Page 70 of In the Frame

“It shouldn’t take long,” Florian says optimistically. “He said it’s a maybe, not for sure. Just a backup.”

I’m quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t pry, but I’m going to. “How long has he been dating Ali?”

Florian thinks. “A few months, maybe?”

“Do you really think Ali’s been caught up at work?” I ask uncertainly. “It seems like a big event to miss.”

“Well, I don’t know, to be honest. I agree, it does seem unlikely,” Florian concedes. “I’ve only met him a couple of times at functions.”

I gaze at Florian, quiet. He reaches across the table and places his hand on mine. His touch reassures me. After all, this is the man, despite our temporary arrangement, who flew a red-eye from New York to hand deliver my suit to me in Brighton. I shouldn’t doubt Florian. He’s been a very solid fake boyfriend. I don’t dare imagine him as a real boyfriend. Because I know I like him too much already. And seeing Billy, who looks like an A-lister with a conscience, doesn’t make me feel better about being a broke artist who isn’t even making art and only cocktails. And that’s not even bringing up the Rose situation.

I must look glum or something because Florian squeezes my hand. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Everything’s alright. I promise it is.”

I squeeze back, then sip my cocktail, considering him. Something hot and tight grips my chest. Because now I’m thinking about the Rose and everything going wrong and how much I really like Florian. This is why this is fake. Otherwise, there’s no way our situation makes sense.

“What are you thinking?” Florian encourages me.

“I think… we come from such different worlds. Even if I know that after tonight, everything’s over between us.”

Florian’s expression shifts to more serious. “I see.”

“It’s the end of the fake boyfriending agreement,” I point out. “You’ll go back to your regular life, and I’ll go back to struggling with mine and trying to make my way in London. And art seems like a faraway dream.”

“You’ll get there.”

“You haven’t even seen my work to know it’s any good,” I point out.

“Because you won’t show me.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, but his eyes don’t have their usual sparkle. Instead, some kind of heaviness settles over his body, though he looks just as poised. It’s subtle, but I feel his shift. There’s a hint of tightness in his jaw.

I swallow. “Yeah.”

Florian nods, considering me. “Would you show me?”

He’s asking me to expose my heart. After Sotheby’s, there’s no comparison with me, an early career artist, versus masters of their paintings and art. “I… I can’t,” I whisper.

He smooths my fingers with his. It’s grounding, but my throat’s tight, and my eyes prickle, and the spectacle of the gala and the blue light cast over everything right now is surreal. Florian doesn’t say anything.

“I need to know something,” I say at last, doing my best to brace myself. “I didn’t want to ask tonight. Because it’s an incredible night and event, and I’m really glad to be here with you. But… are you sure you’re buying the Rose? Please say you’re not, Florian, because the Rose is home to my art community, and without it, everyone will struggle a lot more.”

His lips twitch. He sighs. “I’m very sorry, Matty, but as I’ve told you, the sale is still moving forward.”

I blink and sit up straight on my stool, hurriedly pulling my hand away from his. Instead, I grip the chrome edge of the high round table. He doesn’t understand. Everything’s going wrong. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

Florian doesn’t say anything. Not at first. Then, he nods slowly, holding my gaze. “Yes, I was. Selfishly, I wanted to enjoy your company tonight, and I didn’t want to bring it up right away, that we could talk about it another time⁠—”

“Florian.” I can’t keep the betrayal from my voice. Especially after I’ve already told him the last time we met—and at the gallery—about how important the Rose is to me and my friends. “I can’t believe you. You’re not really going to knock it down, are you?”

“The sale comes with planning permission to redevelop the site.”

My eyes sting. It’s like he’s squeezed all the air out of my lungs. I feel dizzy, amid the music of the lounge and the colored high walls in light and the cool vibe of the room. Here, I’m as insignificant as I feel. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He presses his lips together. “It’s a business decision, not a personal decision. Plus, you don’t have a studio there⁠—”

“It’s personal to me,” I tell him, urgent, my voice low. “It’s everything to me, don’t you understand? I don’t need to have a studio at the Rose to have it matter to me. The Rose is my community, Florian. It’s my friends. It’s everything.”

“Matty, I care about you more than you realize⁠—”

“If you cared about me, you wouldn’t have gone ahead with the sale. And plans to turn it into flats.”