Page 81 of Wicked Design
Van Gogh faced her. “I shouldn’t have taken off my clothes. I have no excuse. You have every right to be angry.”
Hell yeah. She didn’t want to fight, though, yet couldn’t shrug off what happened. She’d stewed in heartache too long. “That wasn’t the worst. Yeah, it was. But you didn’t stop. You kept doing it.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “What?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Are you talking about when the water hit you and messed up your bows? Did that ruin your top forever? I can buy you a new one. Tell me where to find it online or even at a store and I’ll get it for you.”
“I don’t care about that. Art is your life, and this is mine.” She gestured to her table. “When you suggested I strip to my underwear—”
“Oh hey, I was out of line with that.”
“It’s not what I’m talking about.” She bounced in place. “You were thoughtless and condescending concerning my talent. You said if I took off my jewelry, it wouldn’t be any biggie. No one there would steal it. Like it was junk, unimportant, worthless to such extraordinary people who can afford the good stuff.”
“Oh, baby.” He reached for her then quickly lowered his hands. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Maybe not, but you never pointed out my pieces so the others would notice. I bragged on you, but you said zip about me. You forgot I was even there. Don’t deny it. I know. I followed you, waiting for a word, a glance, something. You ate without asking me to join you or offering me a bite.”
“I saw you talking to a group about your jewelry. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“That was hours before you ate. When you were at the buffet I was there, but not once did you look my way.”
“I—” He stared. “Are you going to cry?”
She was trying her best not to and had been doing so for minutes, not that he’d noticed until now. “Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. I’m worried about you.”
“Now you are. Maybe. What about then and later? You messed up my bathroom. You used my new toothbrush and left my soap drowning in water. Those facial bars are expensive. I’m not rich. I was thirsty but you didn’t leave me enough apple juice to wet my mouth. You gave me the cupcakes as a gift then ate them, leaving me nothing. I had to run to the store for rubbers and other stuff.”
“I—”
“Don’t interrupt me!” She ran her finger beneath her nose. “You arrived late for dinner because you were discussing vital things with Zeke or Jacob or whoever the hell held your interest. Nothing as unimportant as you and me being together or whether you’d show up when you promised or if you’d come at all. You blew me off too many damn times. You treated me like nothing. And now you’re here. What happened? Did the clueless crowd unfriend you on Facebook? They deleted your number from their smartphones? They told you to get lost?”
He sighed.
“That’s no answer.” She crossed her arms, more pissed now than hurt. “Why are you here?”
“I love you.”
