for you, just in case. If you end up being too busy with Bonn’s portrait, then we’ll have a student showcase or something instead. Sound good?”

  “Yes.” Velvet’s answer drowned out her father’s unhappy grumbles. “That’s perfect. I’ll have an escape route if I need one.”

  “Velvet...” Max’s lecturing tone made Annabelle widen her eyes at Louis as Velvet and her father had a silent stare-down. Louis returned her look with an exaggerated grimace before he tilted his head toward Velvet in a questioning manner. Annabelle knew what he was asking. Although the thought of losing Louis as her social buffer didn’t make her happy, it did seem like the only way to save Velvet from the company of her well-meaning yet overbearing father, who seemed to be gearing up for a public lecture. If Annabelle tried to drag Velvet off, Max was sure to tag along, but he’d be thrilled if Louis and Velvet were together. With a sigh, Annabelle gave Louis a quick nod, releasing him from his promise not to leave her side all evening.

  “Want to get a drink?” Louis asked, offering his arm to Velvet. Tearing her stormy gaze from her father’s, she gave Annabelle a quick, wishful glance before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  “A drink sounds fabulous right now,” she said, and the two made their way through the crowd of guests, leaving Annabelle behind to mentally swear all the worst words before forcing a smile.

  “What a nice turnout,” she said politely, wishing that she’d thought to ask Louis to get her something to drink, as well—or, better yet, that she’d brought her own flask.

  “Hmm...yes, I suppose.” They fell into a stilted silence as she tried to think of a new topic of conversation. Max and Louis could talk for hours about art, but Annabelle’s mind blanked as the awkwardness built between them. She craned her neck to see that Velvet and Louis were chatting at the bar, looking entertained and happy, and she desperately wished she was with them, instead.

  After several more seconds of silence ticked by, she’d had enough. Velvet was one of their gallery’s artists, but there was no rule that Annabelle had to be polite to her father because of that. She was going to go hang out in the restroom until Max had found a new person to talk to. With a forced smile, she started to slip past him. “Excuse me.”

  His hand clamped around her wrist, and she stifled a yip of surprise. Although his grip wasn’t tight enough to hurt, the feel of his too hot, too soft, too unwanted skin against hers made her yank away. He released her, but stepped in front of her to block her way. “Don’t interrupt them,” he said just loudly enough for her to hear.

  It took a moment for his actions and words to sink in and then another few seconds for her to rein in her temper. She might not have to suck up to Max, but it probably would be bad if she punched him like she was tempted to do. He must’ve misinterpreted her silence, since he continued.

  “I see how you look at him. I know what your plan is, using your looks and your body to get ahead, but it won’t work with Louis, not with Velvet around.”

  She met his gaze evenly, struggling to keep her hands
from fisting—and from connecting with his smug, judgmental, overly Botoxed face. “Get out of my way, Max, before I go all MMA on your ass.”

  His head jerked back in shock, and she took advantage of his moment of being off-balanced, shouldering past him a little harder than necessary. Instead of heading to the restroom, she made a beeline for the bar, where Louis and Velvet were still talking.

  “I need pie immediately,” she said as she reached them, not caring that she interrupted Velvet mid-sentence. This was an urgent situation. If she didn’t leave right away, she was going to do some damage to Max, and that would complicate all of their lives. “Velvet, we’re going to a diner for pie. Really good pie. The best pie, actually, although don’t tell my friend Leah I said that. She’s a baker and would be hurt.”

  Louis recovered quickly. “Let’s go get some pie, then. Velvet, you in?”

  “I wish I could.” She really did look honestly disappointed. “Let’s get together next week and talk about the impromptu showing.” Leaning over, she gave Louis’s cheek an air-kiss. Annabelle received a tight hug and a real kiss on the cheek before Velvet lifted her drink off the bar and flitted off into the crowd.

  “Come on.” Louis grabbed her hand and led the way to the exit. It wasn’t until the valet was retrieving his car that he asked, “What happened?”

  “Max accused me of sleeping my way to the top.”

  He looked both confused and angry, and she appreciated his indignation on her behalf. “The top of what?”

  “I have no idea.” Now that she wasn’t staring at Max’s stupid face, the whole thing was starting to seem almost funny. “The top of the gallery staff? Maybe I’ll make employee of the month if I really whore it up.” Great. Now she was saying inappropriate things to her boss again. Her slip-ups seemed to have a common cause: Max being irritating.

  Louis’s face showed a medley of emotions, but humor finally dominated. “You are the gallery staff. If we had employees of the month, you’d win every time. Part of that would be because of your excellent work ethic, but mostly, it’d be because you’re the only possible selection.”

  “There’s you, too.” The valet returned with Louis’s car, and their conversation paused. “You okay to drive?”

  “Yeah.” He tipped the valet and then climbed into the driver’s seat, using his hand to shift his prosthetic leg under the dash. “I didn’t get a drink. I assumed—rightly—that we were going to escape as soon as you were able to slip away from Max.”

  She grunted, annoyed again, just from the sound of his name.

  “And I can’t be the employee of the month,” he said, picking up their previous discussion as if they hadn’t had a whole other mini-conversation in between. “I’m the owner, so I’m disqualified.”

  “There’s Becca.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her before refocusing on the road. The club that had hosted Max’s reception was a few miles outside town, and the night was dark except for occasional oncoming headlights. “I wouldn’t consider Becca as fierce competition. She’s only part-time.”

  “She’s really good with the gallery customers.”

  “She does that thing whenever I ask her to do anything.” He imitated one of Becca’s heavy sighs.

  That was unfortunately true. “Whenever I ask her to clean the bathroom, she tells me she can’t, because that would be conforming to traditional gender roles. Even when I told her that you’re the one who usually gets stuck with that job, she said it would betray her feminist principles.” She paused. “Remind me never to use the bathroom if I visit Becca’s house.”

  “Maybe she has a roommate who’s a clean freak. Do we need to look for a new intern?” The last question ended with a groan.

  “No.” Annabelle didn’t hesitate. “She’s done in mid-December, and she’s willing to cover Fridays and weekends in the gallery until then. If I have to handle customers for seven days a week, it won’t be good. In fact, there will probably be violence. We should look into doing interviews for someone starting in January, though.”

  “Okay.” He accepted her suggestion easily, as he almost always did, and Annabelle felt a warmth in her chest. It was such a huge change from her last job with a micromanaging boss. Louis trusted her and sought out her opinion, and that was one reason she couldn’t lose this job by being stupid and soppy about her boss. “There’s no way Becca’s winning employee of the month, then, not if she won’t clean the bathroom. It’s used by occasional gallery customers, for Pete’s sake. It’s not like it’s a bathroom in a busy, drunken club.”

  Annabelle’s brain automatically switched to their former conversation. It would drive anyone else crazy, but somehow she was usually able to keep up with Louis’s always-changing topics. She’d always thought that she had a logical and ordered mind, but Louis’s sometimes zigzagging and leaping thought patterns still made sense to her. “If I’m already at the top, then I have no idea what Max thought I should be using my body as currency for.”

  “Ignore him. I didn’t realize what an ass he could be until you told me,” Louis said, quickly sobering. “He’s really bossy with Velvet, too. She’s what—twenty-five? Older? Still, he’s trying to control her like she’s five. I get that he wants her to do well, but at some point he needs to let her fly on her own. She’s good enough to succeed without his help. That thing he does where he always insists on being the first to buy a painting at all her shows is weird and unnecessary, now that she has her own fan club.”

  “She’s twenty-four.” When he gave her a questioning look, she explained. “I asked when we were putting together her bio. Whatever her age, though, I agree that she’s too old to put up with that kind of helicopter parenting, even if his intentions are good. She seems pretty independent and outspoken when she’s away from him. I wonder why she hasn’t put her foot down.”

  “Blackmail?” he quickly suggested.

  It was her turn to give him a sideways look. “You went there really fast. Is there something you need to tell me about your personal life? Are you gathering a file on me so I’ll work for you for the next fifty years so you won’t reveal my darkest secrets?”

  “Nah, I’ve just been reading too many mysteries lately. Someone’s always getting blackmailed or blackmailing someone else in those things. Besides, you have no dark secrets. That’s part of the reason why I hired you.”

  “My lack of secrets?”

  “Exactly. No drama. I create enough drama for one gallery, and that’s not even taking into account the other artists.”

  “Huh. Why else did you hire me?” She eyed him curiously, not sure if she wanted to know the reasons but unable to keep from asking.

  “Ham recommended you,” he answered immediately without having to think about it.

  “He’s dating my roommate.” Not that she was trying to talk herself out of a job, but she had to question his logic. “At that point, they’d just started going out. He would’ve said anything she asked him to at that point.” She paused before adding, “Still would. He’s bonkers over Leah.”

  “Yeah, he is.” Louis looked pleased. “Never thought it’d ever happen. Ham’s...” He cleared his throat, as though a smirk was trying to break free. “Ham’s a little introverted.”

  The understatement made Annabelle laugh. “Just a little.”

  “Still, Ham wouldn’t have recommended you just because Leah asked him to. First off, he doesn’t like anyone, and he’s really clear about that.”

  “He likes Leah, and you and James.” Ham and James had been in Louis’s unit, and the three had stayed close friends, even after they got out of the army and scattered to different states.

  Louis waved off her words as he pulled into the diner’s parking lot. “Yeah, but that’s it, and I don’t think he’d ever recommend me for a job. I drive him crazy.” He sounded a little too pleased about that. “When he recommended you, I
knew you had to be a cross between a goddess and a human computer.”

  Her laugh came out as more of a choke. “How disappointing when you finally met me.”

  Suddenly silent, he shifted into Park and turned to face her. When he finally spoke, all traces of laughter were gone. He was unusually, weirdly, unnervingly serious. “No. I wasn’t disappointed.”

  Thrown by his steady, direct look and the sincerity of his words, she shifted in her seat. Unable to hold his gaze for a second longer without doing something very stupid—like literally throwing herself at him—she turned to stare at the diner, her thoughts circling rapidly. “That’s...uh, good.” She hid her wince at her utter awkwardness. “Ready for pie?” With that ridiculous statement, she jumped out of the car.

  It was a coward’s move, she knew, since it would take Louis a little longer to get out of his seat. As she circled the front of the car, she heard the pop of the hood unlatching just a half second before Louis swore. She shoved it down until it clicked, grateful for the simple task that refocused her scattered thoughts. Now that she was out of the warm, charged confines of the car and standing in the brisk night air, it was easy to dismiss his unusual intensity as a figment of her imagination. Too much wishful thinking was messing with her head.

  Louis was still grumbling as he held the diner door for her. “I haven’t caught the hood release in months.”

  “Way to ruin your record,” she said teasingly, breathing in the wonderful food smells. “Now you have to reset the counter to zero days without accidentally popping the hood with your prosthesis.”

  He sighed, but the extra, melodramatic weight to his exhale made Annabelle relax. “I know. It’s tragic. I was just really excited about the pie.”

  “Understandable.” As she fell into their usual banter, the nervous flutters in her stomach eased, to her relief...and disappointment. Quickly squashing the latter, she focused on peering around the small restaurant. There was a “Please Seat Yourself” sign, and the lone server gave them a wave from where she was bussing a table toward the back. The diner was fairly empty, so they’d have their choice of seats. “Booth or table?” Before he could answer, she read the teasing glint in his eye. “Don’t say counter. You know it makes me uncomfortable to sit at the counter.”