Chapter 122
Iris
I blink at my phone screen, my thumb hovering over the article that’s just popped up in my notifications. The headline makes my stomach drop: “Famous Artist Hunter Maverick’s Secret Family Revealed?”
There’s a photo beneath it–Hunter, Miles, and me at the Abbott Gallery presentation yesterday. Miles is grinning up at Hunter, who is crouched in front of him with a matching smile of his own. I’m standing nearby, watching the two of them with a tender look on my face.
An innocent moment, that’s what it was. Or at least, it should have been.
But, as always, the media has an uncanny way of twisting things. I should have known better–should have known better than to take Miles out in public knowing fully well just how easy it is to be recognized. Especially at a public event with famous artists around.
I know I shouldn’t look, but I have to. I click on the link, and the words swim before my eyes as I scan the text:
“Sources have revealed that renowned Ordan artist Hunter Maverick may have been secretly dating fellow artist Flora for some time. The couple was spotted with their young son at the Abbott Gallery yesterday, where Flora gave a presentation for the prestigious residency program.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I scan the rest of the article. It claims that Miles might be our son–our son- and that Hunter has been keeping us a secret for years.
This is bad. Really bad. Within less than twenty–four hours, rumors have spread about me and Hunter being a couple–with Miles as our son! How did this even happen?
No, I know how it happened. I was fucking careless. I should never have taken Miles out yesterday. I should never have-
Suddenly, my phone buzzes with a text message, cutting through my train of thought. It’s Hunter.
“Have you seen the articles? I’m so sorry about this. Can we talk?”
I type back quickly: “Yes, just saw. How did this happen?”
His response is immediate: “Someone at the gallery must have recognized me and tipped off the press. I feel terrible. Can I call you?”
I glance at Miles‘ bedroom door, still closed. “Give me 10 minutes to get Miles up and eating breakfast.”
“Of course.”
After getting Miles settled with cereal and some cartoons, I step into my studio with my phone. When I call Hunter, he picks up on the first ring.
“Iris, I’m so sorry,” he says immediately. “I had no idea anyone would make these assumptions.”
“It’s not your fault,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
“I’ve already contacted my publicist to issue a statement denying the relationship rumors,” Hunter says. “But I’m worried the damage is already done. I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “It’s not your fault. It’s just the media being the media.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Still, this can’t be good for your situation. Do you want me to do anything else?”
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Chapter 122
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I consider this for a moment. “No, I think a simple denial is best. The more we protest, the more attention it will draw.”
“You’re right,” Hunter agrees. “But listen, if you need anything–anything at all–I’m here for you.”
After we hang up, I sit on my painting stool, staring blankly at the canvas I’ve been working on for the exhibition. The theme “Soul Ties” feels ironic now. My soul is tied to Arthur, has always been tied to Arthur, even when I wish it wasn’t, and yet here I am, being linked romantically to another man in the press.
I should call Arthur, I think. If only to let him know what’s happening before he sees it himself. He’s gone already for the day, so I decide to call him.
But when I try his number, it goes straight to voicemail. I try again with the same result. With a sigh, I put my phone away and get back to work.
He never calls me back.
The next few days pass in a blur. I throw myself into my work, trying to forget about the rumors swirling around me. Hunter’s publicist issues a statement denying our romantic involvement, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference. If anything, it just fans the flames.
What’s more concerning is Arthur’s absence. I’ve barely seen him since the night he told me he ended things with Selína. My texts go unanswered for hours, sometimes days, and when he does respond, it’s with brief, noncommittal messages. Has he changed his mind about us? Is he upset about the rumors?
I can’t figure it out, and not knowing is driving me crazy.
The only bright spot is my growing friendship with Hunter and Alice. They’ve both been incredibly supportive, helping me navigate the sudden attention from the press and offering advice on my exhibition pieces.
One day, Alice invites me to the park. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, so I get Miles ready in his little disguise and take him out. We meet Alice at a park downtown that has a playground, and I’m surprised to see Hunter there when I approach.
“Iris,” Alice says, touching my arm, “I ran into Hunter on my way here. I hope you don’t mind…”
I glance over at Hunter, all three of us knowing fully well just how problematic this could be. But the park is empty, and we’re all wearing hats and sunglasses to combat the sun, so I’m not too concerned. With a smile, I send Miles off to play and sit at the stone picnic table with Alice and Hunter.
We spend the next hour at the playground, Miles moving from the swings to the slide to the jungle gym, his energy seemingly limitless. I notice a few people walking past, but they don’t seem to recognize us. Alice, Hunter and I chat endlessly about art, with the two of them giving me suggestions as to how to ensure my work pleases the panel at Abbott for the residency.
As the afternoon wears on, Miles finally starts to show signs of fatigue, his steps slowing as he climbs the ladder to the slide one last time.
“I think someone’s ready for a nap,” I say to Hunter and Alice as Miles slides down with considerably less enthusiasm than before.
Alice checks her watch. “Yeah, I should be heading back anyway. I’ve got a video call with a gallery in Bo’Arrocan in an hour.”
We’re just about to leave the park when a group of three young women approach us. “Shit,” Hunter says, covering his face. But it’s too late. They’ve already recognized us.
“Oh my god, you’re Hunter Maverick!” one of them squeals “I’m such a huge fan of your work.”
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Chapter 122
Hunter smiles politely. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
I think we might get off scot–free, but then another woman looks between Hunter and me. “And you’re Flora, right? We saw the articles about you two. You make such a cute couple!”
I open my mouth to correct her, but before I can speak, the third woman pulls out her phone.
“Can we get a picture with you guys? And maybe…” she glances at Hunter with a mischievous smile, “…maybe you could kiss for the photo? That would be so cute!”
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