by Logan Belle
Sebastian nodded. “He has . . . and I’m flattered. I would love to do a project with you. I’m just not sure the Astrid Lindall prints are the right material for my first book.”
“Do you have something else in mind?”
“I might.”
“Let’s do lunch next week.” The man smiled at Regina and shook Sebastian’s hand. “Looking forward to talking further.”
When he was out of earshot, she turned to Sebastian.
“That’s so exciting,” she said, squeezing his hand. “What do you think?”
“I want to talk to you about it later.”
They started to make their way through the crowd, and that’s when she saw—or, rather, felt—Sloan’s death glare from two yards away. Like an animal in the wild, Regina must have sensed Sloan watching her, because she turned just enough to see her. Sloan was standing with a milquetoast-looking man who had his arm around her, and Regina assumed he was her fiancé, Harrison.
Purely by accident, Regina made eye contact. She quickly looked away, but the damage was done. She could do the dirty-look-to-English translation, and it meant, ‘Get the fuck out of my party, you whore.’ ”
“Oh God,” she breathed.
“What?” Sebastian asked.
“Sloan.”
“Just ignore her,” Sebastian said. “You can’t let her rattle you. And you can’t avoid her all night. She’s seated with us.”
•
The table was closest to the podium, and clearly comprised of the A-list of the evening. Regina was sandwiched between Sebastian and the president of the library. Across from her, Ethan Hawke was entertaining their table with tales of the first annual Young Lions gala back in 1999. Regina could barely see him over the centerpiece of calla lilies, but she was following his anecdotes with rapt attention. And next to him, Sloan glowered, simmering with a rage that was no doubt invisible to all but Regina.
Ethan’s tale of the narrowly averted disasters of the first award gala was met with hearty laughter, and prompted Harrison to launch into his own anecdote of near disaster, which apparently centered around the first time he took Sloan to England to meet extended family, and she was forced to take part in their annual fox hunt. His recounting of the events amused everyone but Sloan.
“In the end, I always tell Sloan not to fret, and yet she always frets and things always turn out magnificently,” Harrison said.
“Maybe they turn out ‘magnificently’ because of my fretting. Or, as I like to put it, hard work,” Sloan snapped.
If anyone else at the table noticed the tension of the exchange, there was no indication. Ethan was answering questions about his latest project, a sequel to the film Before Sunset. This was the first Regina had heard of it, and she tried to contain her impulse to jump in and tell him how much she had loved the movie. She realized now she had seen it when she was maybe too young to appreciate fully its exploration of nostalgia, missed opportunities, and life’s most haunting compromises, but she had loved it all the same. To this day, it was the reason she wanted to visit Paris. She told herself to mention it to Sebastian. Maybe, someday, they would go together.
Sebastian, though holding her hand under the table, was busy chatting with Adam Levine’s date, whom he had apparently just shot a few months ago for W. There was a time not long ago when this would have made her jealous and insecure. But she was confident that her place in front of his camera lens—and his heart—was unrivaled. When she caught pieces of his conversation with the model, she smiled to hear him talking about her.
The president of the library excused himself. “Time to get the show on the road,” he said, and walked the few feet to the podium.
The loud buzz of the room grew quiet when the president took to the microphone, welcoming everyone to the fourteenth annual Young Lions Fiction Award gala. “Before we commence with the introduction of our first nominee, I want to thank the entire board of trustees, each of whom went above and beyond this year to put together this evening’s event, six months ahead of our usual schedule.”
The room erupted in vigorous applause. “And now I have the pleasure of introducing our board president, Sebastian Barnes.”
“I’ll be right back,” Sebastian whispered to her, then joined the president in front of the room. Words were exchanged, introductions were made, and one of the writing finalists eventually took the microphone to read from his debut novel.
Regina watched Sebastian’s grace and ease in front of the crowd, and she could feel the eyes of every woman in the room riveted to him—especially a particular blonde sitting just across from her. As he made his way back to their table, her chest felt full with love and pride.
Sebastian didn’t sit down but instead touched her lightly on her back.
“Let’s go outside for some air,” he said.
He didn’t have to ask her twice. After watching him, she was eager for a moment alone. She imagined a quick—but passionate—kiss in the foyer.
Sebastian walked quickly, taking her hand. He didn’t say a word until they were outside on the portico.
The night was cooler than she was used to, and she shivered. Sebastian took off his jacket to put around her shoulders.
“You looked so commanding up there,” she said.
“You of all people know what I really look like when I’m ‘commanding.’ ”
She smiled and shook her head. “You know what I mean.”
He turned to face her, rubbing her shoulders.
“Are you warming up?”
“Yes,” she said, beaming. The headlights from the cars lit up Fifth Avenue. She breathed in the air, a breeze blowing from the east.
“Regina, you remember what that publisher said earlier, right?”
“Yes. Of course. It’s really exciting. Did you know about this? You never mentioned it.”
He nodded. “My agent told me a few weeks ago. But I didn’t have anything I wanted to put into a book. I felt it was premature to do something like that with Taschen.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m sure the offer will still stand when you’re ready.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I was waiting for the right time, but running into Gordon tonight—it seemed serendipitous.”
She looked at him questioningly. “What? You’re making me nervous.”
“I want to show him the photos of you. For a potential book.”
Regina lost her breath. She pressed her hand to her chest, telling herself to stay calm.
“Sebastian, you said those were just for you. For us,” she said in a rush of words, so jumbled she didn’t know if he would understand her.
“I know. And that can still be the case. I’m just telling you that they are my most favorite photographs of all I’ve ever taken. The best, I’m sure of it. The passion and love I feel for you comes across in these prints. It’s been what’s missing in my work all this time. I love you, Regina.”
“I love you, too,” she said, and he pulled her into his arms. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, careful not to get her red lipstick on his white shirt. Her feelings for him in that moment were so big that they made the answer to his question clear to her.
She was proud of what they’d done together. The photographs were the tangible result of their meeting in the middle, of finding that place where they could love each other, and still love themselves. There was nothing wrong with the photos. She didn’t have to insist they remain just between the two of them. And maybe until she was able to truly give them to him, she was still holding back a piece of herself.
She wanted him to have all of her.
“I want you to submit the photos,” she said.
He pulled back and held her gently at arm’s length.
“You don’t have to say that. I love you either way,” he said. Though she could tell
he was trying to be measured, his excitement was palpable.
“I know I don’t have to say it. I mean it.”
He looked down at the ground, then back at her, and she was shocked to see tears in them. “You’ve given me a real gift, Regina. And I don’t just mean the photos.”
She moved close to him, her arms around him. She was so happy she felt she could burst.
He pulled away, and then she realized Sebastian was holding out a small blue box. A Tiffany’s box.
“What is this?” she asked, feeling déjà vu from the night he’d given her the padlock. He smiled at her, his eyes dancing. She quickly untied the white ribbon and opened the lid to find a platinum key, about an inch and a half long, covered in diamonds. She lifted it out of the box and saw that it was on a chain.
Sebastian reached for her, and she realized he was unhooking the padlock necklace. She felt it slide from around her neck, and he pressed it into her hand.
“I’d love to see you wear the new one,” he said, fastening it for her. “You didn’t finish looking in the box.”
The velvet base that had cushioned the key necklace was empty. She looked at him quizzically, and he reached into the box and removed the lining. There, at the bottom, was a worn, bronze, everyday house key.
“What’s this?” she asked, confused.
“The key to my apartment,” he said. “I figure with your roommate on her way to the altar, you might need a new place to live.”
Regina put her hand to her mouth, smiling a foolish grin that threatened to erupt into ecstatic giggles.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
She nodded, wide-eyed.
He kissed her softly on the lips, then pulled back to say, “Of course, you understand that I have house rules. But I know you’re obedient.”
“Oh, I am, am I?”
“Yes,” he said, pulling her into him, his mouth against her neck. “In the bedroom, at least.”
He took her hand and walked toward the edge of the portico, then down the stairs.
“We can’t leave yet,” Regina said.
“Sure we can.”
“I want to see Margaret get her award.”
“You’re going to make me sit through this whole thing?”
She smiled, nodding slowly.
“Okay, you can make me sit through this now,” he said. “But once we get home, I’m going to make sure you can’t sit for a week.”
“Promises, promises,” she said, leaning into him.
They walked hand in hand back into the library.
ALSO BY LOGAN BELLE:
Blue Angel
Fallen Angel
Naked Angel
We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Star Books eBook.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Logan Belle
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