“Thanks, Tom,” Conor said. “What you said means a lot.”
“It should,” Tom said. “I was up all night writing it.”
“No wonder you look like hell today, you didn’t get any sleep ...”
The brothers kept at it until dessert and coffee were served: strawberry shortcake, pignoli olive oil cake with dark chocolate and brown butter, chocolate profiteroles, and macarons. Kate walked toward the door, where Brian had placed the painting. He had arranged to have someone from the boutique wrap it, and she planned to give it to Conorright here, at the dinner, in front of the people they loved most. Suzanne stood beside the painting as if guarding it.
“I am so excited,” Maeve said, coming to stand beside Kate. Her boyfriend, Lincoln Adams, was with her. He had met Maeve at the gallery—his father, Crispin, was one of Kate’s biggest collectors and had become a friend.
“He’s going to love it,” Lincoln said.
“He is,” Kate said.
“It’s so romantic,” Maeve said, giving Kate a hug.
Kate couldn’t have a better assistant or protégé. Maeve had started working at the gallery straight out of college a year ago; she had caught on fast, learning both the business and Kate’s taste.
“Would you like Maeve and me to carry it, so you can give it to him now?” Lincoln asked.
“A grand presentation!” Maeve said.
Kate glanced at the table and saw that Conor was still talking to Tom.
“I’ll do it,” Kate said. “As soon as he sits down.”
She saw Conor glance over and smile at her. She took that as a sign and began to lift the painting. It was large and heavy, but she was used to moving art around at the gallery. As she leaned down to pick it up, she saw Conor’s eyes widen at the sight of Belinda, who was walking toward Kate.
“Kate?” Belinda asked.
She was wearing the same white sundress she’d had on when she’d been down at the seawall with Conor. It suddenly struck Kate as odd, thoughtless—to wear white to another woman’s wedding weekend.
“Hi, Belinda,” Kate said.
“I’d love to talk to you,” Belinda said.
“Me too,” Kate said. “That would be great. A little later?”
“No, now.”
Kate was alarmed by Belinda’s sharp tone.
“Is everything okay?” Kate asked.
“Conor probably told you I’m called ‘Belle,’” Belinda said, her voice a strange, disturbing singsong.
“No, he didn’t,” Kate said.
“Beauty and the Beast,” Belinda said.
“What?” Kate asked.
“They were lovers,” Belinda said. “Beast and Belle. Belle was Beauty’s name, you know. And my name for my lover is ‘Beast’—he is one, you know. A beast.” She laughed. “Though I doubt he’s let you see that. He saves that for me.” She gazed at Kate, watching for a reaction, but Kate was frozen. Was she actually hearing this?
“Excuse me, Belinda,” Kate said. “I have to give this to Conor.”
“No! You’re going to listen,” Belinda said. “Beast and Belle couldn’t stop. The only word for it ispassion—passion beyond your wildest dreams. Well, and love, of course. Love to the death. They have eternal love—nothing can ever kill it. Do you believe in fairy tales? Ones that start in childhood?”
Kate took a step back. There had to be something wrong with Belinda. Was she drunk or high? She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening, that this person she had never heard of until a few hours ago was standing in front of her, talking about passion and fairy tales. She noticed how the deep lines in Belinda’s face pulled her mouth down, as if a frown were her natural expression, as if she had spent her life unhappy.
