Beautiful Lies (12 page)

* * *

When I finally get home, it feels strange. The house seems empty and eerily quiet. No Rick. No Nate...just me. I’m not used to it but I will be, one day. I pull on a pair of sweats and a tank top before sitting in front of the TV ready to soak my brain in depressing romantic movies. At least I can blame my tears on something other than my crazy emotions.

Just as I’m about to devour a pack of Cheetos and settle into watching
He’s Just Not That Into You
I remember Jen. Damn...I haven’t heard from her since last night. I was so concerned with Rick and getting Nate to see Brenda that I forgot all about her. I pick up my phone from beside me and dial her number.

“Hello.”

“Jen? You ok?”

“Paige?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, I didn’t look at the caller ID. Yeah, I’m ok,” something sounds off.

“Sorry, I haven’t called you since last night. Did you get home ok?”

“You don’t want to know,” she grumbles.

“What happened?” I ask curiously.

There’s a long pause. “I don’t remember last night...at all.
Nothing
. But I woke up this morning in...
bed.”
She says the word bed in a strange way and I’m completely confused.

“Ok.” I’m not quite sure what else to say.

“It wasn’t my bed, Paige,” she says in frustration as though she had expected me to catch on.

“What?” I ask in shock. I am almost rendered speechless. Jenna woke up in a guy’s bed? This doesn’t happen. Ever. She doesn’t do things like that, no matter how much she has had to drink.

“I know,” she grumbles in shame.

“So...did you?”

“I don’t remember, but he said that we did nothing. He slept on the couch.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“So who is this ‘he’ then?”

“His name is Liam, and that’s as much as I know. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I was so embarrassed.”

“It’s unlike you.”

“Yeah, I’m never drinking again.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Ok, maybe I exaggerated but I am definitely cutting down.”

“So why were you there?”

“Apparently I got into some trouble, he tried to take me home but I couldn’t tell him where I lived, so he took me back to his place.”

“That’s kind of sweet actually.”

“Maybe...maybe not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, people just aren’t that nice, Paige. They always want something. And if they do you a favor there is always a price to pay.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right people.”

“No, Paige, this is just the world we live in,” she says cynically. I decide not to push the topic.

“So, what are you up to?”

“I’m still in bed...my own that is.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, I’ll let you sleep. I just wanted to check that you were ok.”

“Thanks. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Ok, bye.”

“See you later,” she replies before hanging up.

I put the phone back down and that’s when I see the notification for Rick’s message again. I click onto it, press the phone to my ear and listen.

“Hi...it’s me, Rick. I know that you probably hate me right now and I totally understand why. I didn’t mean for today to happen, I just got caught up in the moment, but it was wrong. I just called to say sorry...see you Monday, I hope things won’t be awkward.”
Like hell, will he see me on Monday
, I think to myself before pressing play on the remote. Let the rom-coms begin.

CHAPTER NINE

PAIGE’S STORY

I
t’s been a whole week since Rick and I split up, and things don’t feel much better. In my dreams I am further ahead in my ‘fake’ pregnancy and in reality I’ve put on weight from all the late night snacking while lying around watching depressing movies. I haven’t spoken much to Liv or Jenna because they seem to be too involved in their own dramas to even know what’s happening with me. I cancelled mine and Liv’s planned girl’s night in which she didn’t seem to remember about anyway. To be honest, I’ve been pretty happy with the alone time. I’m not much company to anyone right now.

Rick most likely knew that I was lying when I called in sick everyday of this week. I just can’t face him, not after what happened. I just wasn’t ready to do it. I know that I have to go back eventually, but at least I’ve had a few days to pull myself together. He did send me a text earlier that said...

Hey Paige. I know that you have probably been avoiding me and I don’t blame you. Again, I am sorry for what I did and I hope that you can forgive me and we can at least be friends. Anyway, I am just texting to remind you about the exhibition that Alfred is putting on tonight. I know that you really wanted to go and I don’t want you to miss out because of me so I will not be attending. If anybody asks, just send my apologies and say that I am not well. Have fun. X

It was probably the longest text that he had ever sent me. Rick hates texting. I did appreciate it; I had been looking forward to the exhibition since I first found out about it but in all that’s happened, it had slipped my mind. There will be work from five new artists displayed tonight and I am eager to see them all. Some of the pieces may be perfect for Rick’s gallery. I feel sad that he will be missing it because of me but I do really want to go. Alfred is a lovely man and his exhibitions are well attended. It’s a great way to network--if you’re into that--and more importantly to see some beautiful pieces of art. Heartbroken or not, I cannot miss it. It starts at seven thirty tonight and if Rick isn’t attending, then I most definitely will be. I didn’t reply to the text but I was thankful.

I decide to pull myself out of my miserable state by rummaging through my wardrobe for an outfit for tonight. Alfred’s exhibitions usually include a lot of well dressed people who go around sipping on champagne all night. They care less about the art and more about the price tag displayed next to it. That’s probably why I’ve never fitted in completely in this world, because I care about the art first. I can’t help but fall in love with the story behind a beautiful painting. There is no better feeling. I get lost in the world that the artist is trying to create; the story that they are telling with each stroke of their brush. If I could paint, I know what my story would be right now, and to think that people are brave enough to express themselves on paper in that way is simply amazing to me.

I pull out a long black cocktail dress from the back of my closet and set it neatly on the bed. I head over to my jewelry box, pulling out a beautiful silver pair of earrings and necklace set that I picked up on a trip to Paris, that Rick and I took. It’s the nicest set that I have and I purposely save it only for special occasions such as these. I lay them on the bed next to the dress, before pulling out a pair of silver heels and a matching purse. Once everything is ready, I step back and smile.

All week I’ve been feeling like crap but I’m going to really enjoy tonight. It doesn’t even matter that I am going alone because I don’t really talk to anyone while I am looking at the paintings anyway. I just get lost in their beauty and the entire world around me disappears.

* * *

I arrive at the gallery perfectly on time. Everyone is heading inside and talking loudly about their
fabulous
galleries and
magnificent
turnovers. I’m bored by the conversation already and try and bury myself in the hustle and bustle of the crowd as we all make our way inside. The event is open to the public, although there are a pair of huge security guards standing at the door ready to turn away anyone that doesn’t ‘look’ the part.

When I finally get inside I am in awe. The gallery is huge and every painting seems to have its own private space. I can tell that a lot of money has been put into this event and it makes me smile. I love seeing artists being given the chance to earn from their talent. Certain pieces are on sale tonight but not all. Alfred likes to hold back some for business transactions only, where the buyer is forced into buying several of the artist’s pieces first. It’s quite a clever business move but doesn’t work for the impulsive buyer that just wants that one special painting.

“Champagne, madam?” I am dragged out of my thoughts by the rich, deep voice. I turn to see a man dressed in a smart black suit. His stance and demeanor make him seem very much like a butler. His hair is receding on the top and the white strands that are left, are brushed neatly against his head. His smile is warm and he seems friendly.

“No, thank you,” I reply politely.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he smiles before making his way to the next guest.

I continue moving around the gallery in a daze. It’s beautiful. Everyone else seems to be busying themselves with conversation and champagne but I’m transfixed on the paintings in front of me. They are so rare and different. There is a story behind them that I would love to unfold. A tale begging to be discovered.

I look at a painting right ahead of me. I move closer. I want to reach out and touch it but I don’t. It draws me in instantly. It’s a painting of a young girl--no more than twelve years old--she is standing at the edge of a beautiful field. It is full of green plants and purple, and white flowers. The way that the flowers are painted, show that it is slightly windy. The young girl is dressed in a loose fitting white dress and her back is to us. Her hair is a dark shade of brown and falls neatly down her back. There is not a single strand out of place and her hair looks like it has been freshly cut. She is barefoot and her feet are slightly crossed at the ankles as though she is about to walk forward. You cannot see her eyes but she is looking out at the sea. It is a beautiful blue color but the sky looks dark blue as though night is falling. The two shades of blue contrast each other beautifully and I wonder what the little girl is thinking.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

“Very,” I reply before turning toward the owner of the voice. She is tall and stunning. She is wearing a long, dark blue velvet dress that falls to her feet and covers her shoes. It has no sleeves but she is wearing a silky blue, almost see through shawl. Her dark hair is up in a high bun on top of her head. Her ears are decorated with petite blue jewels and her eyes are the same shade as her dress. She looks to be in her late forties but her smile is much more youthful.

“It’s called
Lost Girl,
it’s a part of a collection of paintings entitled
Still Searching.”

“Who is it by?” I ask eagerly.

“Jamie Lemont.”

“He is very talented,” I breathe, looking back at the painting again.

“Yes. His daughter went missing when she was six years old. He draws one like this every year and sells it in the higher price range. This will be the sixth one he has painted. All the proceeds then go to the
Missing Children’s Foundation.
”

“Wow...that is amazing,” I whisper. I feel emotional just hearing the story but I try not to let it show. My eyes glance down at the price tag...
$950.
It doesn’t seem high enough for the amazing cause it is supporting.

“Indeed it is,” she says, staring at the painting.

“Was she ever found?” I ask with hope.

“No, but they are still searching. As a parent you can never really give up hope can you?”

“No. How do you know all of this?” I ask.

“I’ve followed Jamie’s work for a long time now. I also bought the last two paintings from the
Still Searching
collection.”

“That’s amazing,” I say genuinely.

“Claire Damon,” she offers. I turn my attention back to her.

“Paige Carter.”

“It is lovely to meet you, Paige. Are you here on business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both. My...boss owns a gallery. We work with Alfred a lot, so sometimes I come along to his exhibitions, especially when new artists are on display but I love looking at them, too.”

“Yes, I can see the passion in your eyes. It’s so rare nowadays. Everyone is so caught up in getting paintings into their gallery that will give them the highest profit margin, that they have forgotten the beauty behind the industry. They have exchanged their first love for greed. It’s sad.”

“It is. Are you here on business?”

“No, those days are over. My husband and I used to own a chain of galleries but after he died, I handed the business over to our eldest son. I have little to do with it now. It is too much of a reminder. Now I just attend these exhibitions sometimes because I miss this world of art.”

“I understand,” I say genuinely. I don’t think that I could ever be without art in my life.

“I’m glad you do.”

“Ah, Claire, there you are!” A woman wearing a brown mink coat comes rushing over, completely ignoring me. I see Claire rolling her eyes and I try to suppress a giggle. “Oh, Claire darling, everyone is asking for you, you must come and mingle. Oh, and you look simply divine tonight, is that a Chanel dress?”