The walls finally opened into a large space at the back of the studio, where a screen showed the feed, in real time, of all the messages I had sent to Matthew that night. Next to it was another screen that showed the photos that had been taken since my arrival: me wringing my hands, me frowning at the young girl who had been assigned to stand with me in the lobby, Ramona and me—she looking completely composed while I looked angry, drunk, my eyeliner smeared, my eyes shining. There was another framed piece full of letters—letters!—that Ramona had sent to Matthew. The painting Ramona had done of Matthew, her first male subject as far as I knew, was large enough to fill ten feet of the west wall. He was naked except for a necklace I had seen Ramona wear a few times, a Saint Agatha medal on a piece of leather cord. I felt my knees give, and I threatened to fold in on myself right there, like an injured deer.

Then, I heard a laugh. Matthew’s laugh.

They were standing together at the end of the room, Ramona and Matthew, their backs turned to me, talking to someone I couldn’t see. Ramona was the first one to feel my stare, and she turned, the corners of her mouth ticking up in a smile.

“What the hell!” I shouted at them, slipping again in my shoes. I was vaguely aware of a photographer’s bulb flashing at the corner of my eyes, but I couldn’t think about him, about anything else other than my need to scream, to demand an explanation, to feel someone seize my shoulders and find myself home in our bed, waking up from a dream. The man they were speaking with edged away when he saw me approach, touching Matthew on the elbow, mouthing that he would call.

“Lil.”

“Don’t ‘Lil’ me.” He held out his hands like I might charge him. His hair fell in his eyes like it had the first night we met. I loved him, I hated him. I wanted to ruin him, but I would have let him put me in a cab and take me home if he put his arm around me in the right way.

“This is disgusting, Matthew. How did this even happen?” I was spitting the words between gritted teeth. “You two weren’t supposed to see each other. You were never supposed to meet. That recording? When the fuck did you record us having sex?”

“Lily.” He braced me by the shoulders, turned me away from where a circle of people had gathered to watch us. “Listen to me, would you? Before anything else happens. We did this for you. Ramona and I. For all of us.”

“For me? What part of this is for me? Please, tell me how that works. I’d love to hear you rationalize that.”