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Nick starts to laugh and Tristan, shaking his head, walks over to a side table loaded with drinks in ice. Nick wants me to tell him about my art program, and when Tristan comes back to join us, we’re talking about famous Florentine artists of the renaissance era and their powerful benefactors.
“I’m guessing you two have had the art vs software argument,” Nick says.
Tristan snorts. “You mean like we’re eight years old?”
Nick laughs. “Come on. It’s an interesting conversation.”
“It’s not like there’s a contest.” I shrug. “And we have lots of other things to talk about. Who cares if art is more important than software?” I give Tristan a smile, then continue. “Art precedes software. There’s no point in arguing.”
Nick looks pleased with the idea of a debate. He wiggles his eyebrows at Tristan.
Tristan sighs. “Software is just technology in a new form. Technology is better and more efficient methods of doing things. It’s the child of innovation. Without it, Art would still be bloody handprints on cave walls.”
“That’s not inherently bad. As long as it fulfills the purpose of inspiration…and transcending the ordinary.”
“Would handprints on cave walls satisfy your need for art?” Tristan challenges.
“If I didn’t know better, I would be satisfied with that.” I shrug. “Who knows what medium artists will use hundreds of years from now? Knowing there’ll be innovation in future doesn’t prevent me from enjoying what’s available now.”
“Well, I always want to know better,” he replies. “If the knowledge exists, I want to find it and use it to improve the way humanity lives. There’s no limit for me.”
I’ve never imagined how passionate Tristan is about his work. In fact, I’ve given very little thought to his work. I feel like I’m getting to know him better, and it’s a good feeling.
“While chasing the tree of knowledge, keep an eye out for the tree of life,” Nick quips. He looks at me. “You know. I live mostly in New York. Maybe we’ll run into each other when your program ends.”
I don’t know if Nick is flirting, but Tristan is glaring daggers at him.
“Maybe we will,” I tell Nick with a grin, my eyes on Tristan.
Tristan mouthsassholeat Nick then downs his drink in one gulp.
“Hey, Nick.” An older guy joins us to talk to Nick. People have been doing that all night, even though Nick’s not the host. The real host, a startlingly beautiful girl Nick introduces as his first love, flirted with Tristan for a bit, then headed back downstairs when he wasn’t interested.
“Jack.” Nick grins at the new arrival. “Didn’t know you were in Florence. You know Tristan Kane?” He gestures toward Tristan. “Tristan, Jack Crawford. Jack, Tristan, and Cora.”
Tristan holds out his hand to the guy. “Great to meet you.”
“Likewise,” the other man says, nodding in my direction. Now I can see he’s vaguely familiar, and I realize I’ve seen his face in online news articles. He’s a tech entrepreneur. “This is coming a bit late, but congrats on the sale of your company. I’d have killed for a three hundred-million-dollar acquisition when I was your age.”
Tristan glances quickly in my direction. “Thanks.”
Jack is still talking. “I hear you’re building something new. I’ll be watching closely. I’m certain it’s going to be another game changer.”
He pats Tristan’s shoulder, smiles at me, then he’s gone.
I’m still trying to process what I just heard about an acquisition. Tristan was taking a vacation after losing his job, right? That’s what he told me. Or had I just assumed that? Confusion furrows my brow. “Did he just say you sold your company for three hundred million?”
Both Tristan and Nick are looking at me. Tristan gives me a pained smile, like he’d rather not talk about it. Then he nods.
I swallow and force a smile to my lips. “I thought that was what I heard.” I look down at my drink, feeling foolish. A moment ago, I’d thought I was getting to know Tristan better because of a short debate about art and technology. But I don’t know him at all, and I’m never going to. Whatever little hope I have that we’ll find a way to connect after he leaves Florence disappears in a flash.
I don’t even know what he does for a living.
He didn’t even bother to tell me he was extremely successful.
We’re just two strangers, having a prolonged one-night stand.
I shouldn’t care. He told me he was only here for a few days, yet I jumped into bed with him. Somehow, I fooled myself into believing it wouldn’t crush me to go back to being strangers afterward.
