Page 112

Then I see her.

She's outside the gallery, talking to Gabriel Amaury… And laughing.

It’s not a laugh for his benefit, or something politely amused.

It’s a real laugh.

Gabriel is standing too close in a way that tells me he’s rarely ever been asked to step back. He stands with the confidence of a man who is used to women welcoming his nearness. One hand around a coffee cup. The other resting lightly on her arm while he says something else that earns another laugh from her.

My brain clocks the contact automatically.

His hand on her arm wouldn’t be considered obscene to anyone passing by, but it’s testing the patience of the man she’s married to.

Aria turns and sees me first.

"Everett."

Gabriel follows her gaze and smiles as if he’s used to people finding him charming.

"Mr. Kauffman."

I step up onto the curb. "Amaury."

Aria looks between us, probably catching the tension before she understands where it's coming from. "Gabriel was just telling me about a museum opening in Paris tomorrow night."

Something in her voice changes around the words museum opening. Brightens. Warms. Comes alive.

I look at her instead of him.

Gabriel nods. "A private preview. One of the featured painters is apparently a favorite of your wife's."

Tomorrow night.

I know exactly what tomorrow night is.

Aria does not.

"Tomorrow?" she says, and the excitement comes first. Quick and unguarded. Then reality catches up and dims it. "Oh."

Gabriel hears it too. "I'd get you a ticket if I could, but I barely got one myself. A former student works with the museum and is bringing me."

Aria gives him a small smile, the kind she uses when she's trying to make disappointment look graceful. "It doesn't matter anyway. We already have dinner with one of Everett's business associates and his wife tomorrow night. We wouldn't make it."

It doesn't matter.

It matters.

That look.

I've seen smaller versions of it for months now. The first time I grimaced after tasting the coffee she made and watched her try not to react. The day I told her her position at the Hawkeyes was an unnecessary duplication. Every quiet moment where she wanted something and decided to smooth the wanting away before anyone had to acknowledge it.

She wants to go.

She has already decided not to ask.

My phone is in my hand before I consciously decide to reach for it.

I text Pierre.