love is something I once never needed to fake.
Terese breaks through the cluster of admirers, waving her arms in frustration. Her blue eyes are magnified by overly bedazzled glasses as they take in the mess and wreckage of her beloved gallery, her thin lips tight with disappointment. “Excuse me! Attention—hello!” she shouts, followed by the deep hacking coughs of a lifetime smoker. “Thank you for coming tonight, but we’re closed now. Good night.” The crowd stays still, bewitched under Matt’s spell. “GOOD NIGHT,” Terese repeats, on the verge of yelling, but when nobody moves, I tug at Matt’s jacket, giving him a look.
“Oh, right,” he mumbles, slow to realize he’s the problem. “Um, good night, friends! Stay safe out there!” Then he turns invisible, vanishing from my side like vapor escaping into the night. People are floored, clapping and chatting about how amazing he is and how they can’t believe how lucky they are to have been here tonight. Not because of the art, but because of the spectacle. The drama. The excitement.
Houston and Anna shoot me pained looks as they walk out the door, sympathetic eyes wishing there was something they could do. But we all know there’s not. This is the price we pay. I do appreciate, though, that at least someone here understands.
Once everyone has filtered out, I stare at the remains of months of work. Photos, paintings, and sculptures sit quietly under their spotlights, forgotten against the shimmer of celebrity and sea of broken glass. My heart sinks, crushed to realize that in the end, it didn’t matter how hard I tried to make tonight a success. It didn’t matter that I curated a three-hour playlist of orchestral music to highlight the themes of my classmates’ work, or that each appetizer subtlety nodded to a different art movement. As long as Matt was in attendance, everything I’d done would be overshadowed.
I shouldn’t have to be sad right now; I should be doing cartwheels and sipping the remaining champagne to celebrate. But the room’s a mess and Terese looks like she’s regretting ever giving me a chance.
“I’m so sorry, Terese,” I say, rushing to the back to grab a broom. “I will take care of this.”
Matt reappears, flesh and bone where there was nothing. “Don’t worry about it, babe; I’ll call the Warrior cleanup crew. They’ll fix this up.”
“No,” Terese snaps, arms crossed. “I don’t want any more so-called heroes in my gallery.”
“‘So-called’?” Matt scoffs, but I run interference.
“Warrior Nation has a repair team that handles any property damage incurred during a battle,” I tell her. “They’re really fast; they once patched my parents’ roof in like a day after Matt was in a brawl with the Dark Vulture.”
“Oh yeah!” His face lights up. “I remember that fight! I kept disappearing and totally disorienting the guy. That’s why he punched a hole in the ceiling!”
I shoot him a venomous “not right now” stare.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Terese says, giant sculptural earrings clinking as she huffs. “Bridgette, you did an amazing job tonight, and I know you want to work here this summer, but…” But? Buts are never good. I swallow hard as she gathers her thoughts. “I can’t have things like this happening.” She gestures to the gaping glass hole leading to a dark Chicago night. “I can’t be worried about my patrons being in danger. If he shows up, someone could get hurt.”
Matt tries to stay calm. “With all due respect, ma’am, it’s my job to keep this community safe.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t feel safe seeing your body flying through my window! People were scared, and when they’re scared, they’re less inclined to spend money on beautiful things.” She frowns, looking my way. “I told your mother I would give you a chance, and while I’m happy with what you did tonight, I need to think about this summer. I hope you’ll understand.”
I nod. I want to tell her this was a one-time occurrence, that nothing like this will ever happen again. But I know I can’t guarantee it, nor fault her reasoning. This isn’t the first time Warrior Nation has made my life difficult, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
The moment the cleanup crew arrives, I take off, walking as fast as I can in my black heels. Matt trails behind me.
“Sheesh, what was all that about?” he asks, reaching my side. “She’s not going to hire you now? After all you did for tonight?”
“You destroyed her gallery, Matt,” I huff,