Read Online Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 3) by Lola Silverman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lola Silverman
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effect of having the live model there.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” I said. My breath caught again as Shawn looked over at our exhibit, and I followed his glance. Patrick was nowhere to be seen. Had I just imagined him? Was I going crazy, or what?
“This is like the biggest event of the year for so many people,” Shawn remarked. “But it’s only the beginning for you. I can’t believe your gallery show is so soon.”
I laughed, ignoring the feeling of unease I had at seeing Patrick here. I didn’t want to spoil anything for Shawn tonight. He’d worked so hard, and he deserved to have something that was free from all possibility of drama, no matter what he said about accepting Patrick and I as a couple.
“It was pretty harrowing, organizing two shows at once, I guess,” I said. “I’ll be able to relax after the opening night. Well…then we’ll graduate, I guess.”
Shawn threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”
It was still surreal—though perhaps not unexpected—to hear our names called as the “Best in Show” at the senior project exhibition. I thought that there would only be scattered, begrudging applause at the announcement, but there were cheers. Confused, I looked around. Even my photography classmates were clapping up a storm.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Shawn teased me. “The work stands for itself. It’s the best there is.”
“I just can’t believe it’s really going to be over,” I said, blinking at him, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I don’t know. It’s something we worked on for so long, and now it’s done.”
“Nothing’s done,” he said, giving me a rough, one-armed hug. “We still have to help plan the permanent exhibit. Graduate, too. And you still have the opening of your gallery show.”
“You’re right,” I said, smiling and dabbing at my eyes, which had been threatening to overflow. “I’m just being stupid. We worked really hard on this, and we deserve to celebrate it.”
We received kind words from lots of gracious people, including the dean, who told us how excited he was to host our permanent exhibit on campus.
I left the exhibit space feeling like I was walking on a cloud. All the hard work had actually paid off. Even though my gallery show was mere days away, all the most difficult tasks had already been done. All I had to do for the opening was show up, drink some wine, and chat with strangers about my “vision” in photography.
What I was really concerned about was whether or not I’d actually seen Patrick at the senior project exhibition.
Maybe it was silly to dwell upon it, but I’d been nearly positive that he’d been there. I wouldn’t mistake that searing green gaze for anyone else. But why had he vanished right after that? Had he not wanted Shawn to see him?
Had I been the only one wanting to see him?
Our most recent tryst had been something of a disaster, me unable to overcome my feelings of guilt over the scar I couldn’t stop staring at on Patrick’s chest.
I longed to be able to be with him again, but I just wasn’t sure my heart was completely in it.
On the afternoon of the opening of my gallery show, I got dressed quickly, running a little late, having tried to cram too many things in during the morning. I yanked the chic, short dress I was planning on wearing out of the closet and another slipped from its hanger, pooling on the floor. I rolled my eyes at the latest in the series of delays that had plagued me until I saw which dress it actually was—the strange black linen one that I had worn to Patrick’s benefit. I hadn’t so much as thought about it since wearing it that night.
That night, when we’d had hot sex in his tiny car after agreeing that maybe we shouldn’t be together but that the love was there.
I left it on the floor, confused. Maybe I just needed closure. One last conversation with Patrick just to tie things up neatly in a bow.
That was an illusion, of course.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” I said. My breath caught again as Shawn looked over at our exhibit, and I followed his glance. Patrick was nowhere to be seen. Had I just imagined him? Was I going crazy, or what?
“This is like the biggest event of the year for so many people,” Shawn remarked. “But it’s only the beginning for you. I can’t believe your gallery show is so soon.”
I laughed, ignoring the feeling of unease I had at seeing Patrick here. I didn’t want to spoil anything for Shawn tonight. He’d worked so hard, and he deserved to have something that was free from all possibility of drama, no matter what he said about accepting Patrick and I as a couple.
“It was pretty harrowing, organizing two shows at once, I guess,” I said. “I’ll be able to relax after the opening night. Well…then we’ll graduate, I guess.”
Shawn threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”
It was still surreal—though perhaps not unexpected—to hear our names called as the “Best in Show” at the senior project exhibition. I thought that there would only be scattered, begrudging applause at the announcement, but there were cheers. Confused, I looked around. Even my photography classmates were clapping up a storm.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Shawn teased me. “The work stands for itself. It’s the best there is.”
“I just can’t believe it’s really going to be over,” I said, blinking at him, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I don’t know. It’s something we worked on for so long, and now it’s done.”
“Nothing’s done,” he said, giving me a rough, one-armed hug. “We still have to help plan the permanent exhibit. Graduate, too. And you still have the opening of your gallery show.”
“You’re right,” I said, smiling and dabbing at my eyes, which had been threatening to overflow. “I’m just being stupid. We worked really hard on this, and we deserve to celebrate it.”
We received kind words from lots of gracious people, including the dean, who told us how excited he was to host our permanent exhibit on campus.
I left the exhibit space feeling like I was walking on a cloud. All the hard work had actually paid off. Even though my gallery show was mere days away, all the most difficult tasks had already been done. All I had to do for the opening was show up, drink some wine, and chat with strangers about my “vision” in photography.
What I was really concerned about was whether or not I’d actually seen Patrick at the senior project exhibition.
Maybe it was silly to dwell upon it, but I’d been nearly positive that he’d been there. I wouldn’t mistake that searing green gaze for anyone else. But why had he vanished right after that? Had he not wanted Shawn to see him?
Had I been the only one wanting to see him?
Our most recent tryst had been something of a disaster, me unable to overcome my feelings of guilt over the scar I couldn’t stop staring at on Patrick’s chest.
I longed to be able to be with him again, but I just wasn’t sure my heart was completely in it.
On the afternoon of the opening of my gallery show, I got dressed quickly, running a little late, having tried to cram too many things in during the morning. I yanked the chic, short dress I was planning on wearing out of the closet and another slipped from its hanger, pooling on the floor. I rolled my eyes at the latest in the series of delays that had plagued me until I saw which dress it actually was—the strange black linen one that I had worn to Patrick’s benefit. I hadn’t so much as thought about it since wearing it that night.
That night, when we’d had hot sex in his tiny car after agreeing that maybe we shouldn’t be together but that the love was there.
I left it on the floor, confused. Maybe I just needed closure. One last conversation with Patrick just to tie things up neatly in a bow.
That was an illusion, of course.
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