Page 123 of River & Rue

The afternoon is idyllic. Perfect in a way that makes each moment feel both transitory and eternal. Not a single person intrudes.

The sun is golden and warm, the sky a placid blue. No wind. Glittering water. So much laughter.

For hours, I forget.

For hours, everything is simple. I’m his and he’s mine.

We swim and talk. Nap on the loungers. Eat and drink and laugh more.

I take mental photographs. Thousands. Click, click, click. The seasons of River’s smiles. The sun setting in his eyes. His waterlogged fingertips. The hair at the base of his neck as it dries curlier than the rest.

But time is a tragedy ever unfolding, destined to take more than it gives.

As River lights the fire pit for s’mores, Dan asks about his plans after PAC, and the first crack appears on my glass house of happiness.

I feel the brush of River’s gaze but pretend I’m enamored with the sunset. Mauve and orange dance on the horizon. Fading. Sinking. Savoring their final twirls before they’re smothered.

“I’m contractually obligated to do a photoshoot and some interviews for Claudia, so I’ll be sticking around a few more days than the rest of you.”

River’s voice sounds normal, but I’ve known him too long not to pick up on its underlying tension.

Maya laughs. “No shit?”

The flames kick up. He settles back into his chair with a wry smile. “That was the price for letting me crash your party, along with attending a gala in LA this fall. They’ll be auctioning off art to raise money for PAC to expand into other cities. I’m the, uh…”

“Meal ticket? Moneymaker? Gravy train?”

River grimaces. “Yeah.”

Dan laughs and rips open a pack of marshmallows. “I keep forgetting you’re kind of a celebrity.”

Maya snorts. “Kind of? He has half a million Instagram followers.” She steals a marshmallow and nibbles on a corner. “Is any of your art going to be in the auction, River?”

He nods. “I have a few paintings in storage that I’ll donate.”

“What about the one you finished last week?” asks Dan.

My eyes swing to River. His jaw is sharp, lashes at half-mast. The tendons in his forearms pop against his tanned skin.

He shakes his head. “Not that one.”

I speak before I think. “You finished a painting.”

Bronze eyes meet mine, warming as he smiles softly. “You finished a book.”

Dan passes around metal skewers and the bag of marshmallows. I seize the distraction, stabbing a fluffy white cube and leaning forward to angle it over the fire.

Maya’s chair creaks. “But you’re staying here, right? In the US?”

Dammit, Maya.

I concentrate on the fire, measuring time with the rapid thumps of my heart. Five thumps. Ten thumps.

“For a few weeks. I, uh, need to be in Copenhagen at the end of August for the opening of a four-month exhibition. I’ll be back here for the PAC gala in September, then Paris in November for an art fair. After that, I’ll probably take some time off. Wrap up loose ends in London, figure out what’s next.”

Dan whistles. “That’s the life I want right there.”

Maya nods. “Same.”