Then he released me and turned away, greeting businessmen with that polite smile of his. His arm slid naturally around Anya’s shoulders as he introduced, “This is Anya Heffernan, one of the most gifted young painters I’ve ever met.”
The crowd around them erupted with compliments. Anya leaned shyly into Erving, looking every bit like his wife.
I was left standing there, looking the most awkward person in the room.
Some people pointed at me and gossiped, their mocking laughter sharp in my ears.
Finally, I couldn’t bear it anymore. I strode forward, grabbed Erving’s sleeve, and hissed, “Erving, that’s enough! You tricked me here to make a fool of me—is this fun for you? I’m leaving!”
In an instant, his smile froze. When he turned to me, his eyes were already cold.
He shook off my hand violently. I stumbled backward, slamming into a display rack. I gasped as pain shot through me.
“Have you lost your mind?” he snapped. “Nothing can go wrong at Anya’s exhibit!”
Anya hurried over, pretending to help me up. But as she leaned close, she whispered, “Bitch, just face it. The only person in his heart now… is me.”