mainly attracted impoverished folk looking for an interesting scene and free wine.
“Is Drew coming?” I asked.
“He promised me he would.” Sheldon lacked his typical ebullience.
“Please tell me he’s not in the closet,” I said. Sheldon had this horrible habit of falling for guys in denial, who only hooked up with him to satisfy their sexual needs.
“No… he’s a bona fide queen.”
I giggled despite his glum face. “Hey. What’s up?”
“I saw Roger the other day. He was with a girl. My fucking heart snapped.” His mouth tightened, and his hazel eyes misted over.
I took his hand. “Darling, he’s a cop.”
“So?”
We’d had this conversation before. Sheldon had been seeing Roger, a policeman, on and off for a year, and it was meant to be casual. I’d witnessed his unease after I answered the door at Sheldon’s one night and found Roger there, staring at his feet. I offered to leave, but being selfless and aware of my predicament at home, Sheldon had insisted I stay.
Marius sauntered into the room, explaining to a pair of waiters which wine to serve and instructing them to avoid the stragglers. I looked at Sheldon and rolled my eyes. I was always going to exhibitions for the free booze and snacks.
“At least Drew’s true to himself,” I said. “That way, you can have a proper relationship.”
“But Drew’s transitioning. I like my men to be men.”
I thought of Roger, who was the last guy one would have thought was gay. He had a rugged, almost savage kind of masculinity that Sheldon pined for.
“You’re only twenty-five. I’m sure you’ll meet a brutishly handsome man one day.”
“I wish.” His eyes returned to their natural sparkle. Sheldon and I were always discussing men—shirtless, of course—and art. “Come on,” he said, rising and offering me his arm. “Let’s ponce around with our noses in the air, pretending we’re art critics or experts so that we can listen to opinions.”
My mouth twisted. “Mm… I’m not sure I want to hear. And we’re owed some bad karma,” I said, referring to the many times we’d attended exhibitions and thrown our critical banter about like know-it-alls—something I regretted now that I’d matured.
“Let them bitch, for all I care. As far as I’m concerned, your Mad Witch series is fucking wild and beautiful, just like you are.” He hugged me and stroked my hair. I loved Sheldon.
“And your pieces are amazing.”
“A bit controversial,” he said. “I can’t imagine the highbrows going for them.”
“Hey, it’s finally dawned on me.” I pointed at the large canvas. “This is a modern take on the half-man, half-woman freakshow act.”
He clasped his hands. “Yes. That’s why I painted them. You know how much I love freakish things. After Dismaland, Banksy’s bemusement park, I was never the same again.”
I studied the image of two twisted figures dancing—a bearded man in a ball gown and a girl with a high bun, chandelier earrings, an oversized man’s jacket, and a moustache. “It’s brilliant, Shelly. You should be proud.”
He smiled.
The doors opened, and suddenly, a crowd spilled in. Predictably, the art-students and hipster arty types had arrived first.
My cell pinged. Peering down at the screen, I saw Lilly’s smiling face. “Hey, I hope you’re on your way,” I said.
Lilly had me worried. Ever since that night, she’d been hitting it hard. I knew that selling herself wouldn’t end well, despite the two hundred thousand pounds sitting in her account. When I visited her, she could hardly move off the couch. She was in so much pain that I offered to take her to the doctor. The hot young guy had been outbid by a creep who’d been so brutal and fucked her so hard, including anally, that the next morning, she was unable to walk.
“I don’t think I can make it,” she said.
“What are you doing now that’s so important?”
“I’m just here having a drink.”
“Are you still in pain?” I asked.
“I’m a little better.”
Standing in the corner of the gallery, away from the din, I was about to answer her when I noticed two tall men enter. Wearing sports jackets and jeans that fitted in a way that only expensive jeans could, they screamed of wealth.
Capable of smelling money a mile off, Marius ran straight to them.
I studied them a little closer, noticing that they were hot, particularly the dark-haired man, whose jacket, by the way it was molded to his big shoulders, looked sewn on.
My breath hitched. “Holy crap.”
“What?” asked Lilly.
“You’re not going to believe this, but guess who’s just walked through the door?”
“Who?”
“Those