Page 85 of In the Frame

Our burgers arrive, and we dive in.

He gestures at me with a chip. “Tell me, though, before the Rose complicated things, how was Florian? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No! He was great. He is great. He comes across as hyperfocused and serious at first, but he’s actually amazing?” I sigh. “Which is what makes this so awful.”

“Tell him how you really feel. Be honest with him. And yourself.”

I look at him unhappily.

“Tell him at the opera. Well, not during the opera. Wait for the interval, at least. Because you’ll get thrown out for talking otherwise,” he teases. “But talk to him, Matty. And let him buy the paintings, for the love of God. From one artist to another. Work your charm just by being yourself and keep him from buying the Rose that way.”

“If only.” I feel sick at the thought that saving the Rose rests on me and apparently my wiles. We’re doomed.

His phone buzzes, and he checks the message. “Raheem’s on his way because he wants to see you too. And Paul and Caden are back from Scotland and would love to see you as well. So, you’re stuck with all of us today, I’m afraid.”

Despite my heavy heart, Noah succeeds in cheering me up. And with the group of us reunited, we end up having a great afternoon catching up in the Brighton sun. For a moment, my worries about Florian and my future in art are put beside me.

But later, in the flush of my lager-induced wisdom, after four pints and sitting on the train back to Glynde, I text Florian. Because of course I put his number back in my phone.

Chapter Forty-Seven

I keep staring at my phone. The message is definitely sent. And I can’t unsend it. Even tossing my phone from the train can’t undo things. And it won’t make the feelings go away either. That despite feeling betrayed by Florian with the Rose, I want to see him more than anything else. Like seeing him yesterday just brought the feelings back even stronger. Which doesn’t help anything. But maybe if I see him, there’s a way through this mess.

Florian I’m sorry please come with me to the opera x

Staring at the phone in my hand, I realize I put a kiss on the end of the message, and it’s definitely sent, and it’s too late to take it back. Shit. I blame the lager. I slump back against my seat by the window. The train is conveniently stalled out between stations. The sun shines on me, and I’m warm between the sunbeam and the pints.

Are you sure?

Yes

I would love to go with you to the opera x

Fuck. Now Florian’s put a kiss on the end of his message. Florian isn’t usually a text-kiss-leaving sort of person. I mean, it’s happened before. But that was… before. And he’s left one for sure this time. I hold up the phone with both hands close to my face. Yes, it’s definitely a kiss. What would Billy think?

Which is only a few days away. And it means more black tie, and I have precisely zero tuxedos. This time, though, I’ll take care of things myself. Dad’s paying me for my shifts at the pub, which helps. I can totally do this. I can totally see Florian again. It’ll be absolutely fine. I just won’t think about the Rose. Easy.

I’ll come get you at 3pm. Leave the picnic arrangements to me.

Fuck. I totally forgot about the picnic part of Glyndebourne. Where people are dressed for a ball, but they picnic either by booking a table or ordering a picnic hamper or bringing your own. I wonder which option Florian would go for. Probably the package deal, ordering a table.

See you then

When I get home, I immediately pass out on the sofa for a nap. And when I wake up, still with the beer buzz, but more alert, I wonder what the hell I’ve done as sobriety creeps back in.

In the end, I go down to Brighton to rent a tux after Noah gives me sage advice on the best tuxedo place in town. And so, on opera day, which happens to be a Friday, I’m in black tie, and Mum’s fussing over me just before 3:00 p.m. The girls are still at school, and Dad’s working.

She brushes off imaginary lint from my lapel.

“I promise to take you to the opera another time, Mum,” I say again.

But she’s grinning. Probably, Mum’s happy I’m not moping around when I’m not working in the pub. “I think you and Florian should spend some time together,” is all she says on the subject.

When we hear the gravel crunching as Florian pulls in, Mum beams at me. “Have fun. Tell him he’s welcome to stay over if he likes. The opera gets out late, and it’ll otherwise be quite a drive back to London at that hour.”

“We’ll see.” I kiss her cheek.

She tugs on my bow tie one last time. With a deep breath, I head out. Florian’s unreadable in his sunglasses as I walk over to the passenger side and get in.