I suddenly felt like an intruder.
Then I saw Riley and the feeling passed.
Her face lit up when she saw me.
“Megan!” She started toward me, moving quickly with the aid of her one-handed crutch.
She was so beautiful.
Her emerald green dress hugged her figure perfectly, before sweeping lightly over the floor.
And it complemented her complexion well.
Her hair had been pinned loosely, leaving a few rough strands to drop, framing her face.
She ‘waddled’ towards me self-conscious and without apology.
The crutch was a big part of her rhythm.
She carefully shifted it forward with every step, placing her weight before taking another one.
“You’re here!” I was smiling now too.
“I couldn’t reject your note.
You must have a degree in the art of blackmail.” Riley exploded into laughter.
“If you have a brother like mine, you would too.” Heat coiled up in my stomach without reason.
“If I had a brother like yours, I’d consider running away once in a while.” Her eyebrows lifted.
“How do you know I haven’t done it already?” My eyes reduced.
“Please tell me you have, if only to mess with him.” Her smile spread.
“Oh, you have a wicked mind.
I like it.” She brushed a few strands behind her ears.
“Come on.
I’ll show you around.” And she did.
Not meaning to sound stereotypic, but how was it so easy for her to peruse the hall, considering she had a crutch?
We moved about, stopping every few feet so Riley could point out another piece of art.
Some were beautiful.
Some were strange.
Some were so ‘abstract’ that I wasn’t entirely convinced they qualified as art.
But then again, what do I know?
One sculpture looked like someone had taken a metal chair, twisted it, and abandoned it halfway through the process.
Riley followed my gaze.
“You don’t like them?” My face did little to hide my emotion.
“I do not hate them.” “I see.
But you do not like them either.” Silence.
Then she groaned.
“Oh, just tell me already.” “They look like garbage, okay?” I blurted.
“I mean, how can you look at this and say it came from inspiration?
Or that?” I gestured to the doodle lines of the painting on the wall.
“I should have become a painter.
With paintings like this, I would’ve been a billionaire in kindergarten.” A lady to our right gasped when she heard me and walked away.
I’m sorry I don’t understand your art.
Riley was laughing so hard now.
“Oh, you are so honest, and it is very sweet.” My mouth could not work anymore.
And every feeling in my joints disappeared when that word came.
Sweet.
That was a word I didn’t want associated with me.
No one had called me that in a while, and no one should.
I was not sweet little Megan anymore.
When a waiter passed us carrying a tray of champagne, Riley took two glasses and handed one to me.
Forcing my smile back on my face, I accepted it.
“I thought you said this was a fundraiser.” “It is.
Auction style,” She said, taking a sip of her champagne.
It was very elegant.
She was very elegant.
“People donate a lot of things.
Other people buy it, and the proceeds are used for charity.
Today’s donation is art-oriented, and its proceeds are going to a children’s hospital in Boston.” I looked around.
Art-oriented indeed.
“You should have told me.
I would have brought an item then.” “I’m happy enough you could come.
Besides,” she gave a sly smile.
“I intend to make you donate something later.
Just don’t hate me after it.” That was suspicious.
“Wait, what do you mean ‘don’t hate you’?” She was no longer looking at me.
Instead, she was waving to a group of men.
My eyes followed hers and my heart did a mild flip.
They were standing beside a painting that looked like an angry splash of paint.
One of them waved back and suddenly, they were walking towards us.
Two of them were smiling easily.
The other three looked as though they were being led to the gallows.
And then I recognized one of the three gallows walkers.
The British man from the entrance.
When he saw me, he gave a curt nod.
Okay.
Classy.
Beside him was another man with dark hair and an easy expression.
Asian.
But my eyes betrayed me to the other known face in the group.
My pulse immediately leapt.
Arrhythmia.
I should get checked first thing tomorrow morning.
Riley smiled and somehow pulled me along.
For someone who depended on a crutch, she was awfully independent, and very fast.
“Gentlemen, don’t you all look dashing.” she teased, leaning to her right.
“Not nearly as breathtaking as you.” One of them said.
He was the other Asian in the group.
“I have to.
I aim to please.” Then, “This is my friend, Megan Holt.
Megan, these are my brother’s friends.
Jonathan Park,” she pointed first to the man she had been talking to, “Lucien Delacroix, Eli Worthington and Ren Maeda.” “Nice to meet you all,” my voice was shaking.
What the hell?
“Lovely to meet you too.” Jonathan said.
Honestly, who were these people?
“You remember my brother, right?
Roman Sterling?” She gestured toward Roman.
I swallowed.
Yes.
Yes, I remembered him.
“I do.” I managed.
“What are the odds, Miss?” the Brit said.
What was his name again?
Riley’s eyebrows hitched.
“You know her?” “We met at the door.
He helped me out.” I explained.
“Chanced encounter, I’d say.” he held out his hand.
“Eli Worthington at your service.” I took it in a handshake, but his grip tightened slightly and he brought my hand to his lips.
When his lips grazed lightly over my knuckles, I jerked.
“Ever the charmer, Eli.” Jonathan said.
Then to me, “Nice to meet you too.” He turned at once to Riley who was smiling beside me.
“How are you feeling today, Riley?”