Chapter 47

CHAPTER 47

L uca

The day is going well. It's not that much different from an exhibition, except that I'm explaining plants and garden design instead of my paintings. Jackson's presence is solid, and I know I'm lucky to have him. He's been helping if I forget something or don't know it. Never intrusively, or by making me look ignorant. More than once I've murmured a thank you to him as we walk round. So I'm alright when he explains that he just needs to see to something with the caterers—everything's been going smoothly and I feel at ease.

That is, until I see Claude in the throng of people. What is he doing here?

I finish answering the last question from a group and make my apologies, hoping to head over toward the marquee before he sees me. Too late.

"Luca darling," he says, loud enough to turn heads, "My invite must have gotten lost in the post."

I turn and face him. I can do this.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I hiss.

"You know I've missed you?" Claude gives a grin and glances around. "Oooh, are you going to take me in the shrubbery?"

"You're disgusting."

Claude pouts. "You used to love my little jokes. What happened to you?"

"I grew up." I flash back.

"I see you have," Claude says icily.

"What is it you want, Claude?" I ask.

"Well, I've missed you and I came to see if we couldn't make up. We always have before."

"It's been months and you haven't once tried to get in touch, but now you come sniffing around just as my career is getting back on track? A career you ruined in the first place."

"It was just one tiny review."

"In the Sunday Times!"

"Nonsense." He makes a shooing motion with his hand. "That's all water under the bridge."

What the fuck!

"Your review ruined my career."

"Just a little lover's tiff."

He's fucking gaslighting me. It's then I realise he had been doing that to me before. Previously though, I'd been too close to see it.

"Half a dozen galleries dropped me overnight." I can feel my anxiety rising. I can hear it in my voice. I try to control my breathing, but the thoughts in my head are spiralling. I can't think straight. I really need Jackson, and I need Claude to go away. He doesn't.

"Well, you're doing well enough for yourself now."

The last few months of dark days and hard work are dismissed with a few words.

"I could write you an excellent review of this place."

I can't believe I used to seek the affection and good opinion of this man. This selfish old letch. I can feel a new sensation forming. Anger. That's new. But I'm still having trouble forming thoughts, and I feel dizzy. I sink onto a bench with my head in my hands. I'm trying to tune out whatever Claude is saying now—I don't want to hear it—I want him to leave me alone. I really need Jackson. I shouldn't have let him leave. I'm getting emotional with too much going on, desperately trying not to cry. Then he's here. I feel his presence before he speaks. My touchstone—my Jackson.