12

Evangeline

"Do you need help packing?" Elizabeth asks from the phone screen.

"No, thanks. Although, sometimes I forget you exist outside of this device!" I playfully wag my finger at her. "If I accept Q's proposal, I'll have a place for you to come visit me."

"You're actually considering it?" she exclaims.

"I am," I admit.

Her brow furrows. "Have you seen Lawrence since... the wedding?"

"That was three days ago. I haven't seen him at work, and he hasn't been home either," I reply. Not that I mind. I shrug. "He's paid the rent for the rest of the month here. Now that our wedding is off, I can't stay."

"I came home today and realized I need to start packing. Ideally, I'll be out of here before he returns, but I've been so exhausted I haven't had the energy to gather my things."

"Where are you thinking of moving to?" Elizabeth's question prompts a sigh from me.

"I'm not sure."

There's a pause on her end. When I look at her on the screen again, I see a worried expression on her face.

“Sweetie, don’t worry. I’ll sort it out,” I say with a forced smile, though I doubt I’m fooling her given how her frown deepens.

"Eva, where will you go?" she persists.

"I... um... maybe I could reach out to some old high school friends?" I grimace.

I was never that popular. Elizabeth was the social butterfly with lots of friends. I always preferred the company of colors on my canvas or the words in poems over real people. Not much has changed now that I’m an adult, unless you count watching adult content or reading steamy romances as a hobby.

“Hmm”—she frowns—“you sure?”

No, I’m not. “By the way, there are trials being run at Johns Hopkins near Washington, D.C. for ALS. If Dad got onto one of them, it would be experimental, but at least it would extend his life expectancy and improve his quality of life.” I say it, hoping to distract her, and I'm rewarded when her features brighten.

“That sounds amazing, but wouldn’t it be expensive?” Her shoulders sag.
“It would.” I nod. “Except Quincy already got him accepted for it and has agreed to foot the bill.”
“He has?” Understanding dawns on her face. “Oh Eva, I see your reasoning behind considering his proposal now, but—” She purses her lips, “— is this what’s best for you?” Her forehead furrows. “You agreed to marry Lawrence because you thought it’d help you save money and look what happened.”

I wince. “It won’t happen again. Quincy won’t stand me up at the altar.” Given a choice, he’d consummate the marriage before the wedding night. I’d agree to that, too... No, I’m telling her that.

“But you don’t know this guy. You only just met him,” she protests.
“I know enough. I know he’s trustworthy and that, as his wife, I'll have access to money, which we need badly.”

“I can’t let you sacrifice yourself again, Eva. I can’t!” Her chin trembles. "You’re young. You should be going to university and studying for your degree in fine arts,” she bursts out.
"Degrees are overrated. Besides, I got to paint the interior of the pizza shop, and the operations director of the company loved it and promised me I can paint the interiors of the other shops, too," I offer.

“Not that he paid you anything extra for it.” Her scowl deepens.
"I… Uh… Plan to talk to him about it." I hunch my shoulders. "You don’t have to worry about it or anything else." I shove the rest of my clothes into my suitcase and straighten. "I’ll figure it out Elizabeth, I promise."

I head over to the kitchen and pour myself the last of the boxed wine. I take a sip from the glass, then wince.

"That bad?" she asks sympathetically.
"It’s not vinegar… yet."

She snickers. The intercom buzzes, and she frowns. "Were you expecting someone?"
I shake my head and press the button on the device. "Hello?"
"Evangeline?" a woman’s voice asks. "Evangeline Wells?"
"Yes?" I say cautiously.
"I’m Solena Sterling, a friend of Quincy Carrington."
"Okay?”
"I know this is a surprise, but do you mind if we come up?"
"We?"
"Hello," another woman chimes in, "I’m Zara Malfoy. Also, Quincy’s friend. We would love to speak with you, if you have a little time?"
"Is Lawrence’s father’s name Quincy?" Elizabeth whispers loudly.

I throw her a look, then speak into the intercom, "Did Quincy send you?"

"Yes, but only because he thought you might be alone and could use some company," Solena replies.

"We're totally legit. We'll even show you our IDs if you want. We're here because he's concerned about you, but he understands you don't want to see him... at least not yet," Zara chimes in.

"And we brought wine," she adds.

"Wine?" I say slowly.

"A very good 2009 Merlot." Solena’s voice is persuasive.
"A 2009? That would taste better than the vinegar you were having earlier," Elizabeth exclaims.
I scowl at her. "What do you know about wine?"
She coughs. "Anything would be better than your boxed wine.”
"Hmm."

Before I can reply, Zara chimes in, "Also, cupcakes and tacos."
Tacos! I exchange glances with Elizabeth again.
"Keep me on the line, so I can make sure they are who they say they are,” she insists.
"No, absolutely not, you need to get back to practice."
She sighs, "You’re right, but?—"
"I’ll message you after."
"Message me in ten minutes, and let me know you’re fine, else I’m coming over to join the party."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, grandma." I disconnect the call, slip the phone into the pocket of my jeans, and buzz them in.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I throw it open to see a pretty, pink-haired woman with a big smile on her face. She’s holding onto a pram with a sleeping baby in it. Behind her is a taller woman with blonde hair pulled up into a tidy knot. She’s wearing glasses and a skirt suit and has a satchel in her hand. It looks like she came here directly from work.
The pink-haired woman beams at me. "I hope you don’t mind us coming by. I’m Solena, by the way.”

I hold out my hand. "I’m?—"

"Evangeline, Quincy has filled me in on everything about you." She bypasses my handshake, steps around the stroller, and wraps her arms around me. Her excitement at meeting me is contagious, and I feel my lips curling into a smile. She pulls back, her smile widening.

The other woman waves at me. "I hope you don't mind us crashing in like this?"

"Quincy called me this morning and briefed me quickly on the situation," Solena explains.

"Situation?" I can't hide the suspicion in my voice.

"He mentioned you're important to him and thought it would be good if we stopped by to keep you company," she adds.

"Did he?" I can't help but sound skeptical.

Does Q know I don’t have many friends? Is this his way of preventing me from overthinking things, like I tend to do? But that doesn’t make sense; he hardly knows me.

And yet... When our eyes met that first time, it felt like he could see right through to my insecurities and deepest desires. Like he understood me better than I understand myself. And strangely, I felt like I already knew him, even though that was our first meeting.

"If you’re not comfortable, we’ll leave." Zara scans my features.
“It’s not that. I’m just…” I raise a shoulder. “I’m surprised he’d reach out to you. Or that he’d have the time to do so, given we met three days ago.”

Zara opens her mouth, then closes it abruptly. "I didn't realize—" She coughs and gives Solena a quick sideways glance, who watches me with keen eyes.

"Q mentioned that the circumstances of your meeting were unusual," Solena says, absentmindedly rocking the stroller back and forth, a gesture typical of mothers comforting their children. "But he didn't go into specifics, so you know."

I'm uncertain how to respond. I don't really know these women. Still, I guess I appreciate Q looking out for me.

"Q is friends with my husband, Sinclair Sterling. That's how I got to know him. He struck me as someone who prefers to be alone, by choice."

"So naturally, Solena makes sure he's invited over for dinner every opportunity," Zara remarks with an eye roll.

"Mostly, it was Sinclair, my sister Karla and her husband Michael, and then there was Q. My husband met Q after he retired from the Marines and joined the Carringtons. They became fast friends, which is unusual for Sinclair. He doesn't trust easily, and neither does Michael. But they both trust Q enough to invite him to join us for dinner. I like to think it was Sinclair and Michael who convinced Q there's life after the Marines," Solena explains.

"Karla... You mean Karla West Armani, the designer?" I hazard a guess, noting the unique name.

Solena nods proudly. "Oh my God, I love her style! I found one of her original pieces in a charity shop, which was the only way I could afford it for my wedding— I mean, my almost-wedding."

The baby yawns and stretches. He opens his eyes and looks at me in the way little kids have, when they’re fascinated by what they’re seeing. He blinks, then holds up his arms. And that’s it, I’m a goner.

"Aww, you’re a cutie." I glance at Solena. "May I?"
She nods and smiles, then bends and picks him up. She kisses him, then hands him over. I cuddle the baby, who continues to stare up at me. He smiles suddenly, and my heart melts further. "What’s his name?"

"It’s Matthew, but I call him Matty." She beams.
I carry the kid inside and the women follow with the pram. "Hey, baby, you’re such a cutie pie." He blows a bubble, then raises his hand and tugs on my hair.
"Oh, Matty, don’t do that." Solena walks over and tries to disentangle my hair from his little fist, but I laugh.

"It’s fine, really." I sit down in one of the armchairs and continue to gaze into Matty’s startling blue eyes. They are clear in the way babies’ eyes can be. He pulls on my hair again, and when I lower my head, he bats at my cheek with his other hand. He gurgles, and a wave of love overpowers me.

I rub my cheek against his hair and breathe in his fresh baby smell. Baby powder and milk and that indefinable something that's innocent and intangible and yet, so evocative.
"He likes you," Solena says in a soft voice.

I glance up to find the two of them are standing. "Oh please, sit down. Sorry I didn’t ask you to make yourselves comfortable. Little Matty distracted me."
"You’re good with kids." Solena takes a seat on the settee.

"I took care of my sister after my mother passed," I say softly.
"I'm sorry; that must have been tough," Zara replies sympathetically.
I shake my head and gently curl my finger around Matty's tiny fist. "It was a while ago."
"Where is your sister now?" Zara wanders around the apartment, taking in the furniture left by the previous tenant and the belongings of Lawrence. The paintings on the wall and the overstuffed bookcase are the only items I salvaged when my neighbor discarded them.
"She's at the Royal Ballet School."
"She must be incredibly talented," Solena remarks with a smile.
"She is." I playfully tickle Matty's stomach, and he giggles. I can't help but laugh along.
"This painting is striking," Zara comments, pausing in front of the artwork hanging next to the bookcase.
"Thanks," I murmur.
She glances back at me. "Did you paint it?"

I nod. “I created it in one night.”
Zara gasps. “That’s incredible.”
“Not really. I like to mull over the ideas in my head, until one day, I know it’s time to put it on canvas. Then, I can’t stop until it’s done.” I bounce Matty on my knee, and he giggles. “I don’t get much time to do that though, because of my job at the pizza parlor.”
“It must be difficult to work a day job and also paint,” Solena says.

“It is.” I hand Matty to her. “At least I’m not a waitress anymore, so that’s something.” I shrug.
“Managing a team isn’t easy,” Zara adds without turning around. She seems to be entranced by my painting. A flush of pride squeezes my chest. I’d forgotten how good it felt to have someone respond to my art.

“It isn’t. Most days, by the time I finish, I’m emotionally drained. I end up coming home and falling into bed, then getting up the next day and doing it all over again. It’s the nature of the job.” I choke out a laugh. “Sorry, I don’t mean to overshare.”
“Oh, you’re good.” Solena smiles up at me.

Elizabeth is my closest confidant, but with her, I’m in the role of her bigger sister, the one who takes care of her and pays her bills. I can’t allow myself to show weakness with her. I need her to know she can depend on me and trust that I have everything under control. Then, Lawrence entered the picture, and he was my best friend. He’s the only one who knows about the money issues I have. And now, I’m not sure where I stand with him.

I’ve never had a strong circle of girlfriends. Looking from Solena’s sympathetic face to Zara’s engrossed one, I realize what I’ve missed.

Zara turns enough that she can meet my gaze. “I’m a book editor; I get to meet a lot of authors. And many of them work a day job while writing at night, and I've seen, up close, how difficult it can be to juggle both.”

"It is," I affirm with a nod. "And truth be told, I haven't painted much lately." Lately, just the sight of my paints and canvases has made me feel queasy. The longer I go without painting, the harder it becomes to find inspiration. It's like a muscle inside me is weakening from lack of use. "I've often wondered if there's a simpler way to earn enough to cover my bills"—and support my family— "while staying connected to my art."
I rise and join Zara to admire the abstract she's turned her attention to. "That's the most recent one I've done."

"Do you have more?" she asks thoughtfully.

I nod. "I have a few."

"Enough for an exhibition?" She gives me a sideways glance.
"Oh, no, not at all—" I chuckle. "I'm far from ready to exhibit."
"Would you mind if I took a picture of this and showed it to a friend of mine who runs a gallery in Soho? He’s always on the lookout for emerging artists."

I suppress my budding excitement and feign a nonchalance I don’t really feel. "When I was younger, I used to send pictures of my artwork to agents. I was so hopeful." I sigh. "But eventually, when I didn't hear back from them, I gave up.”

Of course, that was before Dad’s ALS worsened, and any spare time was consumed by taking care of him.

The baby starts to squirm, and Solena soothes him with circles on his back. He settles down for a moment, then begins to babble again, waving a hand in my direction.
Solena laughs. "He’s trying to tell you how much he loves being with you."
"I love him too." I walk back to her and kiss Matty’s forehead.
Zara takes a few photos of my paintings, then joins us. "Are you coming to watch Quincy’s match tomorrow?"

"Match?" I run my fingers through Matty’s soft hair, chuckling as he wrinkles his nose at me.
"He's facing off against Rayden, who's quite the accomplished boxer himself."
"And Quincy, is he a boxer too?"

"He used to be but hasn’t competed professionally in a while." Solena lays the baby down on the sofa and pats his tummy. "That's why my husband tried to talk Quincy out of it, but Q feels he owes it to Rayden."

"Why’s that?" I look up, intrigued enough to tear my gaze away from the little one to meet hers.
"Oh, that's not my story to tell." Solena meets my gaze squarely.