Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (55 page)

She is silent for a long moment, and at one point I actually think she might burst into tears. But then she lifts her head and turns to look at me. “I think I’m having cold feet,” she says bluntly.

I blink at her words, speechless for a second. “Megan … I’m not sure what to say. Cold feet, that’s normal, isn’t it? All couples have cold feet before they get married, right?”

“How should I know?” she wails. “I’ve never been married before!” She looks genuinely panicked and my heart goes out to her.

“Oh, Meg!” I feel helpless. What the hell am I supposed to say to her? “What brought this on? You adore Scott!”

“I don’t know what brought it on,” she says, looking at me with sorrow-filled eyes. “I just woke up this morning and looked over at him, and I thought about the fact that six days from now, I will wake up a married woman. Married.” She looks at me imploringly. “Married, Samantha!”

“Okay, married! I know; I get it.” Oh, God. What am I supposed to say to her right now? Helplessly, I look down at my hands, at the brick red polish drying on my fingertips and take a deep breath. “Megan, I’m not sure exactly what it is that’s freaking you out right now but … I do know that you love Scott Dublin. The day after you met him at that off campus party, you told me that he was the perfect man. Do you remember that?”

Megan blinks at me, saying nothing. And then she slowly nods her head. “Yes.” Her voice is almost a whisper.

“You also told me that morning that you had met the love of your life. You said he was the man you were going to marry and have lots of babies with. Do you remember that?” She nods her head a little more confidently this time and a single tear travels down her cheek and, without thinking, I remove my hand from the dryer and clasp one of hers.

“Do you remember how happy you were when he proposed?”

With no warning, Meg throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly for a long moment. “Thank you, Sam,” she breathes into my ear. “I love you so much!”

“I love you too, Meg,” I smile. She pulls away and we each look down to examine our nails. Then we look back up at each other and burst into a small fit of relieved giggles. Our manicures appear to be intact.

We talk then about the wedding and about how I wish that Josh could accompany me to the festivities and, by the time we are ready to leave almost an hour later, Megan is in much better spirits. We say our goodbyes at the door of the spa under the ever watchful eyes of Mr. Martin, and then we go our separate ways.

Martin escorts me to my car and then hurries over to his own and, as I drive to South Lake Union I can’t help but mutter to myself about the absurdity of having a bodyguard. Honestly, it’s not like I’m a movie star or something. I’m not even a celebutante and I refuse to become one. Empty, air-headed social x-rays who are famous just for being famous. The thought makes me cringe. How did I attract a psycho stalker anyway? It’s not like I’m constantly in the tabloids or on TV. The whole thing just puzzles me.

I pull up outside the Lola Thorne Gallery and wait, like a good little girl, for Martin to exit his car and come open my door. He trails after me at a respectful distance and I try to forget that he’s there as I quickly send Josh another text:

Heading into gallery now.

Wish me luck.

His quick response is very supportive and it makes me smile:

U don’t need luck, baby.

She’s going to love your work.

I remember the brave feeling I had this morning compiling my photos onto the CD. More of Detective Yummy’s influence. He makes me feel like I can do anything. I text him back as I stand outside the gallery.

Thanks for believing in me, Josh.

His next response seems clipped and I begin to wonder if everything’s all right.

No need to thank me for that, Sam.

Is Martin with u?

The tone of his text seems agitated almost and I wonder, ridiculously, if it has anything to do with my case. I know that Josh is working on two or three cases right now and mine is just one of them. But he knows that Martin is with me, so why is he asking? I text him back:

Yes, of course he is.

Is everything okay?

He replies instantly, revealing nothing:

Just distracted with work.

Nothing to worry about.

Keep Martin close.

Why is he so obsessed with Martin being at my side today? I frown as I ponder that question. But then, his words from breakfast come floating back to my mind and I smile.

“I just want you safe, baby. And it bothers me that I can’t be with you 24/7. Please. For my peace of mind … promise me you will take Martin with you today.”

He’s worried about my safety. And I can’t help the crazy grin on my face right now. My
boyfriend
is worried about my safety. I giggle to myself and turn toward the gallery door.

I enter the gallery and look around slowly, taking it all in and I’m really impressed. The space is much larger than it looks from the outside and the interior is all done up in neutral tones of gray and white. I know that I should head straight to the receptionist at the desk and ask for Lola but, I just can’t help myself. I have to check out the exhibits first.

I wander slowly around the gallery, taking in the works of the current artist on display, a mister Tracy Barry. His work is stunning, oil on canvas, and it’s very expressionistic. I don’t usually go for the contemporary or the abstract but, Mr. Barry’s work is warm and moving. Almost sensual in a way, and I am so caught up in the beauty of it that I don’t notice someone walking up to me.

“Are my eyes playing cruel tricks on me or is that
the
Samantha Colby … one of Seattle’s most prominent, and most reclusive socialites, standing in the middle of my humble gallery?”

I look up and see Lola staring at me with a mixture of delight and surprise and I can’t help but return her huge smile. I haven’t seen Lola since we graduated almost a year ago but, she looks wonderful. She’s always been sort of bohemian chic, and today she wears her long red hair in a braided ponytail that is slung over her shoulder and reaching to her waist. She is dressed in a long charcoal-colored floaty skirt and blouse with cute little flats to match and she’s wearing lots of chunky silver jewelry. I rush forward to hug her.

“It’s great to see you, Lola!”

“Oh, Sam, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you,” she responds. “It’s been far too long!”

“It really has. I’m sorry!”

“We honestly need to make more of an effort to stay in touch,” she admonishes me and I blush slightly, feeling guilty for avoiding her.

“I know, it’s my fault,” I sigh. “I got all of your phone messages and your emails and I was so happy to hear that your gallery opening went well. But I have to admit … I avoided coming down here.”

“But, Sam … why?” She looks at me with bewilderment and she sounds hurt. Damn it.

“I’m sorry, Lola,” I tell her, grasping her hands. “It had nothing to do with you! It was all about my crazy insecurities. I was … intimidated by your offers to show my work. So I just avoided you.”

Lola is quiet for a moment and she looks shocked. “Samantha Colby. I am stunned. You … of all people! Why would you ever be intimidated by showing your work? Sam, you are one of the most talented artists I’ve ever met!”

I take a deep breath and let out a defeated sigh, looking Lola in the eye. “I just…,” My voice trails off in frustration. “Look, it took a lot to get me here, okay? But, I’m here so…,” I open my purse and pull out the CD portfolio I burned this morning and hand it to her without a word. She glances down at the CD in my hand and then back up at me. Then she smiles and takes the CD in one hand and grabs my hand with the other and leads me away to the back of the gallery.

As I enter what appears to be Lola’s office, I notice Martin venturing toward us, ever watchful, and I nod to him to indicate that all is well. He returns my gesture and takes up a stance in the small hallway outside the door.

“Is he with you?” Lola asks with a concerned frown.

“He is. Long story,” I say with a wave of my hand as she points me to a chair in front of her desk. She turns her laptop to face us and takes a seat in the chair beside me, and loads the CD into the computer. The butterflies in my stomach feel more like bats flying about in there. I’m so nervous!

The CD is loaded with about 25 images of my sketches. I focused mainly on my nudes but, I also included several landscapes as well, as I really enjoy doing those, and a few portraits. I included the nude sketch of Josh asleep in my bed – the one he said could never be displayed in a show. I understand why it can’t, and I would never use it, but it is a great sketch. I’m proud of it and I want Lola to see it. As expected, it stops her in her tracks.

“Wow. Samantha, that is amazing. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear it was a black and white photograph.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, feeling the butterfly bats begin to calm.

“If you’re interested, I think we could build an entire show around this piece,” she says, looking at me with an excited gleam in her eye. “We could create a show focused on your nudes and this would definitely serve as the centerpiece. It’s incredible, Sam!”

My sketch of Josh as the centerpiece of a show? I’m speechless. And instantly crestfallen. We can’t show that sketch! But I don’t get the chance to speak up just yet because Lola keeps talking.

“And I’m not knocking your landscapes or your portraits, they’re excellent. But your nudes are stunning. I know sketching is your thing, but have you ever painted any nudes?”

“Um … well yes, I have but … ”

“Wonderful! We could do an entire show of your nudes using both your sketches and your paintings,” she says excitedly. “I’m getting goosebumps, I’m so excited! This partnership could work wonders for both of us, Sam.”

I’m feeling slightly lightheaded. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I showed Lola my work but, I didn’t expect her to take off at lightning speed. I just wanted to know if she thought my work was good enough to think about a show but, she already has us entangled in a working partnership, and her mind is off and running, creating an entire showing of my nudes. And I haven’t agreed to anything! I stare at her dumbfounded, blinking mutely. What the hell just happened?

“Lola … I … ”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m overwhelming you, aren’t I?” She laughs slightly. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m just so excited. I haven’t been this excited since opening night!”

I hesitate for a beat and then take a deep breath, letting it out with an anxious sigh. “Lola, I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting you to offer me a show right away.”

“Samantha, I’ve been offering you a show since I first conceived of starting my own gallery,” she says.

“I know. But I … I’m just … stunned. And flattered. And flabbergasted!” She laughs at me and grabs my hand.

“Look, Sam … I have no idea why you’re so reluctant. You are so incredibly talented; you always were. And I thought you were serious about wanting a career in art. Wanting to make a name for yourself instead of resting on your family and your trust fund.”

“I do want a career in art.” My voice sounds confident and I wonder where that grit came from. Where has it been for the last year? Why didn’t it surface when Lola first offered me a show?
Maybe it came into your life with a certain overly handsome detective.
I smile at the thought. What was that I was saying to myself this morning? That Josh makes me brave.

“Is that smile a ‘yes’ then?” Lola asks me.

I’m silent for a moment as I think about Josh posing for me and always telling me how great my work is. Then I take another deep breath as I nod slowly. “Yes.” My voice sounds small but definitive, and Lola squeals.

“You won’t be sorry, Sam,” she says, throwing her arms around me. “You’ll see. This show will be your first step toward art stardom! And it will help establish the gallery as a real player in the art community. I will be lauded for my brilliant find of the art world’s newest superstar! I’ve already got so many ideas on how to promote your show. This is going to be huge!”

Over tea, we talk for another hour or so about the direction she wants to take with my show and she says that she wants to see more images of all the nudes I’ve done to date. She is disappointed when I tell her that the sketch of Josh sleeping can’t be used and why, but after I explain the reason, she asks if I could sketch him again in a similar pose, leaving the face unseen. It’s something I’m willing to try. After all, Josh did say that I could continue to sketch him nude as long as there was nothing distinguishing to identify him in the finished work.

We set a tentative date for my show, just three weeks away, pending her review of the nudes I have on hand and the reworked sketch of Josh sleeping. And I think the rush is because she’s a little afraid of me getting cold feet and backing out. She suggests a range of 30 – 40 works between my sketches and paintings, and we set up a time for her to come by the apartment and look at my studio. By the time I leave, my head is spinning, and I am so preoccupied that I actually wish I had let Martin drive me this morning. That way I wouldn’t have to try and concentrate on driving home right now. But luckily, the traffic is light and I manage to keep my scattered thoughts in check as I drive.

When I get back to my place, I do as Josh asked and allow Martin to come up to my apartment to check that everything is okay. And while he’s making his rounds, I send Josh a quick text to let him know I’m home:

Gallery visit went great!

Can’t wait to tell u about it.

Martin checking apt. now.

His response comes in an instant but, again, it sounds very clipped and distracted.

That’s great, Sam.

Please stay put.

I’ll c u soon.

What the heck is going on? This is really starting to worry me. I hope he’s okay. And I can’t help but remember that slight uneasy feeling of terror that ran through me at dinner yesterday when he and Paul Jr. were talking about Josh’s home invasion case. He confirmed to Paul that there was some sort of shoot out and a physical altercation during that arrest, and my heart nearly fell into my stomach. I never really think about Josh’s job being dangerous but, I know in my head at least, that it is.
Oh, please let him be okay!
And I find it heartwarming that, while he’s dealing with whatever it is that has him so distracted, he’s obviously worried about me. He is so sweet sometimes. I want to text him something reassuring: