“It’s about time.” Vinny clapped Gabe on the arm as Gabe stepped into the Trailblazer Gallery, buttoning his suit jacket. Vinny’s smile fell as he looked at his brother’s face. “Dude, what the hell happened to you?”

Great. Gabe must look as shell-shocked as he felt.

He frowned. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Is this chick the reason you look like someone killed your cat?” Vinny gestured at the wall to Gabe’s back, but he couldn’t follow his brother’s gaze. If he did, he’d see Bex staring back at him, all aglow in the sunrise at Red Rocks. Her face the morning they’d made love, when they’d shown each other everything out there in the desert. There were more photographs of Bex, too, all around Vegas and in his bed. Intimate portraits. A love story through his lens.

Gabe had titled the show “Guilty Pleasures.” And maybe loving her was a guilty pleasure now that she wasn’t his.

Talk about self-fulfilling prophecies.

“Just help me get through tonight, okay?” Gabe asked.

Vinny nodded without speaking and stepped away only long enough to pluck two flutes of champagne off a nearby tray and deliver them to Gabe.

Vinny took a swallow of his drink. “Fancy party, at least.”

Gabe shrugged. The party was a Friday night affair with passed appetizers and drinks, and some low, soft music playing from cleverly-hidden speakers. Something a little different for the opening night. There was a good turnout, too—a whole crowd admiring his artwork—but the Chihuly exhibit had moved on, and the riot of colors and glass was gone.

Despite all the people, the gallery felt empty.

Gabe took a swallow of his drink, and the bubbles slid down his throat and sent a burst of fizz up his nose. He sputtered, and Vinny clapped him on the back.

“Jesus,” Vinny said. “I thought my visit would be a good thing.”

Maybe it was. If Gabe didn’t have someone here with him, he might not have shown up at all.

He swallowed more of his drink, getting buzzed enough to allow himself to nod and smile and play nice with the patrons. But he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to numb the pain coursing through him.

A hand caught his elbow, and someone whispered in his ear, “Is this your show?”

He had to turn to answer the voice, and this time his eye snagged on a portrait of Bex just over the brunette’s shoulder. Gabe winced and looked away. “It is my show.” He offered his hand to the woman because that’s what he was supposed to do. “Thanks for coming.”

Her hand was delicate in his as he shook it. “Diana Hastings.”

“Gabriel. Gabriel Marx.”

“Nice to meet you.” She smiled, teasing the rim of her champagne flute with manicured fingernails. She wore a long Grecian-cut dress that showed off an elegant neck and a modest bit of cleavage. She was pretty, in a refined way.

A lifetime ago Gabe would have gone for her type. Hell, a few weeks ago he would have. In his life before Bex. Only now there was just Bex. Except there wasn’t.

Oh fuck. He loved her so damn much. Why did she have to run so scared? He’d thought, stupidly, that his love might be enough to change her. That she’d be able to let him in. That she’d been falling along with him. And all he’d done was let her break his heart.

Of course.

“These pictures are beautiful,” Diana said. She swept her hand back toward the closest image, and Gabe nodded. “It’s almost like the camera is a stand-in for the viewer. You can see how much the camera loves the woman, and so we, as viewers, do, too.”

Was the whole art world going to be this kind of pretentious flattery? Couldn’t a picture just be a picture? Did everyone have to layer their interpretations onto the portrait?

A muscle in Gabe’s jaw tightened, and he made himself relax. It wasn’t the brunette’s fault she was right about the picture. About Bex. She’d read him so perfectly that he had to wonder if everyone in this room could read him, too.

“She’s just a model,” he lied, forcing a smile.

“Sure,” the woman conceded. “So how do I go about buying one of these pieces?”

It was a silver lining, but he was still in the middle of a fucking storm. “Let me introduce you to Angelica.”

Gabe led Diana through the crowd and deposited her in front of Angelica. He made the polite introductions, and as soon as he could, he extricated himself from the conversation and returned to his position staring at the door. From this view, he could avoid seeing most of the images of Bex. It was better that way.

“Why’d you ditch the brunette?”

Gabe turned to catch his brother’s eye. “So she could buy a picture. Make me a rich man.”

“I don’t know,” Vinny said. “It looks like she wanted to buy more than just a picture.”

“You say it like my body’s for sale.” Vinny cocked an eyebrow, and Gabe just shook his head. He wasn’t interested, but there was no reason to deny his brother a good time. Diana looked like she’d be a hell of a lot more fun tonight than Gabe would be. “She’s all yours, pal. Go for it.”

His brother took his leave, heading off after the brunette but hopefully not soon enough to interrupt Gabe’s sale. Frankly, the idea of making money on the pictures made him sick to his stomach. He’d wanted this show to pave a new path for himself. But selling the pictures of Bex felt like handing over a piece of his heart. Anything he earned would feel like blood money.

He could hear his brother’s distinctive laughter over the murmur of the crowd. Good. At least someone was having fun.

Gabe made his way toward the front desk. It felt better to be moving than to be standing still. The thing no one told him about gallery showings was how much it would hurt to be on his feet in dress shoes for hours. He was so used to the casual shoes he wore to photo shoots that he forgot how much classy digs could hurt.

He thumbed through a membership brochure that he found on the desk, forcing himself to read each word. They swirled in front of him, meaningless, so he counted letters instead.

Two M’s in “membership.”

Two E’s.

“What are you doing?”

Gabe jumped as Vinny set his champagne flute on the edge of the desk.

“Nothing.” He scanned the room, and now it was his turn to ask, “Why’d you ditch the brunette?”

Vinny flashed him a shit-eating grin. “I got a number. I’m meeting up with her later tonight.” He cocked his head. “But I need to know—is everything okay with you? You still look terrible.”

“Bex and I broke up.” The words crushed the air from his lungs.

Vinny’s face fell. “Shit, man.”

“Yeah. So there’s that.”

Vinny’s mouth twisted. “You know I love you and I’d do anything for you. But I was hoping now that I’m here and can sow my wild oats, that Bex would be the one to take care of your sorry ass.”

Gabe couldn’t bring himself to criticize Vinny’s delivery. He agreed with him too much. “Me too.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“What?” A high-pitched laugh in the background made Gabe wince. “She needs space, Vinny.”

His brother fixed him with a look. “Did you sit around and wallow when you got sick?” He forged ahead before Gabe could answer. “No, you didn’t. You fought. And you’re not going to give up on Bex because of one bad day. I won’t let you.”

Vinny reached over the counter and snagged a piece of paper with the Trailblazer Gallery logo embossed at the top. He folded it into quarters and slipped it into the breast pocket of Gabe’s suit jacket.

“Just consider what you might do with this.” Vinny patted the paper once more. “But before you do anything, I’m taking you upstairs to the Euphoria for a real drink. We have some catching up to do, and I think we’ve both had enough of this champagne shit.”

Vinny, ever charming, was also right.

“Sure,” Gabe allowed. “Let’s go.” Who fucking cared how much his hangover would hurt tomorrow? Nothing could compare to the pain of facing the rest of his life alone.