Claim Me(90)

“But that’s not what’s been on your mind,” Evelyn says after polishing off the rest of her drink. “Come on, Texas. I’ve been watching you and Damien all night—and most of the time I haven’t been watching you together.”

I conjure a practiced smile, but I know that it must look as false as it feels. “As far as the cocktail party is concerned, I’m simply a guest. Damien and Giselle are doing the host and hostess thing.”

“Uh-huh.” She leans back in her chair, then pushes her whiskey glass toward me with the tip of a finger. I fill it once again. I almost top off my own, too, but considering the way Evelyn is looking at me, I think I need a clear head.

Evelyn ignores the glass, but leans forward on her elbows and peers at my face until I start to feel uncomfortable.

“What?” I finally demand.

“Not a thing,” she says. “Just that I could’ve sworn your eyes were blue. Not green.”

I sag a little. “I’m a bit discombobulated where Giselle is concerned,” I admit. “She’s coming at me from all sides lately, and it’s messing with my head.” I am amazed that these words come so easily. I am much more comfortable living behind my mask, and with the exception of Damien and Jamie and Ollie, that is where I usually stay. With Evelyn, however, it’s far too easy to talk, and I find myself revealing things that I would normally keep locked up. I suppose that should make me uncomfortable around her, afraid that one day she will see too much. But it doesn’t, and I am glad.

“Damien didn’t tell me he was helping Giselle bring the paintings back,” I say. “And I know that’s no reason to be jealous. But—”

“But now she’s at his side instead of you?”

“Maybe. But that’s not really fair of me since I’d be at his side if I hadn’t gotten mad and stormed away. Damien’s giving me space.”

“Ah, a lover’s quarrel. That’s okay, Texas. The drama always increases in the second act. What dastardly deed did he do to bruise your heart?”

Her words resonate, because that is exactly what he’s done—bruised my heart. “He told Giselle it’s me in the painting.” The words sound as heavy as they feel. “And she told Bruce.”

“I see.”

Something in Evelyn’s tone makes me take notice. “What? Do you think I should just get over it? I’ve been telling myself it’s not that big a deal, and maybe it isn’t. But Damien—”

“—broke his word. Yes, of course that would upset you. Would piss me off, too. But in this case, I think you need to forgive the boy.”

I can’t help my ironic half-smile. “I will. I honestly can’t imagine staying mad at Damien. But not right now. I’m feeling a little fragile.”

She keeps speaking as if she hadn’t heard me. “You need to forgive him because he didn’t break his word. Blaine did.”

“What?” I play her words back in my head, but I still don’t understand.

“Blaine told Giselle,” Evelyn says matter-of-factly. “He didn’t mean to. He was mortified. They were talking about model releases for the gallery and somehow the conversation turned to the portrait. He doesn’t even remember what he said, exactly. You know how he gets when he starts chattering. And the next thing you know, he’d told her. He rushed home and told me the whole story. Didn’t sleep that night—took all my harassing to keep him from calling Damien right then and there, but it was two in the morning, and I told him it could wait. Poor kid looked green until he finally got Damien on the phone at five the next morning.”