Page 3 of Chasing Callie

That’s my painting.

Is Theo surprising me? Is that why he’s been so agitated?

I look at the next, and my heart leaps. Oh my god. This isn’t Theo’s show. It’s mine! All my pieces from the last year of hard work, even some I didn’t love, are proudly on display. Here in the special lighting, they almost look like they belong.

“So, we’ll open the show and let you say a few words,” the coordinator says.

“Oh, I’m not prepared,” I say quickly.

“Callie, love, he’s talking to me. The artist’s girlfriend doesn’t speak at these events.”

Lines slash across my forehead. “But⁠—”

“Forgive her,” Theo says with a laugh. “She likes to be the center of attention.”

My mind spins, trying to understand, to fathom what he’s doing. This is my art. My hard work. The artist’s girlfriend doesn’t speak. I’m the artist. But he said it was his show. Theo wouldn’t. No. He can’t. He won’t.

Wouldn’t he, though?

My gaze shifts back to the piece closest to me. The plate next to it has a title that I didn’t give it, and there, etched in silver, is Theo’s name listed as the artist.

My chest splinters. I glance at him in confusion, and he’s giving me that furious once over I’ve grown far too used to. “Theo?” There’s so much in that question. So much so that I can’t even string into a coherent sentence.

What are you doing?

How could you?

Why?

“So sorry, but the event starts in five and we really need to cover the logistics,” the coordinator says, eyeing me like he’s contemplating how to get rid of me.

Theo beams at him. “Of course, where were we?” he asks, completely ignoring me as my world shatters around me.

“As I mentioned, your art is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Theo says, grinning at me.

This mother fucker. Grinned. At me! This is my art! How fucking dare he. My hands ball into fists, and as much as I want to punch him, I force myself to relax. To breathe. To keep my cool until the coordinator rushes off.

“What the fuck?” I hiss at Theo.

He scoffs. “You know I don’t like when you cuss.”

“Theo, this is my art.”

“Callie, babe.” He grabs both of my arms, one hand brushing over the bruises he left earlier and I wince. He scowls. “We both know no one knows who you are. I’m doing this for you. With my name on the art, it’ll sell. Do you think it would sell if yours was on it?”

“Well I guess we won’t be finding out tonight,” I growl, tugging out of his hold, knowing he won’t hurt me with other people around. “I can’t believe I trusted you.” Four years. Four fucking years wasted with him. How many times has he tried to change me? To control me? To make me bend to his will?

“Don’t make a scene,” he warns.

“Or what?” I demand. “Are you going to grab me again?” I narrow my eyes. “Hit me?”

He shushes me and quickly glances around. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but we’ll talk about this at home.”

Oh no we fucking won’t. The arguments are one thing. Hurting me tonight. Stealing my art? That’s two strikes and I’m not sticking around for the third. Not anymore. Lucky for me, the doors open and Theo’s irises light up with a predatory gleam I used to think meant he loved me.

Pressing my lips together, I watch as he rushes to greet people. Bit by bit, I come apart at the seams. Every person who murmurs in admiration. The way they stare at my art with awe. The walls close in with every passing second, and before Theo can get up and give his speech, I do the only thing that’s protected me in the past.