Well, I say “offered,” but it was more a case of her insisting and me speechlessly grinning like a loon. I’ve been doing a lot of that recently. I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll suddenly remember that I’m in an exhibition—me, Lucy Hemmingway—and I’ll start grinning to myself. I’ve had some funny looks. I’m sure other New Yorkers think I’m some kind of crazy person.
But I don’t care. I’m finally following my dream and I’ve never been happier. I’m even hoping to go part-time at the gallery soon so I can concentrate on my art. Who knows what might happen? It’s scary, but it’s also exhilarating, and that nagging feeling, the part of me that always felt as if something was missing, has gone. Because finally I’ve found it. I’ve found it and a whole lot more, I muse, glancing sideways at Adam, who’s studying one of my sketches, his arm still wrapped tightly round me. Proof that dreams really do come true.
“Well done, sis!”
Hearing a voice, I twirl round and see my sister and Jeff. At least I think it’s my sister, because she’s almost unrecognizable. Gone is the gray pallor—her face is suntanned and covered in freckles—and her immaculate bob is tousled and streaked almost white-blonde. Even more shocking, the power suit and heels have been replaced by a pale blue silk dress and flip-flops. And is that silver nail polish on her toes?
“You’re back!” I gasp.
“We just flew in from Bali this morning.” They grin excitedly.
“How was it?”
“Amazing. You’ll have to come and see the photos,” enthuses Jeff, radiating health and happiness. “The one of your sister doing a bungee jump in New Zealand is incredible.”
“Kate? Doing a bungee jump?” I stare at them both in astonishment. “Actually, on second thoughts, are you sure you’re my sister?” I joke, peering at her suspiciously, and Kate swats me good-naturedly.
“Bubbles?” We’re interrupted by Magda bearing down on us with a tray of champagne flutes. Despite a flurry of waitstaff, she still insists on serving the drinks herself. “Who wants bubbles?”
It’s not the kind of question that requires an answer, and she thrusts a glass of champagne in each of our hands. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy. Not only has she saved the gallery, bought herself a swanky new apartment, and put together the hottest exhibition in town, but she’s treated herself to a brow lift, lipo, and lip implants.
Apparently Dr. Rosenbaum had a three-for-two offer. Magda might be a millionaire, but she also likes a bargain.
“How are you?” asks Kate politely. “You look well.”
“I’m wonderful, wonderful!” replies a beaming Magda, launching into her story about her amazing rescue of the Titian, which, like all her stories, has now become so exaggerated it involves the Mafia and a possible kidnapping.
“Wow, this is so cool!” cries Robyn, arriving and saving me from hearing Magda’s story for the umpteenth time. She greets me with a huge bear hug. “I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks.” I smile, my cheeks flushing.
“I had no idea I had such a talented roommate. Soon-to-be-ex roommate,” she corrects, and beams at me and Adam. I feel a flutter of excitement. Like I said, there have been some big changes since I returned from Venice, and one of them is that Adam and I have decided to move in together. “So how’s the apartment search going?”
“We can just about afford a shoe box in Hell’s Kitchen.” I smile ruefully.
“Well, at least that means your shoes are sorted,” Robyn says with a grin. “That’s the most important thing.”
Adam rolls his eyes. “I think I’ll leave you girls to catch up. I’m off for more champagne.”
I laugh. Some things never change.
“So what do you think of Artsy now you’ve finally met him?” I ask excitedly, as soon as we’re on our own. I’ve been dying to ask that question all night.
“I think he’s gay,” she replies evenly.
“What?” I look at her in confusion, then follow her gaze to where Artsy is standing, his arm wound firmly round a tall man with a shaved head and tattooed forearms. At exactly that moment he leans over and kisses him.
“That’s his boyfriend,” deadpans Robyn.
For a second or two we both look at each other, neither of us saying anything, then burst into laughter.
“Harold has a boyfriend?” I giggle, shaking my head at the irony.
“Yup, I was talking to him earlier. He’s interested in joining my drumming circle when they’re in town.” Robyn looks thrilled. “Apparently he’s amazing on the djembe.”
I look at her blankly.
“It’s an African tribal drum,” she explains.
“So are you finally going to admit he’s not your soul mate?” I raise my eyebrows pointedly.
She stops smiling and looks sheepish. “Well, you see, that’s the thing,” she says slowly, winding a curl round her finger. “When I listened back to the tape of my psychic reading, Wakanda never said that Harold was my soul mate. She said I was going to meet my soul mate and I had to be on the lookout for a dark, handsome stranger named Harold. There’s a big difference.” She stops talking suddenly and I see her blanch.
It’s Daniel in a dark blue overcoat, snowflakes still glistening in his hair. He’s just arrived and is chatting to his mum and Artsy. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in months. No one has. Apparently he’s been “away on business.” Well, that’s the official line. Though judging by his expression as he glances over and sees Robyn, I’m not so sure.
“Are you OK?” I ask, turning back to her with concern.
“Yeah, fine.” She nods, obviously not fine at all. “I knew I’d see him tonight. I’ve been preparing myself.”
I look at her fiddling agitatedly with her bracelets. She looks totally unprepared.
“Why don’t you go over and say hi?” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” she says sadly. “It’s been three months and I haven’t heard from him once.”
“And did you want to?” I ask quietly.
Her eyes glisten. “I’ve been such a total idiot, Lucy. You were right. I’ve missed him like crazy, but now I think it’s too late.”
She looks miserable and I squeeze her hand supportively. “You don’t know that.”
She heaves a sigh and her eyes meet mine. “What could possibly bring us back together?”
No sooner has she spoken than suddenly Artsy makes a beeline for us and, after a bout of air-kissing, announces loudly, “Robyn, I want you to meet someone.” Before I quite know what is happening, I see a familiar figure in a blue overcoat standing next to him. “Robyn, this is Daniel.”
For a split second glances fly between them and they both blush.
“Hi. Nice to meet you, Robyn.” Playing along, he holds out his hand.
She hesitates for a moment, then takes it. “Nice to meet you too, Daniel.”
Their eyes meet and, still holding hands, they exchange smiles. The kind of smiles you see between two people who feel like they’re the only ones in the whole room.
And all at once it hits me. It’s not what could bring them back together. It’s who.
Artsy.
Otherwise known as Harold.
Of course. Harold was never meant to be her soul mate; he was simply the person who would bring her together with her true soul mate: Daniel.
I look at them now, both grinning madly at each other. You know, maybe that psychic was onto something.
Making a discreet exit, I leave Robyn and Daniel and wander off by myself. Alone, I take a sip of champagne, relishing the few moments to look around the gallery, at Artsy, Magda, Daniel and Robyn, Kate and Jeff, Adam . . . I feel a glow of contentment. After everything, it’s all worked out.
And Nate? I haven’t seen him since Venice. I noticed on Facebook that he’d changed his relationship status to “married to Beth” and given his address as L.A., but that was ages ago. Since then he’s defriended me,
I’ve stopped bumping into him, and there have been no more mysterious missed calls.
Maybe it’s simply because he moved back to L.A., or maybe it really is because we went back to Venice and broke the spell. I’ll never know for certain, but if you believe in destiny like Robyn does, then it was all meant to happen this way. I was meant to kiss Nate in Venice ten years ago, to meet him again, to break up, then not break up, which forced me to return to Venice, because that’s how I came to be with Adam. All these events led me to Adam. It was all written in the stars from the very beginning.
Or maybe you’re like my sister and think it’s all a load of nonsense— that there’s no such thing as magic and legends and fate, that it was just a string of coincidences that kept throwing Nate and me together, that I let my imagination run away with itself.
Personally, I like to think the old Italian was right, that nothing is more powerful than love, and by falling in love with Adam I finally broke the spell that Nate had over me. I was able to move on.
And the legend? Is it real? Nobody knows, but if it is, Adam and I are now tied together for eternity and can never break up. We’ll have to spend the rest of our lives together.
I look across at him, and seeing me, he flashes me a smile.
And I couldn’t be happier about it.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my wonderful agent, Stephanie Cabot. A big thank-you to Sara Kinsella and Isobel Akenhead, and everyone at Hodder for all their support and enthusiasm. Thanks as always to my mum and dad and sister, Kelly, who have been as amazing as ever. I really couldn’t do this novel-writing business without you!
Thanks also to my great bunch of friends on both sides of the Atlantic : Beatrice, Sara, Dana, Pete, Melissa, Rachel, Matt, Tricia, Georgie, Kate, and Bev, for cheering me on from the sidelines, making me smile, giving me inspiration, and never telling me to shut up when I start talking about plots, characters, and deadlines. . . .
And finally a special mention for Barney, who sits beside me as I write. Never has there been a finer muse. Here’s to the next one, kiddo.
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You're (Not) the One Alexandra Potter Page 38