Iris


    space is


    I take a deep breath, fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve as I stand just outside the gallery doors. The already packed with people-way more than I expected. Through the ss, I can see photographers, journalists, and what looks like at least a hundred guests milling about with champagne flutes in hand.


    "You okay?" Arthur asks, his handing to rest on the small of my back.


    "There are so many people," I whisper, and a knot forms in my stomach just from saying it out loud. "I thought it would just be the usual art crowd, maybe a few extra because of... well, us."


    Arthur grimaces apologetically. "I may have underestimated the media interest. Your debut made quite an impression."


    I''m not sure if that''s a good thing or not. I want my art to be appreciated for what it is, not because I happen to be mated to the Alpha President and am apparently a long-lost Willford heiress.


    "They''re here to see your work," Arthur reassures me, as if reading my thoughts. "The buzz might get them in the door, but your talent will keep them here."


    I nod, trying to believe him. My final piece is positioned at the far end of the gallery, impossible to miss. Around it are arranged my other works from the residency, a collection that traces my artistic evolution over the past year. Looking at them all together, I can see how much I''ve grown, how my style has solidified while remaining distinctly mine.


    The moment Arthur and I enter the space, dozens of cameras go off all around us. My name is called from all different directions, and I ster on the smile I''ve been practicing for asions like this.


    "Miss Willford, how does it feel to have your first major exhibition?"


    "Iris, over here! Look this way!"


    "Alpha President, are you proud of your mate''s aplishments?"


    Arthur handles the press with ease, answering a few questions concisely while gradually moving us deeper into the gallery, using his authoritative presence to make the crowd move for us. I stick close to him, although I have to admit, these sorts of things are bing a little less overwhelming these days. Emphasis on a little.


    "There you are!" A familiar voice cuts through the noise, and I turn to see my residency director from Abbott, hurrying toward us. "The critics are loving your work, especially the final piece."


    "Really?"


    "Yes, really," she confirms with a smile. "Nowe, there are some people I want you to meet."


    For the next hour, I''m introduced to gallery owners, critics and collectors. I try to focus on theirments about my technique, my use of color, mypositional choices anything that suggests they''re seeing me as an artist, not just as a political figure.


    Most of them seem genuine in their interest, asking questions that show they''ve actually looked at my work. But there''s always that undertone, that hint of curiosity about my personal life that has nothing to do with my art.


    I''m in the middle of exining my process to a well-known critic when I spot them over his shoulder-Arthur''s parents.


    I haven''t seen them since before my debut, and I''m not prepared for the way my stomach drops at the sight of them. Last I saw them, they were at my party. Arthur told me that he didn''t believe the kiwi incident was Intentional, but apparently they did say some... not so nice things about me the next day that I''d rather not think about.


    "Excuse me," I murmur to the critic before moving away.


    I make my way through the crowd to Arthur, who''s engaged in conversation with some city officials. He spots me approaching and immediately excuses himself.


    "Your parents are here," I say quietly.


    Arthur''s eyebrows shoot up. "Here? Now?"


    Before he can say more, his mother''s voice cuts through the noise. "Arthur! There you are, darling."


    We turn to face them, and I feel my stomach drop. It''s not because of their usual cold gazes-I''ve grown used to those, even expect them now-but the fact that those looks of disdain are... gone.


    "Mother, Father," Arthur greets them with a polite but curt nod. "I didn''t expect to see you here."


    "Well, we couldn''t miss our daughter-inw''s big night, could we?" his mother says with a wide smile that leaves me feeling unsettled. It''s like seeing a dog baring its teeth.


    “Iris, darling.” His father turns to me with a simr look of affection that makes me sick. “Congrattions on your exhibition. The gallery is packed."


    "Thank you," I reply tersely.


    "We''ve been looking at your work," his mother continues. "You''re quite talented, Iris. I particrly liked thatndscape with the misty mountains."


    I blink in surprise. She''s actually looking at my art? "That''s... thank you. It''s a view from one of the hikes we took on vacation."