Catherine wore a fur shawl around her shoulders, and her body was decked out in expensive jewelry, making her smile shine even more. Her lips were painted fuchsia, and she carried herself as if she were royalty.
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Richard. And you must be Lucy.” She grinned and took my hand in hers. “I’ve been asking a lot about the lady in this talented man’s life.”
“That’s me.” I laughed unenthusiastically, tugging on the bottom of my dress with my free hand, hoping Richard wouldn’t comment on it. “I’m sorry, how do you both know—”
“Mr. Pet—Warren is one of the greatest artists in the world, and he’s from Milwaukee, Lucy,” Richard explained. “I’ve told you about him many times.”
“No,” I said softly. “I’m not sure you have.”
“Yes, I have. I’m sure you’ve just forgotten.”
Warren chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, Lucy. My own wife forgets me about fifty times a day—isn’t that right, Catherine?”
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Catherine joked, winking at her husband. While they were nothing but pleasant, I could tell Richard was somewhat annoyed with me, though I was certain I’d never heard of them.
“So, Richard, what’s the next step in your career?” Warren asked.
“Well, I was invited to a showcase in New York City by a friend of mine,” he stated.
“Oh?” I asked, surprised to just be hearing about it right then. “I had no clue.”
“It just happened this afternoon actually,” he said, leaning in and giving me a kiss. “Remember Tyler? He’s going to this big art gala in the city and said I could crash at his apartment.”
“Oh, the Rosa Art Gala?” Warren asked, nodding. “I spent many years at the Rosa. It’s a week of magic. I swear every artist must partake in it at least once. I’ve found some of my strongest artistic influences during those times.”
“And lost plenty of brain cells, too,” Catherine joked. “From paint fumes, alcohol, and marijuana.”
“It’s going to be amazing, that’s for sure,” Richard agreed.
“Are you going too, Lucy?” Warren asked.
“Oh, no. She’s actually running a floral shop,” Richard cut in, not even giving me a chance to answer. I hadn’t even been invited in the first place. “But I wish she could make it.”
“You’re a florist?” Warren asked eagerly. “You should consider pairing with an artist for the floral show that the museum hosts here. You make a floral arrangement, and then the artist paints a piece based on your creation. It’s quite fun.”
“That sounds amazing,” I agreed.
“If you need an artist, let me know and I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure I can get your name on the program, too.” Warren grinned.
“Now’s the time for the most important question of the nigh
t: what are you drinking, Lucy?” Catherine asked.
“Oh, just water.”
She looped her arm with mine and started to walk off with me. “Well, that won’t do. Are you a gin lady?” she asked.
Before I could reply, Richard spoke. “Oh, she loves gin. She’ll have whatever you’re having, I’m sure.”
As the four of us started walking to the bar, Catherine paused. “Oh my God, Warren! Warren, look!” She nodded in the direction of Graham, who was putting a sleeping Talon back into her car seat. “Is that G.M. Russell?”
Warren reached into his pocket and pulled out his glasses. “I think it is.”
“You know his work?” Richard asked, unamused.
“Know it? We’re in love with it. He’s one of the best authors out there—besides his father, of course. May he rest in peace,” Warren said.
“Oh, no. He’s much better than Kent was. He writes with so much pain, it’s hauntingly beautiful.”