Abuelita, his self-portrait, and the landscape could be a series honoring his family and their role in the town. The nude would twist everything into a sex scandal. “I need to put this somewhere,” Rachel said, grabbing her portrait.
Hailey ran a shaky hand over her face. “Let me take care of it.” Rachel started to protest, but Hailey insisted. “This is what I do, remember? Control the narrative.” She touched the frame with light fingers and a tight smile. “Trust me. I’ll put it somewhere Matt will never find it.”
Elaborate private parties at public institutions chafed at Nathan in a way that excess for the sake of excess always did. The same people who spent thousands on dinner tickets would also feel entitled to take selfies in front of priceless paintings with No photography signs prominently displayed.
He was forced to endure four awkward conversations about his art before he even reached the courtyard. Since the paintings were hidden, Nathan didn’t know how much he was supposed to tell them. He was relieved when a waiter passed by with champagne. It wasn’t really his thing, but he gulped the fizzy liquid down like a shot.
He grabbed another glass and drained it just as quickly while he moved into the larger, open-air space. A tall, thin white man shook his hand and introduced himself as a friend of Lyric’s. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done for us,” the man said, gesturing toward the stage. Being fawned over before anyone had seen his art made it feel even more hollow. Rachel’s portrait was his best work, and while he’d never meant to send it, a selfish part of him was disappointed there were only three canvases onstage, covered in sheets. She’d probably buried it in the back of her studio.
Sofia found him with another empty glass in his hand. She pried it from his fingers and stroked his arm. “You look nervous.”
“You look great,” Nathan said. She wore a green strapless evening gown with huge emeralds dangling from her ears.
“I don’t know why she insists on hiding your work until later,” Sofia huffed. “And what is this?” She gestured toward the band. A few couples had migrated onto the floor and swayed slowly to the music. “Dancing before dinner? I never should have added her to the planning committee.”
“She’s good at this,” he said. “Let her do her job.”
She gave him a long look, a little too intense for comfort. “So, you two are friends now.” It wasn’t a question, but an irritated accusation. “I should have known. A woman like that—”
“A woman like what?” He sounded possessive and it made him feel pathetic. “Whatever. If you don’t like her, why’d you ask her to host?”
“Because of her husband,” Sofia said quickly. “But marrying into that family has gone to her head. This secret bidding gambit feels cheap and amateurish.” She gestured at his paintings. “Rachel Abbott makes grandiose promises, but it’s just a sad little performance. I pray she doesn’t drag you down as well.”
He scanned the room, searching for a distraction. The crowd had swelled, making it harder to tell one tuxedoed man from another. “Is Beto here?”
“He had to finish up something for work,” Sofia said. “But he’ll arrive before the program starts.”
He wanted to believe her. That last conversation with his father had given him hope. There was no reason to doubt that Beto would walk in at any moment, and his whole family would be there when someone pulled that sheet away from Abuelita. But with every minute that ticked by, more of the old skepticism crept in. Beto had never chosen any of them over work before.
Nathan had emptied two more champagne glasses while he spoke to his mother. Now his mind was racing, while the alcohol caused a slow-limbed, frantic feeling that made him stumble as he moved to the bar. He’d nearly reached it when Joe grabbed his arm. “Have you seen Beto yet? Mom said he got a work call, and they took separate cars.”
“I think she left to call him.” Nathan shook off his hand and took a step toward the bar. Joe grabbed him again.
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Nathan ordered bourbon while Joe hovered. The bartender passed him a drink, and Nathan tossed a twenty into his tip jar. The man nodded his appreciation. “See. This guy thinks I’m fine.” He drained the glass in one swallow.
“Oh yeah, man. And doing shots in black tie isn’t a huge red flag.” Joe grabbed Nathan’s glass and pointed to the entrance. “She’s here.”