Page 83 of Over Her Dead Body

The installation artist with an elastic understanding of personal property. “You’ve always had trouble distinguishing a warning from foreplay.”

“She said she was making an installation.”

“She had them dismantle your bedroom while you were at work.”

“The mattress belonged to her,” Owen says.

“She had it delivered after your second date.”

“Yeah, that was weird. Still technically hers, though.”

I drop a pair of shoes into the suitcase. “The apartment was not.”

“She got the lamp wrong.”

“She rebuilt the room in her gallery using your actual possessions and titled the installation Property from a Gentleman Who Mistook Himself for One.”

“That was unnecessary.”

“It sold above estimate.”

Owen puts the folded dress into my suitcase, then leans against the dresser. “Before any of that happened, you told me I had started lying to you.”

“You had.”

“Badly.”

“Very.”

His eyes stay on mine. “Now you’re lying to me.”

I turn to the dresser and pick up my passport. “Is that why you insisted on driving me?”

“Yes.”

I slip the passport into my bag. “You’re jealous.”

Owen’s jaw tightens. “I ended things with Sarah.”

I stare at him. “You’ve been saying that for years. You’ll be back together by sundown.”

“How can we get back together when we were never together?”

“Semantics.”

Owen glances toward the window. “It’s over.”

“It has been over six times since Christmas.”

“This time is different.”

“Sarah will be delighted to hear it.”

I reach for the zipper. Owen puts his hand on the suitcase before I can close it.

“Move your hand.”

“You missed Vienna for Hale.”