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“That’s not always enough, though,” I reply. “I never did any formal work. No internships, no apprenticeships...” Oh, I wanted to, that’s for sure. But when your parents run your life, that comes second to their plans for the family dynasty. University was one thing; I was allowed to study art history as long as I promised to stay in the family business. The degree was nothing but a consolation prize, but even then, it wasn’t a deal I could walk away from. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.
“Look who you’re talking to,” Callie replies. “I never even finished school, and somehow I blundered my way into this job.” She gives a nonchalant little shrug. “Art’s not rocket science, Vivian. All you have to do is talk about it intelligently and be able to sell it like it’s the only thing in the world that matters.” She grins. “And something tells me you’re more than qualified to do that.”
I snort and give her a playful shove. “So what would this miracle job be, anyway?”
Callie purses her lips and starts ticking off items on her fingers. “Administrative stuff, mostly. Answering the phone, filing paperwork, giving private viewings...” She hesitates, and that’s when her smile finally falters. “I mean, I... I have to admit, it’s not the most glamorous job, but—”
“I don’t care about that,” I assure her, putting a hand on her arm. “I could be cleaning the bathrooms, for all I care, if it means working for Craig Sterling.”
Callie raises an eyebrow at me. “So does that mean you’re in?”
“I...” The word “yes” is already halfway out of my mouth, but I find myself pausing, insecurity rearing its ugly head. Insecurity, and more than a little fear. I don’t have to read the future to know my parents aren’t going to be happy about this. Mom, maybe. But Dad? I might as well be announcing I’m moving to a fucking cave and taking up cave-painting.
And that’s not even getting started on Lucas.
“What?” Callie asks. “Oh my god, Vivian, donottell me you’re actually considering turning this down.”
“I’m not,” I rush to tell her. “I mean... notexactly.That is, I want to say yes. God, I wouldkillto say yes. It’s just...”
“Vivian.” Callie grabs my hands and looks me in the eyes. “You can’t let your parents run your life forever.”
If only you knew, I want to say, but instead I just sigh and shake my head. “They’ve got... plans for me already.”
“Plans?” Callie persists. “Or a job? Because what I’m offering you is a job. Not just any job; your dream job, on a silver platter, with a side of high society to go with it. Hell, this is your world already. You just don’t know it yet.”
And that actually stirs something in me, my eyebrows furrowing as a long-forgotten childhood memory surfaces: my dad’s men filing into the living room of our summer home, carrying a giant painting between them. That was the first piece of fine art I ever looked at. But the memory of the painting itself isn’t what makes me frown now; it’s the memory of the label on the cover, in small, stamped letters:Sterling Fine Art and Photography.
Maybe Callie’s right. Maybe thisisalready my world.
I shake myself back to the present, square my shoulders, and meet my friend’s eyes. “Okay,” I say, determination in my voice. “I’m in.”
“And your parents?”
“I’ll talk to them,” I reply, nodding. “I think I may be able to spin this the right way. But...”
“But...?” Callie presses.
I swallow my doubts, bite my tongue, and shake my head. “But nothing.”
“Damn right,” my friend says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re going to knock Sterling’s socks off. Now let’s go do something to celebrate.”
* * *
I’m half-expectingTheo to reappear as we leave the apartment, but he doesn’t even emerge from his room. True to his word, he doesn’t try to stop us from going out, either, and part of me wonders if he’s asleep after the late night last night. Soon my worries drift out of my mind as Callie and I wander the streets of Central London, just taking in the sights, sounds, and smells. Everything feels different now, and not just because it’s my first day out as a Missus, or whatever. I’m just so used to living in a closed-off bubble that this... it’s like I’ve been thrust into another world. It’s magnificent. I’m out in the open, mingling with the crowds, soaking it all up. It’s almost enough to make me forget about having to run this job by my parents... or about the handsome, gray-eyed man who’s waiting for me back at the apartment. Who I shouldn’t be thinking about. At all.
We spend the afternoon at the Tate Modern, and even though I’ve seen the pieces a thousand times, there’s something heavenly about seeing the exhibits in person again... like it’s a reminder of what I really want.
Eventually we end up at a pub near the river, where the rowdy atmosphere is a major contrast to the quiet of the museum. It’s the kind of place I would have never dared to go to if I was still living under my parents’ thumb; hell, it’s hardly the kind of place I would dare to go tonow, and yet here I am, slugging back beer like it’s water with Callie, just like we used to back in our university days. The noise of the bar is so loud that we have to shout to be heard. We’re so caught up in our giggles that I don’t notice the guy staring at me from near the pool tables until Callie starts tugging on my sleeve like a little kid.
“What? What?” I demand, still shaking off my laughs.
“That guy’s staring at you,” she says, peering over my shoulder to get a better look.
“Oh,fuck,” I blurt, stealing a glance of my own before I can stop myself. But it’s not Lucas, and it’s not Theo, either, thank god. He’s got a pint in his hand, and he’s in the midst of a pack of bro-type Saturday night partiers who are hooting and hollering, getting rowdier by the second as they scan the throng for girls like a bunch of vultures. I’ve had my share of run-ins with guys like that over the years—mostly during school—and I know enough to know that the best thing you can do is avoid them. Once they’ve got their sights on you, it’s hard to shake them off.
I snap my head back around, but it’s too late. “Incoming,” Callie mutters.
A moment later, the leader of the pack saunters up to our table. “Evening, gorgeous,” he says, his eyes trailing over my body with a hungry look. “You two enjoying yourselves?”
