I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found(59)

"Of course," he said, staring at the floor. "I'll see you later on."

I hurried into the cramped bathroom on the other side of the gallery, considering splashing some cold water on my face until I remembered that it would ruin my makeup. I leaned on the sink, instead, taking a series of deep breaths until the red in my face started to disappear. I washed my hands, smoothed my hair again, and went back out into the gallery.

People were just starting to filter in. I grabbed a glass of champagne and a few mysterious little puff pastries, standing next to my installment like a kid at a science fair. Truth be told, I really had no idea what was expected of me. I mean, I knew in theory - but I felt incredibly awkward, shoving little hors d'oeuvres into my mouth and drinking down all my champagne in one go. I stood there, awkwardly holding my empty glass, and trying to figure out what I'd just eaten.

"Oh my God," I said, softly, to no one. "I think those were tiny Beef Wellingtons."

"They were," said Curtis, suddenly appearing beside me. "Smile, you're on camera. Not literally. But you know what I mean."

I let out a long breath. "Okay," I said. "I think I'm ready."

"Don't get too nervous. You barely need to do anything. Just stand here and look stunning, but that's not hard. I'm sorry. I just - I mean, you look great. But if someone asks you a question, just answer it. If someone wants to buy it, be extra nice. That's pretty much all you need to know. And I'm here if you need anything. I'll be mingling. Just look for me."

"Thanks, Curtis," I said.

"No problem." He smiled. "Now, I've got to go be social for a while."

He wandered over to a group of people that had congregated towards the back of the room. With me being the focal point, I could feel everyone's eyes being drawn to me as they walked in, but most seemed to lose interest quickly and keep moving. I wasn't sure if they just felt awkward that I was standing there, or if they thought my drawings were terrible. Either way, it wasn't terribly encouraging.

There were only a few other artists there, and none of them seemed to want to make eye contact. So I went to fetch another glass of champagne and tried not to wonder if I'd be standing her all night, alone and silent, watching everyone walk around me in droves.

When I turned back to my installation, I saw an older businessman type standing there, frowning at it.

"These are very beautiful," he said, matter-of-factly. "Very…simple. But I like that." He eyed me for a reaction.

"Thank you," I said.

"Oh, you're the artist?" he said. "Very lovely." His eyes drifted to the name plate, then back to my face, then back to the name plate again. I could tell he wanted to say something, but was perhaps thinking better of it.

"Yes, well," he said, at last. "I hope you keep drawing, I'd love to see more of your work."

I wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it clearly wasn't going to lead to a sale tonight, so I went back for another round of appetizers and tried to sip more judiciously at my champagne. I had to survive the rest of the night standing on heels, after all. It probably wouldn't look too great if I had to lean on the free-standing wall just to stay upright.

As the place started to fill up, I finally had a few more interested parties - just no one quite interested enough to spend any money. I tried not to let myself look too closely at the other pieces on display, because the more I did, the more I noticed how small and plain all of my drawings looked, compared to theirs. There were so many gorgeous, lifelike paintings, intricate sculptures, and things that looked like - well, like they belonged in an art gallery. And here I was, with drawings that looked like they belonged on my mom's fridge.

I suddenly felt very small. I shrank against the wall, my shoulders hunched, sort of willing everyone to keep on ignoring me so I could wallow in my own inadequacy.

"Excuse me," said a voice. I looked up. A sharply-dressed businessman type was standing in front of me.

"Uh, hi," I said. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I think so." His eyes darted over to my drawings. "Lovely work. Really lovely. I had no idea you'd be here tonight. You're Daniel Thorne's wife, aren't you?"

"…yes," I said. "But I'm just here as an artist tonight." I forced a smile. This was getting off to a very poor start.

"And a very talented one, I'm sure," he said. "But listen - I think I can offer you a unique opportunity to tell your story in the midst of all the rumors and incorrect speculations that are swirling around your husband. I'd absolutely love to do a feature on you - get your unique perspective on the whole situation. I'm with the Post." He reached into his lapel and pulled out a business card, pushing it in my direction. I just stared at it. He gestured for me to take it a few more times, until I finally relented.

"Thanks," I said, "but no thanks."

"Are you sure? This would all be on your terms. You don't have to answer any questions you don't want to."

"Yeah, I know all about that," I said. "I'm going to have to stick with my original answer."

"This would be a unique chance for you to improve your image after that unfortunate cover page," he said, more quietly, drawing closer to me and bending his head down. "I know that's not how you want to be seen."