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For nearly two weeks, I’ve tried to convince myself the paintings belong to another life, but they don’t.

They’re still mine.

Still us.

Even in another dimension.

A woman dressed in black stands before them, silver gleaming at her throat. An adviser remains half a step behind her. She moves closer to examine the gold, then retreats several paces. Her gaze travels across the panels slowly. A younger man joins them. The adviser says something I can’t hear.

“Do you know her?” Christopher asks.

“No.”

“Should you introduce yourself?”

“No,” I say, nerves piling in on top of nerves. “I’ll let them appraise it for themselves.”

I feel unsteady. Like a girl at a show I don’t deserve to be at.

“Can you give me a minute?” I ask. “I need some air.”

“We only just arrived,” Christopher says.

“I know, but I just… I’ll be right back.”

Before I can start for the exit, Dad looks towards the door.

“Bryce!”

The name hits me physically. Like a punch in my heart.

I turn, and there he is.

Bryce stands beneath the archway in a black dinner suit, one hand holding a catalogue. His hair is immaculate, his shoulders straight. From a distance, he looks exactly as he always does at functions.

Dependable.

Polished.

Safe.

Then his eyes find mine, and everything else disappears.

Two weeks collapse into one second.

I want to run to him.

I want to throw my arms around him and hold on until somebody drags us apart, kicking and screaming.

Christopher’s hand tightens around mine before I can move.

Bryce approaches with steady strides. Fast, without rushing. His expression remains composed, but his eyes say everything his mouth can’t. It’s in the way he looks at me. In the tiny swallow he makes before he reaches me. The way his brows stay so forcibly in position.

“Good evening,” he says.

Dad gives him a warm smile.

“Everything under control?”