This was not Roman's first showing and it was obvious from the second he stepped into the room. He was by no means a famous, world changing artist but he had gathered enough of a following that people in some circles knew his name and he'd been featured in some low key magazine a time or two (were it ever to escalate beyond that, he would disappear. Being in the spot light too much was against the rules but it was difficult for Roman to stay out of it at all. People liked him. He was likable. and good at the things he did). Newspapers featured his showings in the backs of their publication with a small story (bigger, sometimes, if a piece went for a much or if he happened to have a person in his work that was in the media at the time) and a picture.
This was sort of like that. Some might be surprised that Roman had an assistant who handled these sort of things - a tiny, smiling thing with glasses and an eternal look of 'don't touch anything, please.' As soon as Roman entered the room, she was at his side in an instant with lists of names and what papers were there and what journalists to talk to and if there were to be pictures taken. He, of course, kissed her cheeks and greeted her with enthusiasm (which she seemed completely uninterested in but used to. She didn't stop her prattle at all). And when she was done, he was lead away behind her to get lost in the shuffle... leaving Caden to brows the snack table and wine or whatever else he wanted to. Roman never let him get out of sight but he did no kind of hovering.
He was busy.
It was a shuffle - women with too much jewelry and too loud laughter were continually touching him, his shoulders his arms, even his face as he greeted them all with the same kind of enthusiasm and cheek kissing, hugging, and his own noisy (but not so fake) laughs. Men, some older, some younger, some that looked mostly his age with surgically perfect teeth, chattered with him over their glasses of wine and told him unsavory jokes. People whispered in his ear. People kissed his cheeks. People crowded his space unconsciously when he spoke with them or talked about his work (which was hardly spectacular. Different, to be sure, but it was a fad. Roman wanted it to be that way). There were people around - a gangly, awkward girl who was featured in one of his paintings. An older woman with curious angles and earrings that would probably take her head off if she turned her head too quickly, also featured in a painting. And many more - whom Roman, when he found them, lead them around and introduced them to people, only staying long enough to get a conversation started before he dashed out again to greet someone else.
He was a butterfly. He was a business man. All he wanted was his banjo. And he continually flashed smiles and lingering looks toward his dear, dear Caden.
The only kink that seemed to happen was a girl, hardly twenty with a shape and face that would probably one day end up in playboy, who had, at some point, attached herself to the artist, draping herself over his shoulders and leaning too much, whispering in his ear and doing small things like tugging his ear lobes, pulling him aside when she could to invade more space than he really wanted to give her. Of course, it only got worse when he settled down into a chair to talk to an older gentleman that it seemed he knew very well. The girl flopped gracelessly into his lap and hung on him, arms about his neck, pretending to giggle drunkenly in his ear as he spoke. And Roman, whom would lay across a pile of people and never once feel strange about it, seemed only to notice in passing and allowed her to stay, even laying an arm across her lap as he spoke to the other gentleman.
This was normal. This was okay. Roman didn't care.
And the girl took it as an opening to discreetly tug and pull at his belt as he directed his attention elsewhere.