Paper Rings (English)

Chapter 5

Primrose couldn’t help but rub the back of her neck as the Winter Galleria museum curators examined each one of the paintings hanging on the walls of her tiny studio flat. Although she basically lived here since her supposed fake marriage and the ongoing rift with her Dad, she made sure that there were no traces of her tenant status on the day of this important visit.

The lady was sneaking a few quick breaths to ease her nerves. Luckily, her guests were too engrossed while discussing her art pieces to notice the apparent tension in her demeanor. 

“These pieces are so eccentric and eyecatching, Ms. Medea.” One of the exhibit curators, Eliza Opal, lightly tapped a hand on her shoulder upon noticing that she was spacing out. “Ms. Medea? Are you alright?” 

“Oh, yes. Yes, I’m alright. My apologies.” She scrapped a hand through the strands of her hair and let out a peal of low laughter. “I’m just not used to being called out loud by my painter pseudonym. You can just call me Primrose.” 

“No worries, most of the artists we’ve met so far are like that. And I can’t say that I’m any different until I decided to use my real name for my paintings.” 

Pollen McGregor traced a casual smile on his lips as his eyes full of twinkle beamed in her direction. Her heart almost jumped out of her rib cage when their eyes finally collide. Pollen is another curator from the Winter Galleria and also a well-known contemporary art painter she had always admired. Since childhood, the ravishing young man has been an art prodigy, so he was pretty popular in the industry.

“Anyway, these portrait pieces of yours are really thought-provoking, and the surrealist elements really blended well with bright predominant colors you typically use.” 

“Thank you for your flattering comments, Mr. McGregor.” Despite the fast drumming of her chest, she managed to return a small smile. 

“To be honest, we saw your pieces in a regional exhibition last month,” Eliza noted with her watchful eyes still circling around the room. “I’m sure we’re not the only ones who have taken notice of these undiscovered gems. I think I’ve seen you and your works featured in several articles online and in print.” 

A flush crept up her cheeks as she shoved the strands of her red hair behind an ear. “Y-yes. I’ve been getting several calls and studio visits because of that.”

“Are you participating in another exhibit? I don’t see some of the pieces featured in the art magazine.” 

“About that, my friend loaned some of them for the charity event hosted by SMU Publishing for the launch of their new book campaign.” 

“I knew it. We’re a bit too late, aren’t we? What a shame.” 

“No, not really. Feel free to look around. And even if you haven’t found a piece that resonates with the exhibit’s theme, it’s already a great honor to be noticed by a prestigious museum like the Winter Galleria.” 

“If that’s true,” he paused briefly and licked his lips. “Then, is it safe to assume that you prioritized SMU Publishing more than Winter Galleria’s request?” 

The budding painter couldn’t help but press her mouth into a thin line after seeing the disappointment in Pollen’s face. She thought this transaction was already a lost cause until the cheeky art prodigy broke into sneaky laughter and clapped in the air. Her brows gathered together to present some of her apparent displeasure as if on cue with his wide-set grin. 

“I’m just kidding. You should relax, Primrose. You’ll look so much prettier if you stop wearing that stern expression.”  

Primrose scratched her forehead while trying hard not to let her twitching senses get the best of her. All the admiration and fascination she felt earlier vanished into thin air the moment he spouted that remark. 

“Really? I think she still looks pretty nonetheless. Smiling isn’t a woman’s job, Pollen.” Eliza threw a sharp gaze at her colleague before shifting back at her. “Sorry about that. This one likes to break the ice, but he lacks a bit of sense.” 

“It’s okay. I understand. People who lack social skills tend to be like that.” 

“Hey, I can hear you — ” 

“Anyway, have we discussed that campaign we want to launch in November?” The lady curator took her by the hand to walk to the other side of the room before Pollen could fully retaliate to her disparaging remark. “This year, Winter Galleria’s theme is called Vault of Emotions. The general idea is to celebrate freedom of expression and the different faces of emotions.” 

“That’s intriguing,” she commented in a carefree tone. “Are you looking for a specific art style?” 

“Not really. But we’re keen on featuring pieces that use negative spaces to represent one’s deepest desires. I think empty spaces are the perfect representation of raw humane feelings.” Eliza was in the middle of explaining further when her speech halted. Her pupils went wide as she took quick steps toward the oil painting at the corner of the room. “Oh my, this art piece is captivating.” 

The red-haired lady nodded and stared lovingly at the first painting she ever painted her whole life. She didn’t speak until her tiny steps reached the side where the ecstatic Eliza was standing. The woman didn’t spare her a glace and continued marveling over the framed piece. 

“What is this called? I haven’t seen this in any of the exhibits you participated in.” 

“Looking at the use of negative spaces, this piece perfectly suits the theme we’re going for this year.” Pollen approached behind them with a hand on his chin and eyes pierced in the magnificent view. “It evokes strong emotions, too. And the blend of colors, just wow.” 

“The bright side. That’s what I used to call it,” Primrose answered. There was a glint of bitterness flashing her eyes the more she stared at the old picture. “This was the first piece I painted professionally in a local contest when I was sixteen. The entry didn’t win any awards, so I almost forgot about it. I recently took it out from the storage and restored it.” 

“Oh, so it’s your first art piece. Do you mind telling us more about it? Did you have any sort of inspiration during the process of painting this moving picture?” 

When the arrogant art prodigy finally met her gaze, the tip of his mouth moved upward. It was almost as if he was casting a familiar spell upon her. She already knew what was coming after that question, yet she couldn’t do anything about it. Her hands were gripping each other, trying not to shy away from the subject like she always does. 

“Is there a tragic story behind it? Based on its dark color palette, which you typically don’t use in your recent works, your sixteen-year-old self must have something deeper in mind.”  

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell us,” Eliza intervened upon noticing the slight tint of grim on her visage. After that, both curators exchanged meaningful looks. “But people are hardwired with stories. I know you’re trying to be careful because your family has a political connection, and we’re thankful you trusted us enough to agree to this meeting. However, you’re going as Medea, not Primrose.” 

“I can’t tell you anything specific except this was inspired by the words my deceased mother used to say.” She traced her fingertips over the oil-painted surface of the picture featuring a beautiful woman riding a paper boat in the middle of a dark and deserted rainforest. “She’s a firm believer of looking at the bright side of things even amid hopeless situations. I don’t think I have to explain it elaborately. I’m sure the bright reflection in the water tells you enough of the message I wanna convey.” 

Although they didn’t speak, their rapt attention and the radiant glow in their eyes were enough for her to feel the surge of confidence in her gut. She could sense the excitement pulsating in her throat while they murmured affirmations.  

“The bright side isn’t about rainbows and butterflies. Sometimes, it takes your entire youth before you get that kind of enlightenment.” Pollen heaved a quick breath, followed by a slow shake of his head. He clamped a hand above his chest before shifting to face her direction. “You sure this was done by a sixteen-year-old girl?”

“If it’s okay with you, we’d like to include this piece in the November exhibit, as well as the 30th-anniversary celebration of Winter Galleria.” 

“The art direction on that event isn’t even decided yet, Eliza. I think it’s too early—” his lips were put into a close as soon as Eliza raised a brow, “—fine, you’re the boss.” He threw his hands up the air to display resignation, followed by a reluctant sigh 

“So, what do you say?” 

“I’ll wait for the paperwork, then.” Primrose held out a hand, which the lady shook without second thoughts. Both of them smiled and nodded at each other as a sign of mutual agreement. “Thank you for this wonderful opportunity. I won’t forget the generosity of Winter Galleria for considering the works of an unknown painter like me.” 

“No problem. You deserve all these recognitions. Right, Pollen?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Anyway, besides the exhibit contract, please expect a meeting invitation from the Museum Director sometime next month.”

She was about to nod her head to confirm when Eliza’s words rang in her head. In sync with her mouth falling open, she unknowingly dropped the hand she was happily shaking just a few moments ago. She gave them an alternating gaze as if in disbelief of what she had heard. The tentative smile on her face vanished bit by bit, realizing that it wasn’t a joke. 

“Pardon me but—” she gulped, “—a meeting with the Chairman? What do you mean?” 

“Yes. And in case you’re not aware, Winter Galleria is built and sponsored by a foundation. So, they’ll probably ask to meet you once I present the recommendation documents to the board.” 

“Recommendation? I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.” 

“Ms. Dia, let me make it brief for you.” The famous art prodigy pointed at Eliza and smirked. “This is Eliza Opal, Winter Galleria’s Deputy Director & Chief Curator. She also calls the shots when it comes to scouting artists. We’d like you to be our artist-in-residence.” 

“Oh, didn’t I say that when I called you?” 

Primrose shook her head, eyes still bulging out. “As far as I can recall, no. You didn’t. I thought you were just scouting for art pieces in the exhibit.” 

“I told you to stop cosplaying as a normal employee,” Pollen said. He was about to continue with his tirade, but he pouted like a child upon his superior’s sneer. 

“Anyway, I’ll call you again once I sent the paperwork for you to sign. It was nice meeting you.”

“S-same here,” she managed to respond despite being conflicted. “But about the invitation, I don’t think I can make it to that meeting.” 

Eliza gaped at her and blinked. “Why? Did other companies scout you already?”

“No, that’s not it. I know it’s not yet final, but I just don’t think I can accept the offer as Winter Galleria’s artist-in-residence.” She looked down at the round-cut diamond solitaire engagement ring and the 24K yellow gold wedding band tucked on her finger. “You see, my husband and I will be moving overseas after the wedding ceremony.” 

“That reminds me,” Pollen tapped his earlobe and took a step back to examine her visage. It took a few seconds before he clapped in the air. “Yeah, I think I saw in the news about Wilson Dia’s daughter marrying the only son and sole heir of the Mortel business empire.” 

“Oh, congratulations on your marriage.” The young directress skimmed her fingers through her jawline. “Well, if that’s your circumstances, then I won’t push you any further. We can proceed with the exhibit agreement. Just know that the deal still stands in case you change your mind.” 

“Thank you, Eliza. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“We’ll go now.” 

Primrose walked them in the direction of the slightly opened door. However, while waving them goodbye, she saw two familiar figures waiting in the corridor. The lady waited until her visitors were out of sight before turning her head to Sandra and Patricia, both approaching from the side. Although a bit reluctant, she formed a small smile on her lips while bestowing her mother-in-law and aunt-in-law cheek-to-cheek greetings. 

“What a surprise. To whom do I owe this sudden visit, ladies?” 

“Oh, we’re shopping nearby, and then I remembered Sander mentioning that your studio is located somewhere near here.” Patricia scratched the back of her head and nudged Sandra’s waist with her elbow. “And Sandra got something to tell you.” 

The infamous wife of the country’s most prominent business tycoon cleared her throat. She didn’t even meet her gaze. Unlike her usual intimidating aura, the middle-aged woman appeared to be tamed at this moment.

“I wanted to apologize about the event you witnessed last night at home. No matter what our issues were, we shouldn’t have acted that way at the dinner table.” 

She shook her head as her hand fluttered to reach her neck. “No worries, Ma. I don’t really mind. We’re family now, after all. I should get used to that sort of commotion, I guess.” 

“Anyway, congratulations,” Patricia exclaimed in a high-pitched tone before Sander’s mother could respond to her. She leaned closer to the door and peeked inside the small four-cornered studio. The moment she saw her confused demeanor, the cheeky lady flashed a shy grin. “We kind of heard your conversation lately.”   

“It’s a shame that you had to turn down that residency offer. It’s such a great opportunity, especially since you call this venture a career.” Primrose didn’t need to see the look on her face to sense the hostility in those words. “If you don’t mind, can I ask how much are you getting paid for the exhibition?” 

Before she offered the deal to Messi Sander Mortel, the meticulous red-haired lady already checked the background of every member of his family that she might bump heads with. And that includes Sandra Mortel, popularly known as Cassandra Mira, in the field of Fine Arts before her marriage to the prestigious Mortel household. Considering that they’ve been in the same industry, there was no way that the woman standing in front of her doesn’t know how exhibitions work. 

“You may not be aware, Ma. But exhibitions don’t work that way. It’s more on promotional campaigns. These events aim to give artists exposure.” 

Despite the calm tone of her voice, she made sure to probe eye contact as a sign of her silent aggression. Her show of confidence was only replied to by a hard smile and a dismissive nod. From her perfect posture, straightened shoulders, and exposed neck, Primrose could tell that Sandra has no intention of backing down nor retracting the tension between them.

“Can we go inside? I haven’t seen your works up close,” Patricia chimed in, almost as if trying to dispel the weird disposition in the air. 

“Sure, come inside.” 

She maintained her composure and led them inside the room. There was a puffed-up feeling steering inside her, but she held out and tossed her hair back. Her gaze carefully followed both their movements as they strolled inside her territory and examined her precious art pieces. She felt as if she was being invaded. 

“Can I ask how’s your relationship with your mother?” Sandra inquired out of the blue. She halted her footsteps and glanced at the picture that Primrose presented to the curators earlier. “Come to think of it; you didn’t directly answer that question. Is there anything dark hiding behind this painting? Perhaps, something about your mother?” 

“Sandra,” Patricia warned in a low voice and tried to shook it off with a burst of laughter. “I’m sure you know that she’s an artist back then. She just likes analyzing —”

“I don’t know what kind of rumors you heard about my mother or my family,” she clasped her hand on her chin and smirked. “But I’m afraid I cannot confirm any of that as I was too young when she passed on.” 

“You’re not too young back then. I think around teenage years? Shouldn’t you have some gist of what’s happening within your family?” 

At this point, the woman’s persistence on the topic was irking her bit by bit. It wasn’t her intention, but her eyebrows deliberately lifted themselves up. The thread of patience she was maintaining since last night at the dinner table seemed to have loosened its grip. 

“I’m afraid my family isn’t as uptight as yours, Ma. You may have liked to keep Sander within your grasp, but my mother likes keeping a proper distance. It’s a difference in parenting styles, I guess?” 

A sense of victory triumphed her senses upon seeing her shoulders curl up. Far from her smug demeanor earlier, Sandra’s visage was seemingly flushed. Only the sound of a low gasp from Patricia’s mouth brought back her discernment. 

“Uptight?” 

“I mean, I’m envious of the kind of relationship you have with Sander. Any child would like to be held closely by their mother. I feel like I should take notes from you.” She displayed a wide grin and shifted her gaze toward Sander’s aunt. After a wink, they both laughed at the same time. 

“That’s right,” Patricia placed her hands on Sandra’s shoulder. “I really learned a lot from her when it comes to parenting. Marrying her was the best decision my stupid brother had ever made in his lifetime.” 

“What the heck are you even saying, Patricia?” The appalling statement brought a cringe to the esteemed madam’s visage. She fiddled with the sleeves of her shirt before retreating to the other side of the room, pretending to divert her attention. 

Primrose exchanged knowing looks with her accomplice, and she gave her a playful pinch. She could tell that Patricia was trying hard to swallow her laughter with the extreme reddening of her face. 

“Why did you say that?” the lady whispered amid eyeing Sandra, who was still busy getting back her composure. 

“I learned the rules of the jungle quite fast.” The twinkle of mischief flashed in her pair of wide eyes. “Some people will believe everything you tell them just as long as it’s a compliment. And she’s one of them.” 

“Continue with that, and I assure you that you’ll survive in this family just fine.” Patricia pulled in a deep breath before patting her back and sprinting to the direction where Sandra was standing. “Shouldn’t we get going now? We’ve taken enough of Primrose’s time. I’m sure she’s busy.” 

“Oh yeah, that reminds me. Is that the last of your appointments today?” 

“I think so. Why?” 

“Great. Then, we can still drop by the OB-GYN clinic.” She glanced at her wristwatch before examining Primrose from head to toe. “But let’s get you dressed properly. I can’t let the family doctor see you in that rag.” 

“Rag? This shirt is quite expensive.” Her hand clutched at the tip of the elbow-length sleeve white shirt she was currently wearing along with tight ripped jeans and a snicker. “And I think Sander already made it clear last night that we’ll handle that matter on our own.” 

“Well, he doesn’t need to know. My son can be stubborn, but there are things that you must do as the wife of the last male descendant of this family. I trust you know what I mean, Primrose.”

She was about to open her mouth to snap at her when a loud knock from the door shattered the tension rising inside the room. Upon tilting her head, she saw Sydney marching in her direction and locking her into a hug before she could ask anything. 

“Ready to go?” The blonde lady grinned and turned to look at her mother. “Sorry, Ma. Sorry, Aunt Patty. Rosey and I have some plans today. And we’ll be meeting Sander for dinner.” 

“R-really? It’s great to see that both of you are getting along,’ Patricia said. “Why didn’t you tell us that you’re meeting Sydney today?” 

“Well…” she rubbed a hand through her hair. Sydney was casually clinging to her arm, but her grip was getting tighter the longer she contemplated. “...I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to disappoint you ladies, but we do need to go now.”