Chapter 11

ELEVEN

AURORA

Since the Shard revelation, I’d caved in on myself. I ran through what happened over and over again, trying to make sense of it. I regretted the words I’d spoken in anger. I regretted the trust I’d given.

I spent my time curled up on Ruby’s bed in a fugue state—paralyzed by grief and longing. It hurt, physically, until all feeling seeped away.

Ruby commiserated.

She brought food I hardly ate.

She brainstormed new schemes. They weren’t the playful kind of mild annoyances I’d tried before. They were crueler, ideas meant to lift my spirits.

But then today…something changed.

Ruby was staring at me, or maybe she was staring at my phone.

It had been ringing nearly nonstop for the past two days.

It was ringing again now.

She snatched it up off the mattress and grunted like she was frustrated.

There was something to untangle there, but I couldn’t find the energy or the willpower to untangle it.

“It’s the absent mentor you’ve been trying to reach.” Ruby deposited the phone into my open palm.

Bertram?

I could hear a voice coming through the phone.

Ruby’d already accepted the call.

I pulled the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Aurora, doll, it’s been an age.”

It was Bertram.

It felt like someone had thrown ice water in my face. I sat up. Every one of my muscles ached. My heart hurt worse.

If anyone could offer clarity, it was Bertram.

“I’ve been trying to reach you.” My voice cracked. “Since the exhibition.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again to find Ruby’s scrutinizing gaze on me.

She leaned in close enough to hear the conversation. That scowl wasn’t meant for me. It was meant for Bertram. I tried not to read into it, tried to focus on the conversation that could explain why my world had fallen apart.

“About that.” Bertram’s voice dropped ten degrees. “How did you do it?”

Had I missed something? I scrubbed a hand over my eyes. “Do what?”

“Don’t play innocent, Aurora.”

Did he think I was responsible for Shard breaking into the gallery? Bertram must have returned from one of his retreats to just now hear about what had happened on North Pole Island. My chest clenched.

“I locked the door when I went to dinner,” I said. “I would never do anything to dishonor your work. I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t invite him in. I don’t know how or why he defaced your work. I am so sorry that it happened on my watch.”

“Of course you didn’t invite him. I did.”

My skin felt like it was on fire. “What?”

“It was supposed to be a collaboration between me and my best student. Finally, I would receive the recognition I’ve so long deserved. Then you had to go and ruin it.”

My head was spinning. None of this made any sense.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me you were planning a collaboration with another artist?”

“I did.”

“No—”

“Shard has always been special, just like me. His star rose so high, so fast. It was of course me who shaped him, me who made him what he is.”

Foster was Bertram’s student.

I felt something that wasn’t resentment or anger.

I felt sorry for Foster that this was what he’d gotten out of our mentor, when clearly he deserved so much more.

Bertram continued, “What I don’t understand is how you managed to weasel your way into my place.”

I blinked at Ruby, who was now waving middle fingers in the air.

Tell him to shove it, she mouthed at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told Bertram.

This whole conversation was giving me whiplash. Maybe it was me, and the information I seemed to be missing was obvious. Maybe I couldn’t comprehend this because I hadn’t had a cup of coffee in a week.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “I secured his cooperation to propel my work. Me. I’m the one they’re supposed to be writing about. And the only name on anyone’s lips is yours.”

Who was talking about me? My head was swimming. None of this made any sense.

One thing was certain, though. Foster hadn’t gone to North Pole Island with the intention of causing me harm. He’d told me the truth.

But, Foster waited so long to tell me, knowing how upset I was.

I couldn’t forgive him, even if none of this was his fault.

I wanted to, but the pain was too fresh.

“Fix this or I will ruin you,” Bertram said. “I’ll have you blacklisted. You will never work in the art world again.”

“Blackmailing a member of the Holiday Revenge Club?” Ruby’s brows shot up. “Bad move. Tell him you’ve secretly installed ransomware on all of his devices, and now that he’s crossed you, you have no choice but to turn it on when he least expects it.”

If doing that was even possible, I had no idea how.

“Tell him you let rats into his studio and you’re watching them destroy his work the way he destroyed you by not telling you his plan,” Ruby said.

I couldn’t say any of those things. I didn’t want to.

But part of me hoped Bertram heard.

I also couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted to say to Bertram after his threat, and after the cruel disregard he’d had for me all along.

I hung up the phone.

It rang again immediately after—Bertram trying to get in the last word. I’d already heard enough. I set down my phone and leaned my head back against the wall as thoughts swirled through my head and made my temples throb.

“Holy bananas.” Ruby shoved her phone in my face. “This is why that moldy dumpster Bertram finally deemed you worthy of a call back.”

I blinked at the wall of text on her screen.

She pressed her lips together. “Okay, I’ll read it to you. Let’s skip to the highlights. ‘In his first ever interview, it’s perhaps unsurprising for an artist intent on hiding their identity to shift the focus away from themselves. But the level of reverence Shard professed for a young, unknown artist still took me by surprise.’”

The breath caught in my chest.

Ruby continued, “‘To directly quote Shard, “If not for Aurora Norey’s work, there would be no Selfie Claus and Moonlight. ” So who exactly is this Aurora Norey who’s captured the respect of the world’s greatest street artist?’”

“It’s me,” I said. “Foster used his first interview to talk about me ?”

A storm of hurt and relief made me dizzy.

“He didn’t mention Bertram once,” Ruby said. “Only you, about a billion times.”

I’d cried so many tears, I didn’t think I had any more in me. Then my eyes had to go and get all blurry.

“He still should have told me,” I said. Then, to remind my quickly beating heart how much hurt he’d caused, I added, “It’s too late.”

“Is it really, though?” Ruby set down her phone and crossed her arms.

“Yes?” I sighed and a tear ran down my cheek. “I don’t know. Even if he did the right thing, it doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“Of course it doesn’t, sweetie.”

There was something about this grand gesture that didn’t sit right with me. It felt…distant. He was doing the right thing, but from afar. I needed to feel it closer, more personally, even if that didn’t make sense.

I wanted him to show up on Ruby’s doorstep looking as miserable as I’d been, throwing himself at my mercy, and begging me to forgive him.

Really, I wanted to see his face and hear his voice and feel his arms around me.

I snatched up my phone, blocked Bertram’s number, then finally listened to the messages from the calls I’d been ignoring.

I was searching for him.

Instead, I found job offers, loads of them.

All of this was because of him. I was going to get my dream life and all I could think about was Foster and how not a single call had been from him.

Maybe he wasn’t trying to make up with me. Maybe the article was his way of saying goodbye. The thought threatened to send me down a new, deeper spiral. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

“I need to get out of bed,” I told Ruby. “I need coffee. I need you to help me sift through these job proposals.”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes to all of that. But you have to take a shower first. You’re starting to stink.”

I thought there couldn’t possibly be any better job for me than curator. That was before I was offered the position by three different museums, plus four creative coordinator positions at non-profits around the globe, and countless more opportunities that left my head spinning. The opportunities were grander than I ever could have imagined.

Every single one was thanks to Foster.

And after I had my choice, none of them felt quite right. I didn’t want to leave Epiphany. It felt like closing the book on a story that was only just beginning, or could be.

So I took a job I thought impossible for totally different reasons, a position that allowed me to stay here in the city, close enough to him that we’d still have a chance. I became Assistant Creative Director at Bot-a-Saurus Bash. And it was glorious.

I’d spent the last eight years denying myself the kind of fun that fulfilled me, all for the sake of reaching for a career that inevitably didn’t quite fit. Now, I felt more professionally fulfilled than I ever thought possible.

I finally earned enough to secure my own apartment, too, without roommates. But during my hunt, nothing ever felt right. Something was holding me back, and it kept me sleeping on Ruby’s floor far longer than either of us would like.

That something? I knew exactly what it was.

Tomorrow was Christmas—the end date Foster had given our fake marriage, the day I’d decided to go to him if I hadn’t heard from him first. He hadn’t reached out. That was fine. It was on me to make a case for us.

It had taken me this long to gather the strength to face him. It had taken me this long to get my own life figured out, so I wasn’t coming to him from a place of desperation or confusion. Still, I was nervous.

Tomorrow morning, I’d show up on his doorstep. I’d thought about what I would say so many times, but nothing felt right. I would have to improvise based on instinct. That was more our style, anyway.

First, though, I had a show to finish setting up.

My very first art exhibit of my own work.

It wasn’t a fancy gallery or destination location. It was a meeting hall at the college I’d attended, on Christmas Eve night, so attendance might be nonexistent, but that was fine with me. Bertram didn’t work here anymore, and the show was as low profile as profiles could be, so the chances of running into him were equally nonexistent.

Ruby gasped. She shuffled the paintings in her arms and shot me a weird look. She’d been giving me a lot of weird looks lately. It was almost like she was scheming, not only against her work rival, but something to do with me, too.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad.” She grinned, piled the paintings she was carrying into my arms, then hurried off.

My arms were too full. I couldn’t see. “Ruby!”

I couldn’t tell where she’d gone. And I had no idea why she’d abandon me like this. If I dropped one of my paintings now, I didn’t have any extras to hang in its place.

“This isn’t funny, Ruby,” I said to the quiet hall in front of me.

Bang—I crashed paintings-first into something hard.

A deep-voiced oof followed.

A pair of large, gentle hands caught mine.

My paintings were spared.

My heart wasn’t.

I knew this touch. I knew the presence behind it.

Sparks lit up across my skin and I struggled to grapple with what had to be true—he was here.

I licked my lips and forced myself to take a breath. “Foster?”