by Lulu Pratt
“Shall we go in the galleries?” I asked Chloe. “It’ll keep us out of everyone’s way.”
She knew that I was just trying to buy us a moment alone. “I guess,” she replied uncertainly.
“Mx. Tok, I’ve asked Chloe to show me some of your new work in the galleries.”
That taken care of, I led Chloe out the door of the loading area and into the galleries proper.
I’d spent a fair amount of time here over the years, first with my father as a little boy and then at various fundraising events, celebrity openings and the like. Our whole family was Comino Gallery patrons, and I knew the area like the back of my hand.
Once we were safely out of earshot, sequestered in the corner between a Magritte and a Malfatti, I turned my attention back to Chloe. Though, technically speaking, I don’t think it ever left her.
“Okay, so what’s the deal?” I asked.
She pursed her lips. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m not, like, following you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
I snorted at her defensiveness. She had always been so insistent about her independence.
“I know that, Chloe. You’d never follow a man. Even if he asked you to.”
Her eyes darkened at my last sentence, but she replied evenly, “I’m taking over for my friend Alexandra while she goes on maternity leave.”
“So you’ll be supervising the Gentileschi reveal?”
“I guess so, yeah. I literally started here this afternoon.”
I hoped she couldn’t see the excitement in my voice, or the way I moved just a half step closer to her. Though, of course, she could — Chloe was sensitive to people’s movements and seemed to have a weird intuition for how body language revealed inner turmoil. It was like every twist of a knuckle had layered implications to her. Her gift had made the sex amazing, all those years ago.
She continued, with an edge of nervousness, “Italy was wonderful. I felt like I found my calling. You know how hard it was for me to commit to anything, but I think art restoration is really it.”
“Yes, I do remember something about your inability to commit.”
Despite my best efforts, the frustration seeped into my voice. Chloe looked away, her angular profile catching the glow filtering in from the skylight. She was the Mona Lisa, beautiful and confoundingly mysterious.
“Anyhow,” she said quickly, ignoring my barbed comment. “What’s with the donation? Feeling charitable?”
Fuck. I’d have to tell her the truth. She’d find out sooner or later, right? It was better she hear it from me than someone else. And, I reminded myself, it doesn’t matter, because you two are in the past.
“Well, my family is going to be sponsoring this year’s Spring Gala in March,” I said, naming a date some eight months away. “We figured it’d be an appropriate year to donate our Gentileschis. And…”
I trailed off, unable to bring myself to the reminder of the truth.
“And?” she pressed.
“At the gala, I’ll be proposing.”
The words had been unleashed, and now I watched Chloe’s face, anxious to see how she’d reply.
She didn’t have to ask for clarification. She knew this story all too well.
“To Rebecca,” she said, looking for confirmation. “You’ll be proposing to Rebecca.”
“Yes.”
Chloe nodded stiffly. If the news upset her, she scarcely let on.
Rebecca was the daughter of my father’s business partner, Adam. The two men had worked together for some forty years now and were closer than brothers. Rebecca and I grew up together, running between our fathers’ various estates and raising all manner of hell. We were the closest of friends, and everyone in our circle assumed we would get married when we were of age. Our union was practically arranged at this point.
“I’m very happy for you,” Chloe said.
Her words sounded fake. Or was I just hearing what I wanted to hear?
She went on, “I remember how tight you and Rebecca were. I’m sorry I never got a chance to meet her, back when we were…”
When we were dating, I finished in my head. And fucking. The old resentment was there, as fresh now as it had been when we split.
I’d told Chloe about Rebecca a number of times, but had never introduced the two — not because I thought Chloe would feel threatened (she wasn’t that type of woman) but because introducing them would’ve meant that I was really serious with Chloe. Rebecca was the closest family I had, save for my father. I hadn’t been ready to take that step, to put a wax seal on my relationship with Chloe. Lord knows I paid for that dearly.
In fact, it was my lack of commitment that had pushed Chloe away. Although she had trouble committing to a path in life, I had trouble committing to relationships. In other words, we were two opposing kinds of directionless, and neither could work in harmony.
After we broke things off, she’d joined a different program at NYU in a whole different school, meaning we were on campuses across the city and never once ran into each other. It was like she’d done everything in her power to avoid me, including leaving the damn country.
“I missed you,” I said, unable to help myself.
She was silent, fiddling with the gold bangles that were stacked on her wrist and staring off in the direction of some Picasso sketch.
“Did you miss me, Chloe?”
I had no right to push, but I needed to know if there was still something between us or if this flame I was feeling was only in my mind.
She inhaled through her nose and then found my eyes once more.
“You know I did,” she murmured.
I wanted to grab her hands in mine, to press my face to her breast, to lap at the sweet well of her clit once more. I took another half step forward, for once letting my body and not my mind take the lead. Just as the sparks of passion were mounting between Chloe and me, her lips parting open in greeting, the gallery echoed with the sound of someone clearing their throat.
Chloe and I sprung back like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. She blushed a furious pink and folded her arms behind her as though to keep them from wandering over my body.
“Yes, Mx. Tok?” I said, addressing the director and speaking for both Chloe and myself.
The woman had wandered into the gallery and was meaningfully eyeballing the pair of us.
She smirked, her lips laden with implication. “Am I interrupting?”
“Of course not,” Chloe replied smoothly, lying with ease. “Xavier was just showing me around some of his favorite pieces.”
Mx. Tok looked disappointed at Chloe’s cover story. I suspected the director had a taste for the obscene — most art world people do. And a sordid tale of a high-profile donor’s son and a mere gallery worker getting caught unawares… it was too good to pass up.
She had, however, been thwarted, and took it on the chin.
“The paintings are being unpacked now,” she told us, and as she did, the woman from the loading area joined us in the hallway, nodding in Chloe’s direction with a wink.
Mx. Tok continued, as if casting about for something else to say, “It’ll take some time to get them sorted.”
What was she getting at? Or was she just buying time so she could study Chloe and I together? Either way, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
“Does that mean you won’t need my assistance?” I asked.
“No, of course not, sir.”
“Very well.”
I looked to Chloe, and then to the younger woman who’d winked at her. They seemed like friends. I calculated that I could probably invite the two of them out to dinner under the guise of it being a work event, with the friend serving as an informal chaperone.
“Chloe, and…” I nodded to the woman. “How would the two of you like to join me for supper?”
“Alexandra,” the stranger supplied.
She and Chloe made what they probabl
y thought to be surreptitious eye contact. The woman smiled just a little bit, then continued, “And that’s a very kind offer, but I’m actually pregnant and feeling a little woozy on my feet right now.”
Chloe let out a frustrated noise next to me, so quiet I knew I was the only one to hear.
“Morning sickness only happens in the morning, Alexandra, and it’s the middle of the afternoon.”
Alexandra shrugged with impish glee, ignoring Chloe’s protestation.
“Guess I’m just special, huh? Sounds like the two of you will have to go to dinner without me. Bummer.”
I pivoted back to Chloe, who wasn’t trying to hide her annoyance. Despite her clear consternation about grabbing food, I plowed forward. At least now her friend wouldn’t have to sit through our dinner together.
“So, Chloe? How about it?”
She contemplated the situation for a moment, and evidently deciding that there was no way out, nodded.
“Okay. Meet me at eight.”
I didn’t need to ask where — when we were freshman in college, we’d dined at Bing Liu’s almost every night, getting fresh soup dumplings at eleven and laughing over bottles of sake. I hadn’t stepped foot in the restaurant since we’d broken things off.
As someone who was about to be engaged, I had no right to be this excited at the prospect of a dinner with my old girlfriend. But as someone who could still see Chloe’s radiant sexuality, well… I’m only human.
“It’s a date,” I said.
She lowered her voice so that neither Mx. Tok nor Alexandra could hear her inform me:
“No, it’s not.”
We’d just see about that.
***
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Lulu Pratt’s Books
All available from Amazon
Quickies: A Romance Novella Collection
Relentless Pursuit
Long and Hard
Going Down
In Deep
Best Jerk
Billionaire Neighbor
Baby’s First Christmas
Fake Marriage Act
Recharged
Rough and Ready
Claiming His Valentine
Claimed: A Bad Boy Romance