Faked - Karla Sorensen Page 0,15

inevitable. From the moment someone else turned around, to that conversation with Adele, I was just ... disappointed.

Bauer leaned in again, and I gave him a sideways look.

His voice was low, meant to be intimate and secretive. "Now why did that make you look so sad, princess?"

I cleared my face instantly. "I'm not sad," I disagreed. "Just wish it was time for dessert so I could forget this chicken ever existed."

His eyes, a deep greenish gray, searched my face. "Mm-hmm."

What did he see that made him look at me like that? My heart thumped once, twice. Hard.

When Bauer was looking at me like that, I didn't feel alone. I felt exposed.

I found myself pushing my chair back. "I'll be right back."

Adele glanced up at me. "Don't be gone long, honey."

She meant well, and I knew it. This was important to them. Important to Finn.

WWLD.

She'd wink and then promise that it was in the bag. She'd get it done for them simply because they'd asked it of her, this family she was a part of because of her best friend.

And all I wanted to do was leave.

I couldn't dredge up whatever words my sister might have used. "Excuse me," I said softly and walked away from the table, clutching my purse in my hand like it could teleport me away from that place.

Weaving steadily through tables of well-dressed elite who were laughing and drinking, I felt like I couldn't breathe deeply until I was clear of the doors. My hand pressed against my stomach as I felt my diaphragm expand with a slow breath to calm my strange reaction. A few people were milling through the hallways, looking at large black and white photos displayed artfully along the stretched-out hallway outside of the ballroom.

They were a perfect distraction because I didn't really want to dissect why I was so bothered by Adele’s—and Tom's—interactions with Bauer. I'd come for Finn. To spend time with Finn. And instead of being disappointed, my wheels were spinning as thoughts of stepchildren and unwanted children and some strange quarter-life crisis about not being seen as my own unique person tangled through all of that.

My steps slowed as I reached the first photograph, and I froze. It was beautiful and sad. Strangely appropriate for what I'd just been thinking about.

A small boy sat on a broken curb, looking down at a dirty, smudged ball in his hands. It was worn from play, clearly overused. His hair was dark and messy, his lashes long against the pale skin of his cheeks. You couldn't see his eyes, but in the background, two other kids played together. They were out of focus, not meant to be the focus of the shot.

Staring at his shoes, also dirty and worn from use, I found my eyes welling up unexpectedly.

"Goodness, that's depressing, isn't it?" a deep voice came from next to me.

I glanced over my shoulder. A gentleman with a shock of silver and brown hair was staring at the photo, his head tilted to the side as he frowned at the image.

I clasped my hands in front of me. "It's moving, I think."

He hummed, tucking his hands into his pockets.

The disbelieving sound made me smile. "You disagree?"

"I'm shit with figuring out art, young lady."

That made me laugh. "I'm sure you're not that bad."

He was the kind of man who was hard to gauge how old he was. His face was gently lined, like he laughed a lot, and his brown hair was streaked liberally with gray. But he was tall with broad shoulders, a strong nose, and a wide smile.

"What do you like about it?" I asked him.

He grimaced, staring again at the image. "Not much. It makes me uncomfortable."

That made me give his face a second look, a longer, assessing one. "Strong reactions aren't bad, though. The point of good artwork is to make you feel something."

The smile he gave me was lopsided. "Fair enough. What do you feel when you look at it then?"

Staring at the little boy's face, I answered without thinking. "The role of perceived maternal favoritism in sibling relationships in midlife," I answered without thinking. I felt my cheeks flush hot when he gave me a curious look. "Sorry, that was terribly specific."

His gaze sharpened. "And I'm terribly interested in why."

For the first time since Lia handed me that yellow dress, I felt like myself. My ribs expanded easily as my heart settled into a normal rhythm.

"It's a, a study that I read recently for school," I