Iris
No matter how many times I do this, I''ll never get used to giving lectures. And without my old ''Flora'' disguise, I feel like I''ve been stripped of my protective armor, leaving me even more exposed and vulnerable.
My hands shake slightly as I click through the final slides of my presentation. The roorn is filled with fellow artists, residents, and gallery directors-all watching intently as I discuss the evolution of surrealist portraiture techniques.
"And so," I conclude, gesturing to the projected image behind me, "we see how contemporary artists have taken the foundational principles established in the 1920s and transformed them through digital mediums, creating entirely new interpretations of the surrealist vision."
Apuse fills the om as I finish. Several heads nod appreciatively, and I catch a few smiles from the Abbott Gallery directors. My residency mentor approaches me afterward, patting my shoulder.
"Excellent work, Iris. That presentation was fantastic."
Relief floods through me at the praise. After all the chaos of the past few weeks, I was bing sort of worried that my actual artistic career might suffer. But somehow, I managed to pull it off. Probably partially thanks to Arthur stepping up as a perfect father.
I try not to think about the fact that I still haven''t told him the truth.
Tonight. I''ll tell him tonight. The party is in three days, so I hope this will give us time to navigate the revtion before the datees. And I hope he won''t hate me too much for hiding this from him for a week now.
As I pack up myptop and notes, a few other residents from other galleriese forward with questions andpliments. It feels good to be recognized for my work again, to be seen as an artist rather than just the Alpha President''s mate.
That feelingsts exactly until I step outside.
"Iris! Over here!"
"Iris! What can you tell us about your rtionship with the Alpha President?" "Are wedding ns in the works?"
A wall of journalists practically ms into me, cameras shing, microphones thrust in my face. My throat tightens. This isn''t what I expected-they''re supposed to be here for the art exhibition, not for gossip. I search for Emi, but she''s cut off by the journalists, and they''re not moving when she tries to force her way through them to my side.
“I—I just gave a presentation on surrealist portraiture," I stammer, trying to redirect their attention. "The evolution of techniques from the 1920s to-"
"But what about Alpha President Arthur?" someone interrupts. "Sources say you''ve been spending nights at his apartment."
"Is it true you''re still living on your own despite being in a rtionship with him?”
My face burns. I open my mouth to respond, but no wordse out. Despite Caleb''s daily training sessions, I''m not prepared for an ambush like this. Suddenly, amanding voice cuts through the chaos.
+29 BONUS
"That''s enough."
The journalists part, and to my utter shock, Leonard strides through. Arthur''s father, who just days ago was suggesting that Arthur take Miles away from me, now stands between me and the press like my knight in shining armor. Emi joins me as well and ces herself on the other side so the two of them form a protective barrier.
"Sir!" The journalists redirect their attention. "What bring you here?"
"I''m here to support Iris''s artistic endeavors," Leonard says smoothly, which makes my brow furrow because I have a feeling that couldn''t be further from the truth. To Leonard and Wendy, my artistic career is nothing more than a ''hobby''. "Now, if you''ll excuse us, she has othermitments."
Before I can protest, Leonard ces a hand on my elbow and guides me away from the crowd. The journalists call after us, but Leonard''s presence is enough to keep them at bay. We don''t stop until we''re around the corner, out of sight. Emi lingers at the edge of the building, holding back any press that''s still trying to chase us.
"Thank you," I manage, still stunned by his intervention and perhaps even a little wary. Leonard nods curtly. "When the press smells blood in the water, they tend to circle like sharks."