For a moment the air leaves my lungs.
His attention is wholly on me. His body long, lithe, graceful. His face softer, wiser, gentler than the last time I saw it. A dusting of facial hair. Gray in his beard. He smiles, and I feel it, everywhere.
Laurence Charles Kenter.
I nearly drop my champagne flute.
He makes his way toward me through the crowd. His hands in his pockets, poised. He is wearing a cashmere sweater in moss green that makes his eyes pop. His skin is still golden and his brows are still full and his lashes. His lashes.
“Hi. Cecilia.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Basking in your brilliance. Like everyone else.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know what to say to him. Standing so close so suddenly. Unbearably so, with his tall frame taking up space. Shifting the atoms in the room.
I am aware that eyes are on me here. That I am the center of so much attention. And my face is now flushed and I am beginning to sweat, and that dozens of people will notice. Where is my husband?
I step back from him, square my shoulders.
“Is this not okay?” His voice, deep, familiar. It’s been so long.
“Um. No. It’s…”
“I’m sorry. Anouk invited me. I thought she told you I was coming. I would never have just shown up. I’m sorry.”
Anouk??
It takes a moment to register. How? Were they friends? Had she returned to his class? Had she mentioned it and I’d forgotten?
“It’s fine,” I say.
It’s not.
“It’s just…unexpected…”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“I can go.”
“No. It’s fine. Don’t be silly. You’re here already. You’rehere.” I laugh awkwardly. My hands are shaking. None of this makes sense. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I’m very good.” He smiles, taking me in. His energy is serene, but his gaze is direct, and the combination is unnerving.
“You look great. Andthis.This is all great,” he says, gesturing to the walls. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“She told me your work was amazing. Not that I ever doubted it. Your work was always amazing.”
“Thank you,” I repeat.
I don’t trust myself to speak beyond small talk. My heart is racing. My thoughts are racing. What is he doing here? What has Anouk told him? And what could I possibly say to this man whom I once loved more than I loved myself? This person who destroyed me. Over and over and over again.
“Can I get you some champagne?”
