Page 56 of The Retreat

Three Years Later

The gallery’s floors gleamed, and the walls still smelled faintly of fresh paint. Evening light spilled through the tall sash windows, casting everything in gold.

Laughter and the soft clink of glasses rose above the low hum of strings from a discreet speaker behind the front desk. On the front window was the freshly stencilled name of the place: Imogen Lake Contemporary. She was still startled every time she saw it.

People clustered in small groups, admiring the work. The exhibition was bold, political, and unapologetically working class. Three pieces had sold in the first hour. A local arts journalist had requested an interview for next week. Her inbox was full of words like visionary and potential.

But all Imogen could see was the woman moving through the crowd towards her: Talia, magnetic as ever in a navy-blue suit that looked like it had been made with her in mind. Her smile was wicked and warm, and her grey eyes were fixed on Imogen like there was no one else in the room.

They still didn’t make sense on paper: the corporate lawyer and the chaotic curator. But in real life, it worked. Imogen loved Talia Knox to a breathtaking degree.

‘You pulled it off,’ Talia said, handing her a glass of fizz.

‘We pulled it off,’ Imogen replied, brushing her knuckles against Talia’s. ‘Without your contact book, none of this would’ve happened.’

Talia shrugged like it was nothing. ‘I just introduced you to a few people.’

‘You introduced me to three major donors. They gave more in two weeks than I managed to raise in six months. Weird to be a nepotism girlfriend.’

Talia tutted. ‘You got yourself here. I gave you some phone numbers. You turned them into something real. You could sell a snowstorm to the sun when you put your mind to it.’

Imogen smiled and took a sip of her drink, shifting slightly to watch the room. She was trying to be here, fully present. It had taken a long time to get to this moment. She wanted to enjoy every second of it.

Talia had been right. Getting the community engagement coordinator role had been the start of a slow and steady rise from an underemployed dreamer to here, now. Her own place.

She wasn’t sure she’d have gotten that job without Talia’s relentless cheerleading and razor-sharp tips. Talia had argued her into self-belief. She was annoyingly good at that.

From there, it had been long hours planning events, building partnerships, pouring herself into making the programme work. It tested her limits over and over. But with every meeting she led, every event that drew a crowd, she felt herself growing into the person she wanted to become.

And eventually, the dream she’d been afraid to name out loud stopped feeling impossible. Her own gallery. A place for the overlooked. The working class. The connectionless. The ones with no safety net and no name-drop CV. People like her. Grit, fire, and talent over polish and privilege.

She spent evenings writing proposals, chasing funding, and scouring listings for spaces she might afford. The job had given her confidence. The gallery gave her purpose. It began as a sketch, then a folder, then a name on a lease.

It was small, and she was scared. The fear hadn’t left. But it wasn’t paralysing anymore. It pushed her forward.

And through it all, there was Talia. Steady, unshakable, and somehow always ready with exactly the right thing to say. Her love wasn’t flashy or grand, but it was the kind that anchored you. The kind that made you brave.

‘How do you feel?’ Talia asked.

Imogen turned to her and smiled. ‘I’m trying not to pee myself,’ she said quietly.

Talia smiled back at her. ‘Go ahead. We’ll just rope it off and call it an installation.’

Imogen laughed. ‘That’s quite a rude assessment of modern art, but I’m going to let it slide.’

Talia grinned at her. ‘I’m really bloody proud of you.’

Imogen smiled, the tight knot in her chest easing for the first time all evening. ‘I’m proud of me too. But I remember how close I came to going nowhere.’

‘But instead, you built this,’ Talia said, tucking a lock of hair behind Imogen’s ear, her touch light.

Imogen took a breath. ‘I couldn’t have done it alone.’

Talia’s grin tilted. ‘No, but you didn’t need to. That’s the whole point.’

Imogen noted Daniel looking at a painting nearby, his signature gilet doing little to soften his swagger as he chatted loudly with the surprisingly large Monroe contingent who had turned up to support Imogen.

‘Yeah, this piece really captures the raw, unfiltered essence of, you know, the human condition,’ he waffled.

Talia rolled her eyes. ‘Christ, he’s not even saying anything.’

‘Does he ever?’ Imogen asked.

‘I’m so glad he didn’t end up becoming my boss,’ Talia breathed. ‘I’d have murdered him in the first quarter.’

‘Immy,’ Jade said, breezing past, ‘this place is cool.’

‘Thanks. But don’t call me Immy,’ Imogen told her.

‘Would you prefer me to call you Alex?’ Jade asked.

Imogen groaned.

‘Relax. I’m just joshing,’ Jade said with a flash of teeth.

‘I’d quite like to live that down at some point, if that’s possible,’ Imogen told her.

‘I’m sure you would. Hey, I’m feeling a bit faint. Is there a doctor in the house?’ Jade asked.

‘Jade…’

‘OK, that’s my last one. For tonight at least,’ Jade promised.

Imogen nodded. ‘Thanks. Enjoy the art.’

‘Baby, I am art,’ she said, swaggering off.

Imogen had to laugh at her audacity.

‘She never quits, does she?’ Talia said, irritated.

Imogen kissed Talia on the cheek. ‘She ought to. She’d have more luck flirting with the fire extinguisher.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said a voice. Celeste Monroe appeared beside her, sleek, poised, and silently appraising. ‘Well done on this place, Imogen,’ Celeste said. There are some truly interesting pieces in here. I might even buy tonight.’

Imogen couldn’t help but feel lifted by that.

Talia slipped her hand into Imogen’s, squeezing gently. ‘See? The place is great.’

Celeste leaned in, a teasing smile playing on her lips. ‘You know, I still can’t quite believe I’m seeing this.’

Imogen looked around. ‘Yes, some of this work is…’

Celeste waved her hand between Talia and Imogen. ‘No. This. When Talia brought you to those work drinks as her girlfriend, I don’t think I’ve ever been so confused. I thought it was an ill-advised prank.’

Imogen laughed, recalling the awkwardness. ‘Yeah, I was pretty much waiting to get slapped by, well, anyone.’

‘God, imagine. Rebecca would have had a heart attack,’ Talia said with an amused sigh.

Celeste chuckled. ‘It didn’t take long to realise it was no act. Well, now.’

Imogen laughed, then looked around for Mr Celeste. ‘Your hubby not coming tonight?’ she asked.

Celeste’s smile twitched. ‘No, he’s at a conference.’ She blinked and shook her head. ‘For god’s sake, he’s not at a conference. I don’t know why I said that. We’re just taking some time away from each other at the moment.’

‘Celeste!’ Talia cried, putting a hand on her boss’s arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, you know. Marriage. It has ups and downs,’ Celeste said, mouth turned down.

Talia nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘We’re going to try couples’ counselling, so I’m hopeful.’

‘That’s great,’ Talia told her sincerely.

Celeste nodded. ‘Wow, living honestly like this is quite horrid, isn’t it?’

Imogen and Talia laughed. ‘On occasion,’ Talia agreed.

Celeste touched Talia’s elbow with light affection. ‘Thanks for forcing it on me.’

Talia laughed awkwardly. ‘I’d love to say it was my master plan, but life happens in the chaos, more often than not.’

She glanced toward a striking abstract piece on the far wall. ‘Excuse me. I need to inspect that one.’ She turned back. ‘If I don’t see you after this, I’ll catch up with you Monday morning.’

Talia raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not coming to that ten o’clock if you’re just going to hassle me.’

‘Hassling you to be a non-equity partner will only take up ten minutes of it. Less if you say yes,’ Celeste teased her warmly.

‘I’m good where I am,’ Talia told her.

Celeste sighed. ‘We’ll see.’ With that, she moved off gracefully, leaving Imogen and Talia standing close, the buzz of the gallery fading into a private, quiet moment between them.

‘What shall we do after this?’ Imogen asked.

‘I want to go to bed,’ Talia said.

‘Long day?’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Talia said with a half-smile.

‘My god, you’re insatiable,’ Imogen laughed.

‘Of course I am. My girlfriend is a hot gallery owner,’ Talia laughed.

‘Is that sexier than a doctor?’ Imogen asked.

Talia laughed, her eyes sparkling. ‘Well, a doctor might save lives, but a hot gallery owner? She makes the world look a whole lot better.’

Imogen grinned, squeezing Talia’s hand. ‘Smooth talker.’

‘Only when it counts,’ Talia said, pulling her closer.

The intimate moment between them was suddenly pierced by a familiar, theatrical voice from the door that cut through like a poorly tuned violin.

‘Well, well, if it isn’t Imogen Lake, Queen of the Arts!’ said Flora, swaggering in wearing a white Chanel suit that looked like it cost more than the building.

Imogen gaped. ‘You’re kidding me,’ she muttered under her breath.

Flora swaggered over. ‘Darling.’

She did the double-kiss thing to Imogen’s frozen cheeks. Imogen rolled her eyes. Of all the people to show up. How the hell had Flora even known about tonight?

‘Did you get lost on the way to The Vespar?’ Talia asked.

Flora had somehow not noticed Talia’s presence until that moment, and she turned, confused. ‘Talia?! What on earth—’ The confident grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of shock, maybe even horror. She blinked, struggling to process. ‘Since when are you… and when are you two... like this?’

Imogen gave a small, calm smile as she bumped arms gently with Talia. ‘Three years next week, if you must know.’

Flora’s forced smile twitched, her eyes briefly clouding with something she quickly hid. ‘Well, that’s... unexpected.’

‘How did you find out about this place?’ Imogen asked, not too interested in Flora’s take on her relationship.

Flora shook off her weirdness quickly, at least externally. ‘Oh, you know… word gets around.’

‘Whose word?’ Imogen pressed.

‘Um, well, I saw it on Instagram,’ Flora admitted.

Imogen was confused. ‘Do you follow me?’

Flora gave a light laugh. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps someone shared it?’

Imogen knew that Flora had definitely been following her with a Finsta. It took everything Imogen had not to laugh at that. But Flora wouldn’t have gotten the joke.

‘How’s Paris?’ Imogen asked out of politeness.

‘Very boring. I had to leave. You know how it is. Sometimes you just need a shake-up.’

‘Hell of a commute to The Vespar,’ Imogen noted.

‘Ah, well, I’m working for them in a more freelance capacity now. I prefer to be able to pick and choose my projects.’

‘Sounds like you’re working for them in a fired way,’ Talia said.

‘I wouldn’t put it like that,’ Flora said. She cleared her throat. ‘So, how’s this place doing?’

‘I don’t know yet. We just opened,’ Imogen told her.

‘Oh, ha ha, of course. And you’re, err, staffed up?’

Talia, mid-sip of champagne, spluttered, sending a mouthful of bubbles straight over Flora’s pristine white suit.

Flora froze for a beat, then blinked down at the spreading stain as if hoping it might magically disappear. ‘Well.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Talia said nearly sincerely.

‘Can I get you a napkin?’ Imogen asked, barely suppressing laughter at Flora’s perfectly earned misfortune.

Flora pulled out her pocket square and dabbed at the stain. ‘I’m good, thanks ever so.’

Imogen cleared her throat. ‘You know, if you’re available, there’s a mountain of work to be done. We could use someone to hand out leaflets.’

Flora’s eyes narrowed, her smile tightening into something brittle. ‘I’m not available. Just making conversation.’

Imogen’s gaze stayed steady, her amusement barely concealed. She knew Flora well enough not to expect otherwise. ‘The offer stands. Open-ended.’

Flora smoothed her jacket, clearly offended but forcing a laugh to cover it. ‘I must dash, lots of things to get to. But I’m glad I could see the place. It’s… cute.’

‘So glad you could make it,’ Imogen said, voice tight as wire.

‘And you two,’ Flora said, turning back with a mocking tilt of her head, ‘best of luck. It’s quite sweet to see my sloppy seconds finding each other.’

Talia reached out, her hand landing discreetly on Imogen’s bum with a small, sly squeeze. ‘We’ll always remember you as our respective first pancake.’

Flora forced a smile. ‘Sure. Later.’ She turned sharply, heading for the door.

‘Say hi to your parents for me,’ Talia called after her, voice dripping with sweet venom.

Flora paused in stride for the briefest moment and then kept walking.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Talia turned to Imogen, and they both burst out laughing.

‘Did I just dream that?’ Imogen asked.

‘Dreams are never that good,’ Talia told her, releasing her bottom to grab a fresh flute from a passing tray and handing it to Imogen. ‘I’m betting you need this.’

‘Only to toast that idiot leaving,’ Imogen told her. She looked around. ‘Are there enough people here? I feel like it’s thinning out.’

Talia looked around. ‘I think it’s actually fuller.’

Imogen looked again. ‘Are you sure?’

Talia nodded. ‘Honey, breathe. It’s a good night.’

‘Would you put your hand back on my bum? It’s very soothing,’ Imogen asked.

Talia nodded and placed it back on Imogen’s left cheek. ‘I live to serve.’

Imogen took a more relaxed sigh. ‘Keep that there, if you could.’

‘To the limits of decency. And a bit beyond,’ Talia promised her with a smile.

Imogen watched as another sale sticker went up on a painting. It soothed her nerves a little. In fact, she was starting to suspect she might be someone who’d built something that could last. Maybe more than one thing.

She squeezed Talia’s hand. ‘It sucks that Celeste and Mitchell are struggling,’ she noted.

‘Yep,’ Talia said sadly.

‘Marriage is hard, I guess.’

‘Yep,’ Talia repeated.

‘You want to give it a go?’ Imogen asked.

Talia’s mouth twitched. ‘Huwha…’ she spluttered.

Imogen gave a half-shrug, trying to mask her nerves with nonchalance. ‘Seemed to work out OK last time we tried something crazy together.’

Talia turned to look at her, properly this time. ‘You’re serious?’

‘I mean, I don’t have a ring or a speech or anything.’ Imogen paused. ‘But I just think my life is so much better with you in it. And I’d quite like to keep it that way.’

Talia was quiet for a beat, eyes scanning Imogen’s face for a lack of seriousness. But Imogen was deeply sincere. She wanted to marry Talia Knox. She wanted her forever.

‘That was a pretty good speech, actually,’ Talia told her.

‘Good enough to say yes?’ Imogen checked fearfully.

‘Definitely good enough. Let’s get hitched,’ Talia said with a smile, her ears turning that lovely shade of pink.

Imogen smiled back at her soon-to-be wife. ‘Alright, then.’

They turned back toward the paintings, hands still clasped, as another red sticker went up.

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