The Complex Art of Rosie

Chapter Forty-Six

Schemed Evening

"This is such a ridiculously terrible idea. He's not even going to show up," Rosie muttered, pacing back and forth across Aatalo's loft, her hands wringing together as if she could somehow squeeze the anxiety out of her body.

Aatalo stepped in front of her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders to stop her frantic movement. "Rosie, my dear, look at me." His voice was calm, soothing. "Take a deep breath."

She paused, meeting his gaze with wide, nervous eyes. She inhaled deeply, but her breath was shaky, her chest tight with the tension that had been building all day.

Aatalo gave her an encouraging nod. "Now, exhale."

Rosie exhaled, a bit more sharply than intended. "Right."

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with quiet reassurance. "Tonight is your first exhibition back home. You're going to win over the city's heart the same way you won over Paris."

Rosie wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. "I pulled together a whole new series in a week. They're not even good."

Aatalo sighed, his smile widening just slightly. "They're perfect, Rosie. You've always been your worst critic."

Rosie groaned and backed up until she flopped down onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. Her voice was muffled but the panic was clear, her eyes darting frantically as she peeked out between her fingers. "I don't even care about the exhibit. What if Anthony doesn't show up? He hates me. After I kicked him out of my apartment, why would he come?"

Aatalo sat beside her, placing a comforting hand on her knee. "Breathe, love," he murmured softly. "He'll come. I'll make sure of it."

Rosie bit her lip, fighting back the frown that threatened to form. She didn't want to show Aatalo how much doubt was gnawing at her, not when he sounded so optimistic. "This is crazy," she whispered, her voice small.

Aatalo leaned back, giving her a tender smile. "All you need to do is show up and be your radiant self. I'll handle the rest."

Later that evening, true to his word, Aatalo stood outside Anthony's apartment door, knocking firmly. Inside, Anthony groaned, reluctantly pausing his video game to answer the door.

"Aatalo?" Anthony blinked in confusion as he took in the sight of his sharply dressed friend. "What are you doing here?"

Aatalo's nose wrinkled slightly as he gave Anthony a once-over, his brow furrowing in distaste. "You smell like barbecue sauce, and I told you yesterday we had plans tonight. Why aren't you ready?"

Anthony scoffed, turning back to flop on the couch. "I texted you, remember? 'No, thank you' means 'I'm not going out.' Go bar hopping with Ryder, I'm good here."

Aatalo sighed, his patience thinning. He followed Anthony inside, stepping in front of the TV and blocking the screen. "Kindly, get the hell up and take a shower. You need one."

Anthony groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "I was in the middle of a FIFA game. Winning, by the way."

"I don't care if you were winning a Nobel Prize," Aatalo snapped, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. "Anthony, I swear to God, if you don't get off this couch and go shower, I will break your TV. And your neck."

Anthony blinked in surprise, sitting up straighter. He had never heard Aatalo speak like that. "Okay, okay." He raised his hands in surrender. "I'll ask questions after I shower."