Page 21 of Surrender to Me

I sat in the driver’s seat of my car, waiting to start the engine. I took deep breaths, trying to come to grips with the reality of the situation. My scholarship to the Foundation was in jeopardy, but I had an exhibition, and I wasn’t even an official student yet. I figured Professor Hunt did it to help my review, but either way, it didn’t matter. Lisa had accepted my work as worthy to show her clients. Even if it was an exhibition and not a gallery opening, I wanted to tell someone about my secret. My mother was an easy choice, seeing as she had been a painter once, but my mind kept wandering to Owen. He would know how much this meant to me.

“Fuck it,” I said. I dialed his number. Going with my gut here, I told myself, as if giving myself a pep talk made it okay. As the phone rang, I held my breath.

“Riley,” he said his voice like a cool wisp of air. I sighed.

“Owen,” I said. “I’ve got some news. You know Standard Storefront?” I paused, waiting a slight beat for an answer. But I couldn’t help myself; I was too excited to wait. “I have an exhibition there in a little more than two weeks.”

“That is news. Congratulations, Riley! I’d expect no less.”

The words made me blush, filling me with pride. I’d expect no less… It meant a lot coming from Owen; he believed in me, and even more importantly, he understood my art, my vision. I wanted to make art for people like him, people who got what I was trying to say.

“If anyone deserves an exhibition, it’s you,” he said.

Damn it. The blushing would not stop. “Are you gonna help me celebrate?” I asked.

“Maybe next Thursday, we could—”

“Next Thursday? You mean Valentine’s Day?”

There was silence on his end. I looked out the windshield; it was a cold day, even for February. The glass was steaming from my small amount of heat, showing how cold it was outside.

“Yes, Valentine’s Day,” he said. “I don’t usually celebrate it. But if you want, we can eat chocolate and watch those movies.”

“Those movies?” I asked. “You mean Hallmark Channel movies?”

“Yes,” he groaned.

Even though I knew it was a joke, panic rose in my stomach, making me feel anxious at what to say. My heart was leaping for joy knowing that Owen would do that for me, especially hearing his reluctance at everything related to romance, and my brain was roping my heart in like a wild horse. “But I thought you were going to New York?” I asked.

“I can rearrange.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said quickly. “Double shift, remember?”

The truth was that I was only working the night shift, but it was the only excuse I could think of.

“I remember,” he said. And with those two words, I knew he knew I was lying. He knew that I could probably rearrange too. If I asked.

“Well, I do have a request,” I said, squeezing in another attempt at changing the subject. We were constantly playing with fire, always trying to gauge the danger before it got too close to our fingers. “Will you model for me?”

I had asked him several times before, and he always found ways to tell me no. I guessed that being a high profile businessman and having a local artist capture your essence on film wasn’t a good idea. I understood that. But I’m an artist, I had said the first time I asked, I’m always looking for new subjects. That response disarmed him and he visibly relaxed, but he still told me no.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

“Whoa,” I said.

“You seem surprised.”

“Quite frankly, I’m shocked.”

“I said I’ll consider it, not that I’ll do it,” he corrected. After a slight moment, he added, “Fine. I’ll do it. For you, Riley.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

I was red, hot with pride and embarrassment. The possibilities were endless with Owen; I wondered where a modeling session would take us. It was fragile territory though, and we were walking on thin ice already.

“Can you do it for the exhibition?”

“If that’s what you need.”

I couldn’t help but smile. This was it; this was Owen putting me before his own reservations. He was finally trusting me. And yet something in the back of my mind screamed to hold back. You know what happened last time, the voice said. He let his psycho ex back in, which must mean he still cares about her in some odd way, and it took almost losing your scholarship for him to try to find you. Maybe he only wants you because he feels guilty, the voice said. And so I listened and made some excuse about wanting him to model next month, after the exhibition, when I knew I could let us drift apart naturally and never actually use him as a muse, and finally be done with it. I wasn’t going to let myself risk everything, including my heart, again.