Queen: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 3) (6 page)

It felt like I was made for this, listening to people talk as they swept back and forth through the interlocking galleries. I overheard snatches of their conversations and their voices as they read the small cards aloud to each other.

“No, I think they’re like a couple, or like a threesome or whatever…”

“This beautiful tapestry was purchased in 1999 and authenticated…”

“So this one is
supposed
to be a forgery? Like that's what the artist originally said? The thing with the dogs in the postcard? I don't get it...”

“I know I've seen this somewhere before…”

“I think the term you're looking for is
menage a trois
…”

I felt like an absolute rock star. Since no one recognized me by sight, I could just wander through incognito. The guests were definitely beginning to talk about us, and I noticed more and more recognition dawning on people’s faces. Strangely, I didn't feel shy at all, or judged, or embarrassed. I felt completely awesome.

I glanced over the heads of the crowd as I walked into the final gallery by myself. Lyle and Owen had been tugged aside by one of the mayor’s assistants and were currently giving their seal of approval to the Press Secretary’s questions. I swept the crowd once more, looking for familiar faces and found none, and so I just went and stood in front of the largest installation in the place.

A woman was posing in front of the placard, moving her glass of champagne back and forth as she read out each line to her companions.

“
Forgery in a world of frauds
,” she called aloud in a musical sing-song. “Gerhard Richter is notable for his mastery of several different styles. In the two examples that you see before you, one is a genuine, previously unexhibited Richter painting that was completed from a photograph that he took in 1983 in a Chicago backyard. It is worth approximately $9 million. The other is a $200 Chinese factory painting in the style of Richter, completed from a photograph taken recently in the Lakeview neighborhood. Can you spot the forgery? If the brushstrokes, size, and content are similar, how can you ever really know the difference between what is real and what is fake?”

I stood back and sipped cool drafts of champagne into my mouth. I listened intently for their answer as they stood back to look at both enormous paintings at once. The title in big, foot-high block letters over both paintings gave me a delicious, if slightly evil thrill. “What is real and what is fake?”

It seemed like an excellent question.

“Oh my god, girl,” came a low, drawn-out sigh behind me. My heart caught in my chest. I whirled around and flung out my arms, crushing Melita to my boobs so hard that I wasn't entirely certain we would ever be able to untangle ourselves.

“Settle! Settle!” she laughed into my hair. But I couldn't. I was completely overwhelmed with feeling and afraid that if I pulled back from her I was going to start that ugly crying thing all over again.

"Melita! Aw, Melita,” I sighed over and over again into the shiny mocha tangle of her curls. Then I realized she smelled different. She smelled
amazing
. I pushed her back and took a long look at her up and down. She cocked her shoulder at me all sassy.

“You like?” she said, waving her hand up and down at her silhouette like a game show hostess. "You had something to do with this, I know it.”

I shook my head, my jaw working up and down but unable to make any sound come out. She was wearing a mermaid dress in dark turquoise. Fireworks of crystals exploded across her torso, ending in spirals over the sweetheart neckline that framed a beautiful diamond and sapphire pendant.

“Well, Lyle asked me your favorite color… Does that mean I still get credit for this?”

She shrugged and posed fetchingly, and I just shook my head at her. I'll admit, I felt the tiniest twinge of jealousy that Lyle would share his superpower with Melita. But if there was anybody that I could trust, I knew without a doubt that it was her.

“I'll give you credit for anything you want if you can keep getting me clothes like this,” she said all sassy, then got shy. “I mean… If you still want to. Well —”

I held up my hands. “You don’t have to say anything,” I said in a rush. "Please don't say anything.”

She shook her head, her lips pursed so tight together they were practically one solid glare of light across the gloss. “Girl, you know I have to. I did you so wrong… And just when you needed me —”

“No please shut up —"

“Fuck you, I'm trying to apologize here!” she yelled, causing more than a few heads to turn our way. I winced and bit my lips closed. I wasn't going to be able to stop her and for once I figured I should just quit early and let her do whatever she wanted to do.

She held up one finger and looked away briefly as though gathering her breath. When she looked back to me, her eyes glistened with moisture. “I am woman enough to tell you that you were right. I guess I always knew you were right, but I didn't want to see it. I do love me some cowboy penis.”

“I know you do, baby,” I sighed sympathetically.

“I know, right? I mean…
Cowboy penis.
It was so cute! Did you ever get the picture I sent you?”

“Oh, honey, I never looked at the pictures of my phone again… Maybe you could send it to me now? I have a new number —”

She shook her head. Her curls gave off a very expensive waft of cologne.

Man, Lyle really went all out for her.

“It doesn't matter, sugar. It’s not the penis you want to be looking at now anyway. Maybe if I'm a very good girl I’ll have something else to show you —”

She rolled her eyes leftward and flared her nostrils. I followed the arc of her gaze and finally saw Doug Kimball standing just a few feet away, his back turned to us discreetly. But by the lean of his posture, I could tell that he was listening in to every word.

“Wait a second,” I said slowly, putting the pieces together, “are you telling me… Do you have a thing? With Doug?”

I had been working with Doug closely on getting additional research for some of the pieces since he managed all of the Jacks’ collections. He was thorough, if a little quiet, and he struck me as the sort of person who liked to be bossed around a little bit. Holy cow, was he in for a treat with Melita.

She shrugged with theatrical innocence. “Is it a
thing
?” she repeated. “Well, I don't know if it's a thing or not. I mean, you sent him to me with presents and everything, right? When he shows up on my door all dressed up like Trojan Man —”

“Oh geez, do you mean a Trojan horse?”

She waved her hand in the air. “Okay, no, scratch that. Anyway he was all like, showing up with presents and goodies and talking sweet to me like… Well, I don't know. But it was real nice.”

She smiled for real, her cheeks going pink underneath her glittery blush.

Well geez, if Lyle got her the outfit, did Owen set her up on a date? How potent is that Google Fu anyway?

Holy cow, they really are the perfect men.

“Melita, he is 100% doll face. And still he's probably less than you deserve.”

I caught her hand and clasped it in midair, wanting more than anything to jump up and down like a middle school girl at a slumber party. She was back. I couldn't believe it. There were about four million things I needed to talk to her about.

Her eyes floated around the room.

“You really set up something great here, girl,” she sighed approvingly. “I can’t believe you did it without me.”

“I can barely believe I did it without you either,” I admitted. “But don’t worry, I totally docked your pay.”

Her eyes glittered. “You mean —”

“I mean you better show up for work on Monday,” I interrupted her with a saucy grin.

Melita hung close to my hip in the largest gallery, and I gave her a quick rundown of everything that was in the show. I felt like I needed to confess that I had bought some $8000 in forgeries from eBay and Asian merchants…
On purpose
. By the end of it, I felt about five pounds lighter.

“Boy, it really does feel good to get that off my chest!”

She shrugged. Apparently her new outfit had put her in a pretty good mood. But I didn't even think she was really listening to me, just making cow eyes at Doug who kept a safe and respectful distance the entire time.

“You're grossing me out,” I finally told her, holding my champagne glass to my lips so no one else could hear what I was saying.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” she simpered.

“The Scarlet O'Hara impersonation that you're doing, is what I'm talking about. Why don’t you just go over there and stand next to him. Oh wait, I have an idea… Why don't you go over there and
drop your tits
—”

“Oh my god, how can you even say such a thing to me!”

I open my eyes extra wide and just stared at her. Finally she flared her nostrils and looked away.

“Yeah, okay. You've got a point.”

Later in the evening, I noticed people looking over my shoulder and wondered if the Jacks were behind me again. But their expressions didn't really seem to match up with what I would have imagined. They looked surprised, slightly amused. Maybe a little startled.

I perked up my ears to listen and just waited.

“Was going on here?” Melita muttered. “What's the — oh my gosh —”

I didn't even turn around. I watched the surprise ripple from person to person as they glanced at the paintings and then glanced back over my shoulder.

“Oh, girl…”

“Brienne," came a voice, uncertain and definitely displeased.

“Brienne?” came another.

The guests milled around us, becoming more open in their curiosity as the moments passed. Finally I put my hand on my hip and turned around slowly.

“Carl… Whitney… So nice of you both to come.”

Carl's face was red all the way up and through his hairline. I had no idea it could go that far.

“Brienne,
what is this?
”

I gestured with my hand at the walls. “What's this? This is my gallery. Thank you so much for coming to my show.”

I felt Melita flutter a hand to her lips and heard her start gnawing on her thumbnail.

“Brienne,” Whitney snarled, “Carl is maybe too nice to say this to you, but I think that this is totally out of line, and I think you know it.”

“Out of line?” I repeated vaguely. I turned around in a slow circle, luxuriously taking in the room inch by inch. The Jasper Johns next to the fake Jasper Johns, the ivory tusk next to the fake ivory tusk, and the giant, authentic Gerhard Richter next to the China-reproduced image of Carl and Whitney toasting novelty margarita glasses in the shape of beagle heads.

“I think it's a really nice picture of you two, actually,” I said lightly. “I was considering giving it to you as a wedding present. Is there problem?”

“
I think you know there's a problem here, Brienne!
” Carl sputtered. “You got a picture of me and my fiancé under the word
fraud
. It says fraud, right there over our heads!”

I turned around as though I had no idea that everything was lined up that way.

“Oh, I see what you mean… Yes, that does almost seem like a purposeful thing there, doesn't it? But I assure you, it was just a matter of convenience. My cellphone mysteriously stopped working a few weeks ago, and so I was unable to acquire new pictures.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Whitney sneered. She shook her head, the heavy diamond earrings bouncing against her cotton candy hairdo.

“I completely agree,” I said.

It's amazing, the subtle ways that you can fuck with people.

“You know what, Bree, you're not to get away with this. Whitney is a very important person, and she's just not going to stand by and let you humiliate us —”

“— humiliate you? Are you saying you feel humiliated?”

His lips popped open over and over again but no sound came out.

“Because that's a terrible way to feel, Carl, don't you think? It would be terrible to feel like the people who were closest to you would just hang you out to dry, now wouldn’t it?”

I looked at the two of them and kept my expression carefully neutral. I wasn't mad. In fact, I didn't even really want to make a scene, though I could hear the murmur of people around me and knew most of the people here were now enjoying the scene quite a bit.

Finally I just shrugged. “Well, the show will be coming down in just a few weeks. I have a new show to put on… Nothing this complicated, just a collection of Japanese screens and ceremonial dress. Nothing you'd be interested in, anyway. In fact, I know this isn’t really your thing. I probably would never see you here again, right?”

Whitney ground her molars together. “We're neighbors,” she snarled through her teeth.

“Exactly,” I said in a voice so quiet that they both tipped their heads toward me to hear me. “We're neighbors, and so we should probably keep this as civil and professional as possible. I would guess that probably only fifty or a hundred people have recognized you so far. The painting is a little bit blurry. If you leave now… Especially if you leave separately… I’ll bet no one else will figure it out.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and blinked at them and waited for them to make a decision. Carl shifted from foot to foot and looked all around the room, ping-ponging over every set of eyes that seemed to register that he looked an awful lot like the guy in the painting right behind me.

Finally with a frustrated snort, he just dropped Whitney's arm hard against her leg and stormed off, back toward the entrance. She stood there for a few more seconds and shook her head at me but couldn't seem to find any more words to say. After about ten more seconds she turned and left the way Carl had gone.

Melita appeared at my elbow.

“You know,” Melita said in a sweet whisper, “I really thought that you were just going to let it go. I really thought that you were just above it and moving on with your life without even a look in the rearview mirror. But girl —” she said, staring up at me with her big kohl-black eyes, “you always surprise me.
That. Was. Brilliant.
”

“Was it?” I said vaguely. Too many feelings were competing in my head at once. I figured I was just going to have to wait for a while before I knew for sure if I was embarrassed that I had tricked them into publicly humiliating themselves or absolutely fucking astonished at how absolutely fucking awesome I am.

It was sort of a toss-up.