He yanks his tux straight and touch

He yanks his tux straight and touches his temple, which is swollen and purple. He looks us over, his jaw working, and my heart jolts. I want to tuck her against my side and hide her from his sight—but Romy needs this. She needs to stand on her own and speak for herself. I’m glad she’s getting a restraining order, though. I take the sculpture from her hand and set it on a side table, then lace my fingers with hers. We slowly follow him up the hall, giving him a generous head start. Instead of going into the gallery space, he walks straight through the entryway and out the front.
Romy pulls up abruptly, gasping. I draw her against my chest as the terror of the last few minutes takes her over. I pull her into a different room, a library by the look of it. Her slender fingers curl into my shirt, and her breaths are sharp and short. I stroke her hair. “You’re all right,” I whisper. “You were so incredibly fucking brave.”
“If you hadn’t showed up, I don’t know what would have happened,” she says, her voice high-pitched, like she’s on the verge of screaming.
I don’t know what would have happened either, and it scares me to death. “I did show up, though, and you’re okay, and now you’re going to take the right steps to protect yourself. If he’s got any brains, he’ll leave you alone.” I bow my head over hers, kissing her forehead. “Do you want to get out of here? We can go wherever you want to go.” But I’m not leaving your side, I silently add. There’s no way she’s getting rid of me tonight. I don’t care if I have to sleep outside her door.
She coils her arms around my waist, her breaths coming a little slower. “No, we’re staying.” She looks up at me with those big green eyes, and I almost tell her exactly how I feel about her. That’s how powerful her gaze on me is. “I want to see the auction, Caleb.”
“You do?”
She swallows hard. “Do I look okay?”
“Are you serious? You look amazing.” I brush a tear off her cheek. It takes serious effort not to crush my lips to hers.
“My mascara isn’t smudged?”
I shake my head. “But I know where the bathroom is, if you need a moment.”
I take her hand and lead her there, then wait outside until she comes out. “It was a little smudged,” she says, giving me an accusatory stare ruined by the mischievous smile on her face.
“I didn’t notice,” I tell her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Hell, I’m not sure I want to do this.
She smoothes her hand over her hair. “Last semester, I let Alex drive me underground for months,” she says. “I let him scare me. I let him make me think I was weak. There is absolutely no way I’m letting him do that again. I want to see your painting sell at auction, and I’m going to sit next to you as it happens.”
As we walk into the gallery room, my heart is about to crack a few of my ribs. She probably has no idea how terrifying this is for me. What if nobody bids? What will it be like to sit here, suffocating in the silent rejection of something I poured my soul into?
The auction is already in progress, and we watch a few smaller pieces sell. Romy grabs me a glass of champagne and wraps my fingers around the stem. “Helps with nerves,” she whispers in my ear, her lips tickling my earlobe. That helps with the nerves, too.
I down that champagne like it’s tap water and she snags me another. I’m pretty loose and mellow by the time my painting is carried to the front, but as soon as it is, that feeling evaporates like dew in the desert.
“Now we have an original painting, oil on canvas, The Healing by local artist Caleb McCallum,” the auctioneer says, his breath huffing loudly into the microphone as he speaks.  “We’re going to start the bidding at four hundred.”
My stomach clenches. They asked me what my minimum was when I set up the donation, and Daniel told me that was as low as anyone should ever go. He actually told me to make it six hundred because the painting is so large, but I made it four to lessen the chance that it wouldn’t get a single bid.
Although that’s exactly what seems to be happening now.
The seconds tick by, and my dread grows.
“Four hundred in the back,” says the auctioneer, a smile brightening his creased face.
I sag in my seat, and Romy twines her arm with mine. The sense of relief is overwhelmingly sweet. Someone wants it. Someone wants my painting, enough to spend—
“Six in the front—eight—” The auctioneer gestures at each bidder. “one thousand—one two—”
I gape as paddles bob up and down amongst the crowd, people holding up their fingers to indicate how much, more signals than I can translate.
“Two thousand—two two—two four—”
Romy is clutching my hand so hard that I think my fingers might break, but I don’t care. She’s the only thing that’s holding me upright.
“Three six—three eight—”
Romy kisses my cheek and presses her forehead against my face.
“Five two—five four—”
“Oh my God,” I breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut. My head is spinning.
“Seven thousand—seven two—seven four—my, this one is in demand. Do I have—yes, seven six here—seven eight—”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Dia menyentak tux nya lurus dan menyentuh candi, yang bengkak dan ungu-nya. Dia tampak kita atas, rahang bekerja, dan hatiku guncang. Saya ingin menyelipkan dirinya terhadap sisi saya dan menyembunyikan dia dari pandangannya — tetapi Romy kebutuhan ini. Dia perlu berdiri pada dirinya sendiri dan berbicara untuk dirinya sendiri. Aku senang dia mendapatkan sebuah perintah penahanan, meskipun. Aku mengambil patung dari tangan dan meletakkannya di sisi Meja, kemudian renda jari-jari saya dengan miliknya. Kita perlahan-lahan menindaklanjuti dia aula, memberinya dermawan kepala mulai. Daripada pergi ke ruang galeri, dia berjalan lurus melalui pintu masuk dan keluar depan.Romy menarik tiba-tiba, terengah-engah. Aku menarik dia melawan dada saya seperti teror dari beberapa menit terakhir membawanya. Aku menarik dia ke dalam ruangan yang berbeda, sebuah perpustakaan oleh penampilan. Jari-jarinya ramping curl ke dalam bajuku, dan napas Nya tajam dan pendek. Saya stroke rambutnya. "Kau baik," saya berbisik. "Kau begitu sangat sialan berani.""Jika Anda tidak muncul, aku tidak tahu apa yang akan terjadi," katanya, suaranya bernada tinggi, seperti dia di ambang menjerit.I don’t know what would have happened either, and it scares me to death. “I did show up, though, and you’re okay, and now you’re going to take the right steps to protect yourself. If he’s got any brains, he’ll leave you alone.” I bow my head over hers, kissing her forehead. “Do you want to get out of here? We can go wherever you want to go.” But I’m not leaving your side, I silently add. There’s no way she’s getting rid of me tonight. I don’t care if I have to sleep outside her door.She coils her arms around my waist, her breaths coming a little slower. “No, we’re staying.” She looks up at me with those big green eyes, and I almost tell her exactly how I feel about her. That’s how powerful her gaze on me is. “I want to see the auction, Caleb.”“You do?”She swallows hard. “Do I look okay?”“Are you serious? You look amazing.” I brush a tear off her cheek. It takes serious effort not to crush my lips to hers.“My mascara isn’t smudged?”I shake my head. “But I know where the bathroom is, if you need a moment.”I take her hand and lead her there, then wait outside until she comes out. “It was a little smudged,” she says, giving me an accusatory stare ruined by the mischievous smile on her face.“I didn’t notice,” I tell her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Hell, I’m not sure I want to do this.She smoothes her hand over her hair. “Last semester, I let Alex drive me underground for months,” she says. “I let him scare me. I let him make me think I was weak. There is absolutely no way I’m letting him do that again. I want to see your painting sell at auction, and I’m going to sit next to you as it happens.”As we walk into the gallery room, my heart is about to crack a few of my ribs. She probably has no idea how terrifying this is for me. What if nobody bids? What will it be like to sit here, suffocating in the silent rejection of something I poured my soul into?The auction is already in progress, and we watch a few smaller pieces sell. Romy grabs me a glass of champagne and wraps my fingers around the stem. “Helps with nerves,” she whispers in my ear, her lips tickling my earlobe. That helps with the nerves, too.I down that champagne like it’s tap water and she snags me another. I’m pretty loose and mellow by the time my painting is carried to the front, but as soon as it is, that feeling evaporates like dew in the desert.“Now we have an original painting, oil on canvas, The Healing by local artist Caleb McCallum,” the auctioneer says, his breath huffing loudly into the microphone as he speaks. “We’re going to start the bidding at four hundred.”My stomach clenches. They asked me what my minimum was when I set up the donation, and Daniel told me that was as low as anyone should ever go. He actually told me to make it six hundred because the painting is so large, but I made it four to lessen the chance that it wouldn’t get a single bid.Although that’s exactly what seems to be happening now.The seconds tick by, and my dread grows.“Four hundred in the back,” says the auctioneer, a smile brightening his creased face.I sag in my seat, and Romy twines her arm with mine. The sense of relief is overwhelmingly sweet. Someone wants it. Someone wants my painting, enough to spend—“Six in the front—eight—” The auctioneer gestures at each bidder. “one thousand—one two—”I gape as paddles bob up and down amongst the crowd, people holding up their fingers to indicate how much, more signals than I can translate.“Two thousand—two two—two four—”Romy is clutching my hand so hard that I think my fingers might break, but I don’t care. She’s the only thing that’s holding me upright.“Three six—three eight—”Romy kisses my cheek and presses her forehead against my face.“Five two—five four—”“Oh my God,” I breathe. I squeeze my eyes shut. My head is spinning.“Seven thousand—seven two—seven four—my, this one is in demand. Do I have—yes, seven six here—seven eight—”