“Erving, did you see it? My painting finally went viral!”
Erving stroked her hair affectionately. “That’s because you’re a talented painter.”
He didn’t even mention that she’d used my body as her subject. When he noticed me, he barely looked up. “What are you doing here? It’s cold outside. Wear something warm.”
“That painting,” I said, my voice shaking, each word forced out through clenched teeth. “Did you tell her to paint it?”
He frowned, stubbed out his cigarette, and rose as if to pull me into his arms. But I shoved him away with all my strength.
Annoyance flickered across his face before he masked it with his usual soothing tone. “Mandy, don’t make a scene. Anya’s dream has always been to become a great artist, but no one paid attention to her work. I just helped her a little.”
“Helped her?” I laughed, but my tears spilled over before I could stop them. “You call that help? Using my body? Erving, what do you think I am—a prop for you to flaunt whenever you guys want?”