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“You’re doing a hang-up job. Really murdering it.”
“Oh, piss off.”
I laughed harder and though he tried his best, Ambri couldn’t help smiling too. Then his smile became a laugh, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything as fucking beautiful in my life.
I leaned in to kiss him, vowing that I’d do whatever it took to preserve this happiness between us. But a nagging fear that he could be taken away at any time dogged every blissful moment, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Just love him, mein Schatz. There’s nothing else to do.
The thought was comforting, like a mother’s embrace, but my own baggage was as heavy as ever. I’d been protecting my heart for years, wanting certainty, stability, safety. Ambri and I had none of these. After being careful for so long, letting myself love him felt like the most thrilling wish of my heart and the most reckless.
He’s a demon.“Careful” left the chat a long time ago.
I could have laughed at the irony except I realized with a pang of fear that I’d stopped thinking of Ambri as a demon.
He was just mine.
The following day, I met Jane for lunch on Fleet Street for a post-mortem of the gallery show over her duck confit and my £28 BLT that seemed too fancy to eat, even for a sandwich.
“I don’t need to tell you it was a smashing success,” she said. “You were there.”
“I’m so grateful for all the work you did, Jane.” I toyed with my napkin. “How did they do? I mean, did we…?”
“Sell out? Nope. Nothing was sold.”
“Oh,” I said, sitting back. “That’s a bummer.”
Jane reached across the table and patted my hand. “You’re too pure for this world, Cole. No one bought anything because nothing was for sale. Not yet. Forgive me for being secretive, but I suspected we needed to hold off until the responses came in, and I was right. The reviews are spectacular, the feedback has been off-the-charts, so we’re going to shift gears.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to sell them at auction at Christie’s after a European tour to drum up further interest. To whip the art world into a frenzy.”
My eyes widened. “A tour?”
“Amsterdam, Paris, Madrid, Rome, Vienna, Prague, and Berlin. In that order. I’ve already locked in clamoring galleries, so plan to leave in about ten days.”
“Holy shit,” I said. “Okay, well, that sounds pretty incredible. But Jane, I don’t exactly have the funds for a seven-city tour.”
Jane motioned with her fork while she swallowed a bite of food. “Your accommodations will be paid for: five-star hotels, first class flights, food, drink, a publicist, a stylist—”
“Astylist?”
She slid an itinerary across the table. “You have interviews lined up withArtForum,Beautiful Bizarre,Apollo, andAesthetica, and that’sbeforethe tour. Some people from the agency will contact you to make all the arrangements. And of course, you must bring Ambri to Europe. He isdivine.”
I choked and nearly sprayed the table with sparkling water. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
“As for funds, the appraiser has assessed your collection prior to auction. Based on his numbers, Christie’s is going to advance you five percent, which amounts to £150,000. Of course, that’s if you agree to consign the collection to them. Which, as your agent, I recommend you do.”
If I’d been sipping water that time, I’d have spewed it for sure.
“Sorry,” I said with a small laugh. “I could’ve sworn you said they want to give me a hundred grand.”
“And a half. The appraiser estimates the hammer price of your entire collection at auction will be in the realm of three million.”
I stared, my mouth hanging open like a door with a broken hinge. “You’re telling me those paintings are worth a quarter of a million apiece?”
“A conservative number, to be sure.”
