Give me a reason to end this for good…
But there she was, seated at the front of the room alone, beautiful and aloof, a touch of sadness weighing on her soft shoulders.
Dorian’s heart sputtered. He wanted to go to her. To rewind the past few weeks, erase them, call a do-over on the entire mess. They could be strangers once again, crossing paths for a few brief, stolen moments of passion, nothing more.
And then he could turn on his heel, walk back into the elevator, and forget all about her.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Who was he trying to convince? He’d never take that deal, just as he’d never forget her. Not in an eternity.
The artwork set up on the platform was covered with sheets, and now the auctioneer approached, revealing the few remaining pieces—two sculptures, a handful of smaller paintings, an antique tea set, and…
Oh, Charlotte…
Dorian stifled a curse. She wasn’t working a job after all.
Without preamble, the auctioneer began the event, selling off three small paintings and a sculpture before getting to the painting that had captured all of Charlotte’s attention.
One that had come to mean something to Dorian too.
“Adrift,by Heinrich Von Hausen,” the auctioneer said. “We’ll open the bidding at five thousand dollars.”
On the night they’d first crossed paths, Charlotte had told Dorian the painting of the ship on a stormy sea reminded her of her father—that she’d seen it with him on a trip to the Smithsonian as a child.
Charlotte raised her bid card, but she was trumped by three others in quick succession. She tried to keep up, raising each bid by another thousand, but when the bidding reached five figures, she quietly tucked the card into her purse, her head low.
Dorian knew she didn’t have money—not even the five grand she’d first bid.
She wasn’t here to buy it. She was here to see it off. To say goodbye.
She remained seated, and Dorian watched as the auctioneer made quick work of closing the deal, the final bid coming in at three fifty.
Charlotte nodded once at the painting before her, then rose from her chair and headed for the exit.
Dorian remained in the shadows along the back wall, but his caution wasn’t necessary. She walked right past him, so closely Dorian could smell her intoxicating scent, could see the tears glittering in her copper eyes.
She hadn’t even known he was there.
* * *
He caught up with her in Central Park, lingering on a bench not far from where they’d shared their first dinner. The memory made him smile as much as it made him ache.
“Had I known hotdogs were the way to your heart,” he teased, “I wouldn’t have led with the coq au vin tonight.”
Charlotte didn’t smile. Didn’t glance up to meet his eyes. She barely acknowledged his presence.
Standing over her, his shadow eclipsing her face, he said only, “I’m sorry.”
“So you saw—”
“Everything, yes.”
“I don’t know why I came here. I knew I wouldn’t be able to buy it.” She slipped off her shoes, leaning forward to rub her feet. “I don’t even have money for a taxi.”
“Youwhat?”
She waved the words away. When she sat up again, she patted the bench beside her, finally inviting him to join her.
Dorian sat down and put his arm around her shoulders. She stiffened at his touch, but then leaned into him, resting her head on his chest and letting out a deep sigh.
