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His response
comes back immediately. That’s not what you said the other night.
I’m grinning now, and wishing I wasn’t in a room with two other people when he’s making me think about all of the wicked things we did before he left town.
Are you hungry now, baby?
All right, Nick. Two can play this game. For you? Always.
That’s my girl. There is a pause before his next text arrives. How do you feel about lunch?
I freeze, staring at his message for a second. Suspicion, along with a fluttery thrill of hope, sends me over to the window that looks out over the street below.
Nick’s black BMW is idling at the curb.
“Oh, my God.” When Lita and Matt swivel curious looks on me, a small burst of giddy laughter bubbles out of me. “My, um . . . my boyfriend’s here.”
Lita frowns. “You have a boyfriend?”
Matt grins. “What are you waiting for? Tell him to come up here so we can meet your man!”
Two minutes later, they’re both gaping in disbelief as I introduce them to Dominic Baine and show him around the little studio.
He’s not been up here yet, even though I’ve invited him to come check things out and meet my friends. I know he’s busy, but part of me had been wondering if he was still brooding over the fact that I’m insisting on keeping this part of me separate from him for now. If the tables were turned, I doubt I would handle it much better than he has. Maybe a lot worse.
But if he’s upset or resentful, it doesn’t show as he talks easily with Matt and Lita, then follows me over to my work area while I fetch my purse and phone. I see his shrewd gaze travel over my canvases.
I can’t deny that the urge to hide my work from him is strong. Nick knows art—good art—and he’s made no secret of the fact that he found mine lacking. As much as it hurt to hear him say it, looking back, I know he was right.
But these new pieces are different. They are more a part of me than anything I’ve done before, and I’m terrified to see him look at them with disappointment.
“Ready?” he asks, his face adopting that unreadable mask that gives nothing away.
We say our goodbyes to my friends and Nick asks me to pick a restaurant I like in the neighborhood. I settle on an Italian hole in the wall that doesn’t look very promising from the street, but serves the best lasagna I’ve had in all of New York City.
“You like it?” I ask Nick as we both dig into the cheesy, saucy goodness.
He nods enthusiastically, looking somewhat out of place seated at our rickety little table with its red-and-white checkerboard tablecloth in his crisp white custom-tailored shirt and charcoal gray tie. He’s turned more than a few heads since we arrived. I’m sure it’s not often that one of the wealthiest, most recognizable men in the country sits down to enjoy a ten-dollar plate of pasta in Spanish Harlem in the middle of a Thursday afternoon.
I try to ignore the surreptitious stares we’re getting from the patrons and the restaurant staff alike. I don’t doubt that a lot of the curious looks are directed at me, too, even though Nick has never tried to hide the fact that we’re dating.
As for me, I’m just marveling at how he manages to avoid splashing marinara all over himself while I am eating under the constant threat of disaster.
“I knew you’d like it. Lita and Matt and I eat here at least twice a week because the food’s not only cheap but awesome. If I’m not careful, pretty soon it’s going to start showing on my hips.”
Nick grins. “You’re not going to hear me complaining. I love your curves.”
Our eyes connect and the hungered look he gives me makes more than just my cheeks flood with heat. I clear my throat, shifting a bit on the black vinyl cushion of my chair. “How was the Boston meeting?”
“Promising. That technology company I invested in last year is ramping up to launch their first app very soon. It’s got all the indicators of a real showstopper, some really innovative work and ideas.”
“Nick, that’s great.”
“Yeah. There’s a big international tech expo coming up in London. They’ll be announcing the release to a packed house and media outlets around the world.” He lifts the raffia-wrapped bottle of cheap red wine and pours me another glass. “I’d like you to be there with me.”
“London?” I’ve never been outside the United States, and traveling to Europe has long been a dream of mine. But there is one slight problem. “I don’t have a passport.”
“I’ll take care of that for you. I’ll take care of everything you need.” He reaches for my hand. “I want you with me, Avery.”
