Impossible

There was only one lamp lit in the room, a tall silver torchère she had bought years before in Venice. There were tall candlesticks with candles in them all over the room. She never bothered to light them. It was too much trouble. They walked through the living room, past the dining room, and straight into the kitchen, which was a big cozy room with French provincial furniture, an enormous marble table, and paintings by emerging artists on every wall. The predominant colors were yellow and orange, which conveyed an illusion of sunshine. There was a huge white Venetian chandelier over the table, and with the flick of a switch, she lit it. The room was warm and inviting, and when Arthur had been alive, they had always sat there for hours. They used it more than the living room. The chairs were covered in soft brown leather. “Wow, Sasha … this is gorgeous. Who did it?”

“I did.” She smiled at him. “It's a bit eclectic. The rest of the house is more formal.” As was the gallery, and the wing of the house where her father had lived. The antiques and paintings he had collected were exquisite. But Sasha liked her part of the house better. So did Liam. He loved it and felt instantly at home.

She put some soup on the stove for him, and offered him an omelette, which he accepted gratefully, and admitted he was starving. He hadn't eaten since lunchtime.

“I can make pasta, if you have some,” he offered. She hesitated, and then nodded. She didn't want him lingering. She was going to feed him, scold him for showing up on her doorstep, and send him off to his artists' hostel in the Marais. What he did after that was his business. She was not going to make it hers, now or ever.

They both got busy cooking, and half an hour later, they were sitting next to each other at the kitchen table, talking, arguing about two of the artists she represented. He thought one of them was excellent and promising, and worthy of the opportunities she'd given him; he said the other had no merit and no talent whatsoever and was an embarrassment to her. According to Liam, his style was imitative, superficial, phony, and pretentious. “I can't stand him. He's a total asshole.” Liam had strong opinions on most subjects.

“Yes, he is,” Sasha conceded. She didn't like him, either. “But his work sells like hotcakes, and museums love him.”

“They just kiss his ass, because his wife has money.” And then he looked at her sheepishly and chuckled. “I guess people could say that about me one day, if you and I wind up together.” The way he said it made her tremble.

“Don't worry, we won't. You'll never have that problem.” She looked sad as she said it. “There's another good reason for us not to ‘wind up together,' as you put it.”

“I want you to notice something,” he said, as he pulled up one soaked leg of his blue jeans, and pulled off his cowboy boot with some effort. She couldn't see anything remarkable. He was wearing white cotton athletic socks, and he pointed at the one she was staring at. “You see that. Socks. I wore them for you. I bought them at the airport.” You couldn't see them in his cowboy boots, but like a child who had done something to please his mother, he wanted her to know he had done it, and to get credit for it.

“You're a good boy, Liam,” she said, teasing him, but touched nonetheless. It was obvious that he wanted to please her, and win her approval. But he needed a lot more than socks to be a grown-up, and he just wasn't. Everything about him shrieked of boyhood and wacky artist. And as he had told her so proudly before, no one was ever going to control him. His father had tried, and his brothers, and Liam had defied them. Sasha didn't want to. She wanted him to control himself and be an adult. Even coming to Paris had been a lovely gesture, but it was still wild and impulsive, and did not respect what she'd asked him, to stay away from her, and forget the moment of insanity they had indulged in London.

“What were you going to do tonight, before I got here?” he asked her with interest as they finished their dinner. Both their contributions to the meal had been delicious. They were both good cooks.

“Nothing. Read. Go to bed. I don't go out much.”

“Why not?” He frowned as he looked at her.

“Obvious reasons. Sad. Alone. It depresses me to go to parties by myself. I feel like the fifth wheel all the time, or the only solo act on Noah's ark. My friends feel sorry for me, which is just too depressing. I only go out when I have to, with clients.”

“You need to get out more,” he said matter-of-factly, as though she had hired him as a consultant on her social life. “You need more fun in your life. You can't just sit here in an empty house, reading and listening to the rain outside. Christ, if I did that, I'd be suicidal.” She didn't tell him that sometimes she was, that more than once she had considered it, since Arthur died, and the only thing that had stopped her was knowing she couldn't do that to her children. Otherwise, she would have. Instinctively, he sensed it. Given the way she was living, and the solitude she had imposed on herself, he didn't blame her. All she had in her life now was the gallery, and occasional visits with her children. “Tomorrow I'm taking you to the movies. Do they have samurai films in Paris?” he asked with interest, as he helped her clear the table. She laughed at the question.

“I have no idea. I've never seen one.” If nothing else, he amused her. He made her laugh sometimes as she hadn't in years, or maybe ever.

“You have to. They're terrific. Very good for the soul. You don't even need to read the subtitles, just listen to the noises. They chop each other up in little bits, and make a lot of really great noises. It's a deep psychological experience. Xavier loves them.”

“He never told me,” she said, smiling at him.

“He's probably embarrassed. He considers himself a serious intellectual. There's nothing intellectual about samurai movies. I hate the movies he goes to, they always put me to sleep.”

“Me too.” She laughed openly. “He loves all those terrible Polish and Czechoslovakian movies that go on forever. I won't go with him.”

“Good, then you can come to the movies with me. I'll even take you to a chick flick. How long has it been since you've been to a movie?” She thought about it for a minute, and realized it was the same answer to that as to everything else in her life.

“Not since Arthur died.” He nodded and didn't comment, and glanced at her freezer. She had a modern American refrigerator and freezer, which was rare in Paris. Arthur had insisted on it when she remodeled the house. They had big, beautiful American bathrooms, too, a major luxury in France.

“Do you have ice cream? I'm addicted to it.” There were worse things to be addicted to, she realized. Like him, for instance. He hadn't even bothered to drink wine with dinner, although she'd offered.

“Actually …” She opened the freezer and stared inside. There was nothing in it but ice. She never ate desserts or ice cream. All she had in the refrigerator was what the housekeeper left her for dinner. Some salad, a few vegetables, homemade soup, and now and then some cold cuts, cheese, or chicken. She didn't eat much. Liam ate like the healthy young man he was. She turned to him in some embarrassment. “No ice cream. I'm really sorry.” She couldn't even remember the last time she'd bought some, or eaten any.

“That's a major problem.” He looked seriously concerned.

“I'll know for next time,” she said, as though there would be one, which she was determined there wouldn't, and then she had an idea. She hadn't been there in years, not since the children were small. She had a new child in her life now. She had Liam. “Put your jacket on. We're going out,” she said with a look of sudden inspiration, as she stood smiling at him.

“Where to?” he asked, as she put her raincoat on, and picked up her handbag. She was still wearing the serious black pantsuit she had worn to the office. A moment later, they were outside. She led him to the garage, and got behind the wheel of her tiny Renault. He nearly had to be a contortionist to get in it with her. His legs were too long for her small car, but for Sasha it was perfect.

She drove to the Île St. Louis and found a parking place for her little car, and then tucked her hand into his arm, as they walked under an umbrella. They stopped in front of an ancient brown storefront marked Berthillon, and she looked proudly at him. “This is the best ice cream in Paris.” She explained the system to him of how many “balls” in what kind of cone, or cup, and what toppings. He had pear, apricot, and lemon in a sugar cone, and they bought three huge containers of chocolate, vanilla, and coffee. She had a single ball of coconut, and they chatted happily on the way back to the car. She gave him a brief scenic tour, driving home, although he said he knew Paris, but not the parts she was familiar with, and on the spur of the moment, they stopped for coffee at the Café de Flore. It was one of the oldest cafés in Paris. They walked past the Deux Magots as they walked to retrieve the car, and it was ten o'clock when they walked into the house again. He decided to try the other flavors of the ice cream they'd bought. This time they sat in the living room, and he lit the candles. It had turned into a delightful evening after all. The kind of evening one couldn't have alone. Going to Berthillon alone would have depressed her, driving around Paris would have been pointless. And coffee alone at the Café de Flore would have seemed pathetic. But with Liam, it all worked, and they had fun. It was the conversation and the political arguments that made it work, the discussions about art, the exchange of opinions, the laughter at his stories and jokes, his irrepressible exuberance and enthusiasm about life that made it fun, for both of them. He may have been boyish, but he was smart, and entertaining to be with. She was beginning to wonder if they could be friends. It was one in the morning when they stopped talking and she yawned.

He asked if he could use her phone then, to call the artists' hostel. He had meant to call them from the airport but hadn't. He came back minutes later, looking sheepish.

“That was stupid,” he said, looking embarrassed. He hadn't even kissed her that night, and she was grateful for it. If he had, she would have told him to leave. She had promised herself that, before things got out of hand again.

“What happened?” She was snuffing the candles out. He was going to be leaving in a minute. The evening had gone well, and had been easy. If she could just get over her insatiable attraction to him, everything would be perfect.

“I didn't call them soon enough. They're full. I can probably find a hotel somewhere,” he said, looking at her with unspoken questions, and she suddenly looked worried.

“Are you asking me if you can stay here?” she asked him pointedly, wondering if it had been a manipulation or if the artists' hostel in the Marais really was full. But he did look genuinely embarrassed. He just wasn't organized, and never had been. He had told her that Beth had done everything for him ever since he was nineteen, until she left. And at first he couldn't manage without her, but was learning.

“I wasn't going to,” Liam said honestly. “I didn't want to put you on the spot. I can sleep at the airport if I have to, or the train station. I've done it before, it's no big deal.”

“That's silly,” she said practically, and then took a deep breath. “You can sleep in Xavier's room. But Liam, I won't sleep with you. I don't want to turn my life into a mess, nor yours. If we go on doing what we did yesterday, it will only be confusing.” He didn't recall either of them being confused the night before, but he said nothing and nodded.

“I'll be good. I promise.” He knew this would have been hard for her, too. She had lived here with her husband and children. The house was not a clean slate for her, unlike the hotel room in London. He didn't want to upset her, or frighten her, and he knew he would if he made a move on her here.

He followed her respectfully as she led him to Xavier's room, on the floor above her own. His room was directly above hers, a good-looking young man's room, with simple decor, in navy blue, and a painting she had given him years before for Christmas, of a woman and a young boy. He had loved it at the time, and it still hung there as a reminder of her son's childhood. The room had oeil de boeuf round windows that looked out onto the garden. Liam liked knowing he was near her, as she kissed him goodnight on both cheeks, and he managed to resist her. He was in no hurry. What he felt for her could wait, if it had to. He lay in bed that night, thinking of her, as she did about him. A thousand times he wanted to run down the stairs to her, but he didn't. He didn't see her again until they met in the kitchen the next morning.

She made him eggs and bacon, and they discussed what they were going to do. Since he had stayed politely in Xavier's room, without arguing about it, or crossing her boundaries, she was no longer anxious for him to leave. The weather was gray but better, and they decided to walk along the Seine. They looked at the Bateaux Mouches, and she pointed out new things to him. He purchased an art book and gave it to her. They bought crêpes from a street vendor, wandered past the pet stores, and laughed at the chickens. Liam wanted to go inside, and talked about a dog he'd had as a child and loved. It had died the same year as his mother. The rest of the time he made her laugh, told her jokes and funny stories. She asked him about his children, and she talked about her own. It was one of those perfect afternoons of ease and comfort, shared confidences and friendship, and love that was unspoken but powerfully felt by both of them, no matter how much she was resisting. He gave her what she had missed for the past fifteen months, companionship, and someone of her own to talk to. He filled her loneliness like foam that expanded and filled it to the brim.

They were standing in the last of the pet shops on the quais when he spotted a cocker spaniel. The man in the pet shop told them it was the runt of the litter, and Sasha said it had the saddest eyes she'd ever seen.

“You should get a dog,” Liam said confidently. “It would keep you company.” He had thought of the same thing, but it was too complicated for him in England.

“I travel too much. I'd either have to leave it here, or forever be dragging it on and off planes, which doesn't seem fair.”

“You do it. Why couldn't a dog?”

“I haven't had one since the kids were little. It's too much work,” she said practically. “It would pee all over the gallery and Bernard would kill me, and so would Karen in New York.”

“You can't let other people make those decisions.” But she did. She was doing the same thing about him. She was too afraid of what other people would think if she got involved with him. And he wasn't housebroken either.

They took the puppy out of the cage, and she came to life instantly while Liam played with her. Sasha stood back and watched, as the puppy licked his face and he let her. She was black and white, with a pretty head, black legs, and four white feet. He told her the dog he had had as a boy had been a cocker spaniel, too.

“Maybe you should buy her and take her home with you,” she said, encouraging him. He was obviously enamored with her, and looked sad when he put the little dog back in her cage. She whined and barked as they left. Liam looked back at her, blew her a kiss, and waved.

“I couldn't get her back into England,” he explained to Sasha. “The Brits are so damn complicated. They've relaxed the quarantine rules a little, but you have to have enough papers to get her qualified for outer space. Besides”—he grinned at Sasha boyishly—“I'm not responsible enough to have a dog. I forget everything when I'm painting. I'd need a wife to get another dog.”

“There's a hell of an admission.” It confirmed all she feared about him, but this time it didn't seem frightening. It was just a simple statement of fact. Liam was well aware of who and what he was. And so was she. He was a charming irresponsible boy.

They went to Berthillon again, and that night she drove him back to the airport. He sat looking at her for a long moment before he even attempted to get out of her ridiculously small car.

“I had a wonderful time with you this weekend,” he said quietly. They hadn't made love. They hadn't done anything insane. They had just hung out together, eaten ice cream, talked, gone for long walks, bought an art book, sat in cafés, and played with a dog. It was everything she'd missed, and different from anything she'd ever had. She and Arthur had had a totally adult life, a life of responsible equal partners doing serious things. There was something wonderful and playful and young about Liam. He was part man, part boy, would-be lover, if she let him, and in some ways because of his youthful ways, almost like an adopted son.

“I had a good time too,” Sasha said, smiling at him. “Thank you for surprising me. If you'd asked me, I'd never have let you come.”

“That's why I didn't ask,” he said, as he leaned over and kissed her. She was grateful that he had respected her wishes until then. As he kissed her, she felt everything she had felt for him in London, and had managed to resist all weekend. It would have been impossible for her to do so if he had kissed her before the end. And even more impossible for him. They sat kissing each other for a long time, and then they sat looking at each other. It was impossible to have anything more between them. She wished it could be different, but knew it couldn't. She didn't say it to him this time. There was no need. He knew what she thought. “I want to come back and see you,” he said before he got out. “Will you let me, Sasha?”

“I don't know. We'll see. I have to think about it. We may be tempting fate if we try to do this again, or kidding ourselves that we could limit it to this. You're awfully hard to resist.” He kissed her again then and proved it. She could hardly breathe when he stopped kissing her, and she wanted him desperately. She wanted nothing more than to drive him home with her. But she didn't. She knew she couldn't. She got out of the car, and then laughed as she watched him unwind his legs and do the same.

“You're my dealer, for chrissake. With all the money you're going to make off me, can't you at least afford a decent car? I'm going to herniate a disk getting in and out of this thing. Maybe I should give you an advance.” She laughed at him, and followed him into the airport. He was wearing the cowboy boots, his jeans, a fisher-man's sweater he had bought in Ireland, and a baseball cap his son had sent him from the States. He looked tall and masculine and young. Everything about him was appealing, even and especially the childlike quality that frightened her so much.

She followed him in silence to the gate. He was the last one to board. Part of her wanted him to miss the plane and stay with her. Another part of her wanted him to leave and never come back to see her again. The two parts were constantly at war.

“I'll miss you,” he said quietly.

“So will I.” She was being honest. She was always honest with him. She found she could tell him whatever she thought.

He kissed her then, long and hard, as they began closing the door to the plane.

“Go… you'll miss it…,” she whispered. He ran, and turned one last time, with a broad grin, waved, and then boarded the plane. She had no idea when she'd see him again.

As he took his seat, he was thinking of her, and the remarkable blend of contrasts she was. Hard and soft, vulnerable and strong. She was serious and sad at times, when she spoke of her parents or her late husband, and then suddenly funny and happy and even youthful at other times when she talked about her artists, or her children, or her views on life. She was simple in what she expected of life, and unpretentious. Complicated in her rigid ideas about how she felt she should behave in society, and wanted to be perceived. A grande dame and painfully ladylike one minute, and whimsical and mischievous the next. He knew from Xavier that she was a terrific mother, and could sense himself that she was a great friend. Responsible, conscientious, capable, brilliant in her field, and at the same time a small, lonely woman who needed a man to hold her and love her. And no matter how prepared she was to fight him on it, Liam wanted to be that man. However long it took.

Chapter 7

Sasha was quiet and pensive in her office the next day. She sat for a long time at her desk, staring at a piece of paper, lost in thought, without seeing it. She was thinking about Liam, the fun she'd had with him over the weekend, and the sheer stupidity of allowing herself to be with him at all. If she continued doing this, there was absolutely no doubt in her mind, someone would get hurt. And more than likely it would be her. Or maybe him. But she had far more at stake.

She was staring out the window, thinking of it, when Eugénie walked into the room.

“Sasha,” she said hesitantly, “a package came for you. I'm not sure where you want me to put it.” Sasha assumed it was paintings coming from one of her artists. The ones in Europe sent their work to the Paris gallery, and from there the gallery sent them to New York, if they were assigned to shows there.

“Just put it with all the work that came in last week,” Sasha said, looking distracted. “We're shipping all of it to New York on February first. Just look at the packing list, and make sure it's not something we want to show here.”

“I don't think you'll want to ship this,” Eugénie said, looking awkward. Sasha frightened her once in a while, particularly lately. And she wasn't at all sure how she was going to react to this delivery.

“For heaven's sake, Eugénie, stop being so mysterious. What is it?”

“Shall I bring it in?”

“Not if you have to uncrate it. I don't want a mess in my office. Just do it in the shipping room. I'll go down to see it later.” Eugénie stood there looking confused, as Sasha got more and more annoyed with her. “Okay, just bring it in. We can clean the mess up later.” It was obvious that Eugénie felt she should bring it straight to Sasha, who was beginning to suspect that some kind of major problem was about to land in her lap.

Her secretary disappeared rapidly, and backed into the room moments later, carrying something. She seemed to be cradling it in her arms, and then turned to face Sasha, who stared at her with a look of amazement. It was the cocker spaniel puppy she and Liam had played with in the pet shop on the quai the day before. The little dog looked terrified, and Eugénie looked just as panicked as the dog. She had no idea how Sasha would react. Much to her relief, her employer just stood there looking stunned, with a smile spreading slowly across her face.

“Oh my God… what am I going to do with that?” Sasha looked overwhelmed.

“The man from the pet store said you would know who it's from,” Eugénie said hesitantly.

“Yes, I do. It's from Liam Allison, our newest artist.” There was no point hiding that from her. Sooner or later, that much at least would come out. Hopefully, why he had given her the gift would not. Eugénie approached her then and handed her the dog, who licked Sasha's face as energetically as she had licked Liam's the day before. “Oh good Lord …I can't believe this.” She held her for a moment, and then gently set her down. She had been on her feet for less than a minute, when she squatted next to Sasha and peed on the rug. But the damage was small. “He's insane,” Sasha said, smiling even more, and Eugénie was relieved to see that she didn't seem upset about the rug.

“She's very sweet,” Eugénie smiled at her, as the puppy sniffed at the furniture and ran around the room. Every few seconds she would then dash back to Sasha. She was still running around when Sasha focused on her black legs and four white feet. “Does she have a name?”

Sasha hesitated for a moment and then grinned broadly. “I think she does. I'm going to call her Socks.” She had four white paws that looked like socks, which were such an issue to Liam. “Did they bring food for her?” She had no idea what to give her.

“The man said he brought everything you need, including a traveling bag for when you take her to New York. She even has a pink sweater, and a collar and leash to match.” Liam had thought of everything. She knew how strapped for money he was, and with the hope of what he'd make at Suvery, he had really stretched himself. The dog couldn't have been cheap, and the accessories and supplies had cost him a lot too. She loved his generosity and kindness. Sending her the puppy was a loving gesture and she knew it had been well meant. For all his wild ways, he was a good-hearted person. The moment Eugénie left the room, Sasha picked up the phone. She got him in his studio, on his cell phone.

“I can't believe you did this. You are totally insane. And you spent a fortune, Liam. What am I going to do with a dog?”

“You need someone to keep you company. Or at least while I'm in London. Is she all right?” He ignored the comment about what he'd spent. That was none of her business. He had wanted to spoil her. She deserved that and more, in his eyes.

“She's wonderful. Liam, that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done.”

“I'm glad.” He sounded pleased. He had been a little worried she would be furious, and was immensely relieved that she wasn't. She was still in shock. “What are you going to call her?”

“Socks,” Sasha said, sounding delighted, and Liam laughed out loud.

“That's perfect. Now I won't have to wear mine. She can just wear hers.” He remembered the four matched snow-white paws.

“You are a totally silly person. And this is probably the craziest thing anyone in my life has ever done.”

“Good. You need a little confusion in your life. You need some nice surprises, and a little less control.” As he said it, Socks looked up at her new mistress with interest, squatted, and peed on the rug again. It was obvious to Sasha that she no longer had any control at all. Neither over him, herself, and surely not over the dog. The puppy was only eight weeks old, and wouldn't be housebroken for months. She was going to have to roll up her rugs at home.

“She was a wonderful surprise, Liam. I'm still a little stunned.” She wasn't even sure how to react, or why he had done it. But she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“I was wondering if I could come and see her this weekend. Now don't get nervous. I'm not coming to see you. Just the dog.”

Sasha hesitated, and there was a long moment of silence at her end. He hadn't sent the puppy to pressure her, it had been an outpouring of love for her. Now that he'd been to Paris to visit her, he realized how lonely her life really was. The silence and solitude in her house had made him sad for her. He thought the little dog might help. And if she let him, he wanted to help, too. “I don't know,” Sasha said honestly. “Liam, I'm scared. It's just too crazy if we get involved. I think we'd both regret it in the end.” Particularly she would, if he found a woman closer to his age, after she fell head over heels in love with him. She could easily imagine him with a twenty-five- or thirty-year-old, rather than a woman her age. An affair between them, from her point of view, could only come to a bad end.

“It doesn't have to be that way. Sasha, stop being so obsessed about my age.”

“It's not just that. It's everything. I represent you. If this goes sour, it could screw up our whole working relationship. You're not divorced. You could go back to Beth any day. I'm nine years older than you are, you should be with a woman half my age. You want to be a wacky artist, and my life is so conservative and boring, it would drive you insane.” These days it even bored her. Besides, she couldn't take him anywhere without feeling foolish, and she had no idea how he would behave, but she didn't say that to him. “There is absolutely no part of this that makes sense.”

“Does love always have to make sense?” he asked, sounding disappointed. She ticked off her list of concerns like deal points in a contract she was refusing to sign. But that was how her life worked, and how she saw it.

“It should make sense. Relationships are hard enough without taking two people who are as radically different as we are, and trying to make it work. I just don't think we can. And besides, this isn't love, it's physical attraction. It's some kind of insane chemistry that makes me lose my mind whenever you're around.”

“You didn't lose your mind this weekend,” he reminded her. “I wish you had. But you didn't. I thought we were very well behaved,” he said proudly.

“And just how long do you think that would last?”

“Not long, I hope.” He laughed, and she loved the sound of it. She was smiling as she listened to him, and watched the dog. “I had to take cold showers all night when I got back to London.”

“That's my point. If we hang out together, one or both of us is going to lose our minds and do something we'll both regret later on.” The attraction she felt to him was like putting a match to dynamite. They had proven that on Friday, after dinner at Harry's Bar.

“So now what do we do?” he asked, sounding discouraged. He wasn't convincing her. Sasha was every bit as stubborn as he was.

“I become your very respectable art dealer. And you behave like a good boy.”

“I hate it when people tell me what to do. I'm not a child.” He sounded annoyed.

“Sometimes one has no other choice but to do the right thing,” she said sensibly. “It's much more fun to do whatever you want. But when you do, people get hurt.” She had the good taste not to remind him of his dalliance with his sister-in-law, which had cost him his marriage.

“I want to see you, Sasha,” he said insistently. “I want to come to Paris this weekend.” And then as an afterthought, “I think I should see the dog. I'm her father after all.”

“No, you're not,” Sasha said stubbornly. “She's a fatherless child, and she'll just have to grow up that way, like it or not. You can be her godfather, if you like.”

“All right, all right. She's my god-dog. But I'm coming to Paris this weekend to see you both.”

“I won't let you in,” she said firmly.

“Why not? What else do you have to do, sit in a dark house by yourself and work yourself to death? For God's sake, Sasha, let yourself live for once. You deserve it. So do I.”

“No, you don't, and neither do I, if we're going to make fools of ourselves, or of me. You're just indulging yourself, and I won't let you do that at my expense.” She meant it. The stakes were just too high for her. Only Liam had nothing to lose, except his heart.

“That's not fair,” he said, sounding hurt.

“Yes, it is. It's honest. I'm nearly ten years older than you, and you want to behave any way you want. You don't want to be respectable and conservative. You have no intention of adapting to my life. You want to play at this, have some fun, and play wacky artist. If you do that in my life, Liam, you're going to turn my whole world upside down, and I won't let you do it.”

“I behaved perfectly at Harry's Bar,” he said, sounding miffed, and then added grudgingly, “except for the shirt and socks. If I knew it was so important to you, I'd have bought a new shirt and some socks, if that's what matters to you, for chrissake.” He was beginning to shout.

“It's not about the shirt and socks. It's about who you are and the way you want to live. You keep telling me no one can control you, no one can tell you what to do. You want to be a free spirit, Liam, and you have every right to do that. You just can't do that in my life. You and I both know that when the spirit moves you, you want to do whatever comes into your head. You think it's funny. Well, I don't. And like it or not, I'm too goddamn old for you. You're my son's best friend, for God's sake. He's twenty-five years old. I'm forty-eight.” His behavior and the rules he set for himself were far more appropriate in her son's world than hers, and Liam liked it that way. In the name of art and independence, he had resisted growing up all his life.

“I'm thirty-nine,” Liam said plaintively. “I'm closer to your age than his.”

“But you don't want to act like it. That's the problem. You want to pretend you're twenty-five. If I wanted another child, I'd adopt one. That's not the relationship I want with you.” She had raised her voice, too, in answer to his.

“What relationship do you want with me? I thought we worked things out just fine last Friday. And we didn't do badly this weekend, either. I don't want to just go to bed with you. I like talking to you, too.”

“So do I. But you're a luxury I can't afford.”

“You are surely and without a doubt the most stubborn woman I know. I'll be there on Friday, whether you like it or not. We can argue about it this weekend.”

“I don't want to see you,” she said, feeling panicked. Her feelings for him made her feel out of control.

“Well, I want to see you. One more time at least, to discuss this face-to-face. I can't talk about things like this on the phone.”

“There's nothing to discuss. This is impossible, Liam. We have to accept that. We have no other choice.”

“You're the one who's making it impossible. It's only impossible if you want it to be.” He sounded frustrated beyond words.

“Then let's just say I do.”

“This is the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

“Doing the right thing feels that way sometimes. But in this case, that's what we're going to do.” She didn't say that if he had done the right thing with Becky, he would still have his wife and kids with him. Instead, he had indulged himself. And he was trying to do that again, with her.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” he said, sounding depressed. If anything, she had gotten firmer in her resolve not to get involved with him, despite the dog, which was a lovely gift, but still didn't convince her that he was the man for her.

“Don't call me, unless it's about gallery business. I don't want to discuss this with you again. We just go around and around, and drive each other crazy.” But he drove her even more so when she was near him. She had never been as physically attracted to any man in her life. It was hard for her to understand and even harder still to resist.

“I'll call you this week,” he said, but didn't, which Sasha felt was a relief. It pained her to do it, but she believed she had finally persuaded him to let it go. No matter how much she wanted to be with him again, she knew she couldn't.

The one consolation in her life that week was the joy of the puppy Liam had sent her. Socks was adorable, and despite frequent accidents on her carpets, Sasha was enchanted with her. It had been the best gift he could give her. The next best gift was leaving her alone, which he did.

The weather was awful in Paris again that weekend, gray wintry days that seemed relentless. Foggy mornings, rainy nights, and depressing afternoons with bitter winds that chilled you to the bone. She worked late on Friday, went to bed early, and was at her desk at the gallery by nine the next morning, with the dog. Everyone was in love with Socks, even Bernard.

Sasha worked in the gallery all day Saturday, and she was sitting alone in her house with the puppy on Saturday night. Liam hadn't called her since Monday, and in some ways, she was relieved. In others, she was sad. She was crazy about him, but in every way that mattered, he was forbidden fruit. A fruit she was determined not to touch or eat, whatever it cost her. He was a sacrifice she had to make.

It was nine o'clock on Saturday night when her doorbell rang. It wasn't the outer door, but the one to her house. Sasha assumed it was the guardian, since she hadn't heard the bell ring on the big bronze outer door. She was carrying the puppy and wearing her nightgown when she opened it. She expected to look into the ancient face of Madame Barboutier, and instead found herself looking up at Liam. He had shown up after all.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, unhappy to see him. Her heart was pounding and her knees felt weak. But there was no sign of it on her face, and she offered him no warm welcome. She had told him not to come.

“I came to see my god-dog.” Sasha was holding her, and he looked down at Socks and smiled. “She looks good.” So did he. Sasha didn't. She looked tired and upset, and she was. She had been suffering over him all week. Keeping up her resolve about him had been anything but easy. And now there he was, on her doorstep, looking more beautiful than ever. He was everything she wanted, and couldn't allow herself to have. She was putting up all the resistance she could.

“I asked you not to come here,” she said coldly, on the verge of tears.

“I want to talk to you, Sasha,” he said, looking serious. She could see in his eyes that he was unhappy, too. “Why don't we just do this for a while, and see what happens? Maybe it won't be a big deal after all.”

“And if it is? Then what? My kids go nuts. My artists think I'm a fruitcake. And we become the talk of Paris and New York.” She didn't paint a pretty picture, but what she described could easily happen and be true. And he knew it, too.

“Do you ever think about anything but disaster or what other people think?” he asked, standing there, still holding his bag. “What if it actually turned out okay? What if people don't give a damn what we do? What if your artists could care less, and your kids want you to be happy, even if that means being with a younger guy? This could turn out to be no big deal.”

“Until you find some girl your age, or younger, and fall in love with her. I don't want to go through that, either.”

“What if I die, or you do? What if we're struck by lightning one night when we're making love? What about cholera, diphtheria, measles? What if we get nuked in a world war?”

“I'd rather get nuked than make a fool of myself with you. I just don't want to go there, Liam. I'd rather be alone.”

“Don't be so silly. I've been in love twice in my life, once with Beth, which lasted for twenty years, and now with you. I've never told anyone I loved them, except the two of you.”

“You just want me because you can't have me,” Sasha said miserably. She was shivering in the cold and so was the dog.

“Can I at least come in for a minute? I've been driving for hours. They canceled my flight, so I took the Chunnel.” She stepped aside, wishing she had the courage not to let him in, but she didn't. As it had been since she had met him, she didn't have the strength to resist, as he walked slowly into her living room. All the lights were out and the room was cold. She was planning to go to bed with the dog. “All right, I give up. Let me spend the night. I won't touch you. I'll leave tomorrow before you get up. I'm too tired to drive back tonight.” She looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. He could sleep in Xavier's room again. She was going to lock her bedroom door. More to keep herself in than him out.

“Do you want something to eat?” she asked politely, setting the dog down.

“Do you have any ice cream?”

“I think so. We bought a lot last week, and I didn't eat it.”

“You should. It would do you good.” He thought she was too thin. She looked like she had lost more weight that week—he hoped it was from her agony over him.

He followed her into the kitchen, with Socks right behind them. She peed on the kitchen floor, and Liam cleaned it up, while Sasha served him chocolate and coffee ice cream in a giant bowl.

“Do you want anything else?” He shook his head, sat down at the kitchen table, and said nothing. There was nothing much left for either of them to say. They had said it all. She had never been through anything as upsetting as this, other than her husband's death sixteen months before. Sasha sat quietly while he ate. And when he was finished, she stood up. “I'm going to bed. You can sit in the living room if you want. You know where Xavier's room is.”

“Thanks, I'm tired, too. I'll go upstairs.” He followed her up, and she left him on the landing. She could hear him go up the flight to the top floor a moment later, and close Xavier's bedroom door.

She went to run a bath, and had the puppy with her. She didn't bother to lock her door. She knew she didn't need to. He had finally understood, and in the morning he'd be gone. The whole miserable episode of temptation, indulgence, and torture would be over. She could hardly wait for him to leave.

She was standing in her bathroom, brushing her teeth, in her nightgown, when she looked up and saw Liam in the mirror. She hadn't heard him come in. The puppy got excited the minute she saw him, and Sasha looked pained.

“I understand, Sasha. I just want to spend the night with you. One last time. I just want to hold you. I promise I won't do anything you don't want.” The problem was she did want. That had been the problem right from the first. She started to shake her head, and met his eyes in the mirror. There were tears in his eyes and hers too. Without a sound, she dropped her toothbrush, turned to face him, and held out her arms. She wanted to spend one last night with him too. She just wanted to hold him and feel him close to her, before they released each other for good. This moment would never come again, and they both knew it. She nodded silently, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “It's okay, baby … it's okay… everything is going to be all right …I promise …” he murmured.

“No, it isn't.” They both knew it, but just being there with him felt good. A moment later, they snuggled into her big bed in the chilly room. The puppy was sleeping in her own bed in Sasha's bathroom. Liam turned out the light, and they just held each other and said nothing. She was wearing her nightgown, and Liam was wearing jockey shorts, a T-shirt, and socks. He had bought another pair just for her.

“I love you,” he whispered as he held her.

“Me, too,” she said sadly. “I wish things were different.” She wished she were younger, and a different person, so she could feel more comfortable about being with him. She didn't love him as she had Arthur. But she was so powerfully attracted to him, and already felt attached to him. This was different from anything she had ever experienced. Perhaps more than love, it was passion. But whatever it was, it felt dangerous to her, and was agony to resist.

“This is all we need for now,” he whispered back, grateful to be holding her, and in her bed with her. It was more than he had dared hope for, when he drove to Paris from London. He had been afraid she wouldn't even open the door, and he was grateful that she had. “How am I going to live without you, Sasha?” She didn't answer his question, but she was thinking the same thing. They had managed until now. They'd have to manage again after this. All they had was tonight. He was dying to make love to her, but he didn't want to do anything to spoil it. He held her close until she fell asleep.

She felt him stir beside her in the morning, and she was instantly awake. She knew he was going to leave as soon as he got up. She lay beside him, waiting for him to leave her bed. He didn't move for a long time, in the pearl gray early-morning light in the room.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, and she nodded. “Do you want me to go now?” With every ounce of her she didn't, but she had to let him go.

“In a minute,” she whispered. She reached toward him and held him close to her. She could hardly breathe it was so intoxicating to be with him. And as she held him, she could feel him aroused. Their bodies were glued to each other, and then suddenly they were kissing. The rest happened without either of them willing it after that, and he was terrified when they stopped. He knew that this time she would never forgive him, and he would never see her again. He had broken his promise to her, and couldn't stop himself from wanting her too much. “I love you,” she said softly. And then she pulled away just enough to look at him. Their faces were next to each other on the pillow, and he had never seen anyone as beautiful in his life, whatever her age. “What are we going to do?”

“You tell me,” he whispered back, and held his breath.

“I don't know…I don't want to lose you… I've already lost too much.” She just couldn't bring herself to let him go. At least not yet.

“Can I stay for a while?” She nodded, and he held her, and a little while later they made love again. They spent the whole day in bed, alternately sleeping, holding each other, and making love. Eventually, he brought food up for the puppy, and two bowls of ice cream for them.

“Have I gone insane?” she asked him, as she ate chocolate ice cream, lying in bed with him. This was all she wanted. Being there with him, with ice cream dribbling down her chin. He gently wiped it off.

“I've never been saner in my life. I can't speak for you.”

“This feels like a dream.”

“If it is, it's a very good dream.” He smiled at her and kissed her.

They stayed in bed together all day Sunday. They shared a bath in her bathtub and went downstairs long enough to eat dinner, and then hurried back to bed, like children running from their parents. There was no one to run from. Nowhere to hide. Sometime during the weekend, Sasha stepped over the line into his arms. She had no idea what they would do now. All she knew was that she wanted to be with him, for however long it lasted.

They cooked together, ate dinner laughing and talking easily, played with the dog, did the dishes, and then rushed back to bed and made love again.

“I'm too old for this,” she said afterward, barely able to catch her breath.

“So am I.” He laughed. “You're wearing me out.” And then she looked at him, worried.

“When are you going back?”

“How about never?” He was teasing her, but they both liked the idea. “What if I spend the week here?” It would be a good experiment to see how they did in real life. Sasha hadn't expected him to make the offer, but she liked the idea.

“I could tell everyone at the gallery that you came to meet them, and you're staying with me as a guest.” He knew she felt she had to explain things, but however she did that worked for him.

“Sounds fine to me. Or you could just tell them I'm your boyfriend, and we'll be in bed all week.” She looked nervous when he said it, and he kissed her. “Don't worry, I'm not going to say anything to embarrass you.”

“You better not,” she warned him.

“I promise.”

They lay in bed together and held each other close that night. Sasha was excited at the prospect of spending a week with him. The day before she had promised herself she would give him up, and in the course of a single weekend, she had decided to risk her life with him. She had no other choice now, whether this was possible or not. They would soon find out.

Chapter 8

Sasha looked even more respectable than usual when she, Liam, and Socks walked across the courtyard to her offices on Monday morning. The gallery was closed on Monday, but the offices were open, and it was a good chance for all of them to catch up on deskwork. Sasha was wearing black slacks and a black sweater. And Liam looked like Liam. He was wearing cowboy boots, a leather jacket, white T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. They were planning to go out to buy him more T-shirts and some underwear that afternoon. He hadn't brought enough to last the week, since he only planned to be there for the weekend.

Sasha introduced him to all her employees. He was easy and pleasant, and everyone seemed to enjoy meeting him. He had sent them slides of his work the week before. Bernard said they were anxious to show it. They talked about his solo show in New York at the end of the year. In the meantime, both branches of the gallery were going to show his work, in Paris and New York.

It was an incredible opportunity for him. And Eugénie nearly fainted when she saw him. She told Sasha afterward that she had never seen a man as beautiful in her life. Nor had Sasha. That was part of the problem that was doing her in.

That night, as they talked about the gallery, he lay sprawled out on her bed like a young lion, after they made love.

“So what did you think?” she asked him. She was interested in his opinion, from an artist's point of view. She had a rare opportunity for insider information from him, as an artist evaluating the gallery. It was an interesting perspective for a dealer, and she respected his opinion, although her own as well. Her instincts had always been extremely good about the gallery and her artists.

“What did I think?” He looked blank. He was still catching his breath from what they'd just done, and surprised she was thinking of work. “Well, let's see … better than last night … not as good as this morning … maybe I was tired…I thought the best ever was on Sunday afternoon in the bathtub …” He went on cataloging and comparing their sexual exploits, as Sasha giggled.

“Liam! Stop it! I meant about the gallery and the employees.”

“Oh, that. Very nice. I liked everyone.” He was much more interested in making love to her than talking about work.

“Be serious for a minute,” she chided him. She loved sharing her work with him. She had loved that with Arthur, too.

“Serious? If we make love any more often, I'm going to collapse in your arms, and you'll have to revive me. I'm older than I look.”

“So am I,” she said, with a look of regret.

“I've never done this so often in my life. I'm beginning to feel like a sex toy,” he said, looking worried. “Come to think of it, maybe I am. Is that all I am to you?” He was serious for a moment.

“Don't be silly,” Sasha said, lying back on her pillow. But she had to admit, she was having fun with him. A lot of it.

“I feel like the sex slave of the Faubourg St. Honoré. Maybe I should call the SAMU to rescue me.” The SAMU were the paramedics, the French equivalent of 911.

“I think you're becoming an addiction,” Sasha admitted, but she was having too much fun now to worry. She had put her fears on the back burner for the week, and was enjoying having him around every day.

“Maybe we should go to a twelve-step group. Love Slaves Anonymous. But hell, why spoil our fun?” He looked amused.

“Exactly,” she said, as she leaned over to kiss him. Neither of them could believe it, but they made love again before they went to sleep, and again before she went to work the next day. She felt girlish and giddy and tried not to act it, when she walked in.

Liam arrived shortly after, and enjoyed seeing the gallery once it was open. Sasha was pleased to discover that Bernard had invited Liam to lunch. They all seemed to like him, which was at least something. She'd been worried about how he would fit in, but so far he did.

Liam spent the rest of the week wandering around Paris, looking up artist friends in the Marais, and Sasha did her best to lighten her workload so she could spend time with him whenever possible. Although sometimes she had to meet with clients who were expecting to see her and buy important paintings. Liam walked in on one of those meetings, toward the end of the week. He was wearing a T-shirt, leather motorcycle jacket, baseball cap, jeans, and his cowboy boots. And, unbeknownst to anyone but Sasha, socks and underwear. He was determined to be proper and civilized that week. She introduced him to the clients she was meeting with as soon as he walked in, looking for her. He hadn't hesitated to interrupt her, which upset her. And she was looking stern and somewhat irritated, as he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. Sasha was furious with him. Her clients were in their seventies, the wife was an Italian princess, and the husband the head of an important French bank. Her clients didn't get more conservative than them. Sasha had worn a Chanel suit with a skirt for the meeting, and pearls. She looked as respectable as they did. Liam looked like James Dean with long blond hair, which was definitely not their thing. She introduced him as one of their artists, and was somewhat unnerved when he sat down, uninvited, to have tea with them, and then changed his mind and poured himself a drink. He made himself totally at home, which didn't go unnoticed by her clients either. The princess looked shocked, and the banker was obviously annoyed. All Sasha could do was hope they thought him an eccentric artist, although his kissing her on the mouth certainly tipped their hand, and would have been hard to explain. What's more, they wanted Sasha's full attention. They had just bought two paintings for half a million dollars each. Liam looked singularly unimpressed by the paintings standing on two easels, and commented that they were very pretty, but not exciting. Sasha wanted to kill him. As soon as they left, she turned on him with a vengeance.

“What in God's name were you thinking, to say something like that? This is how I earn my living. Those two people just bought two paintings for a million dollars, in cash, and I don't care if you think what they bought is exciting or not, and neither do they. You could at least have pretended you liked them,” she said, fuming. “And how dare you walk into a meeting? This is my business, not my bedroom. Have you lost your mind?” He had just done exactly what she feared he would. He had embarrassed her with important clients, and he didn't look the least bit apologetic. It was the control thing. No one was going to tell him what to do or how to behave. Boundaries and rules didn't exist for him.

“I never lie about art,” he said, looking nonplussed, as he stretched out on the couch in her office. “I have too much integrity to do that. And I was being polite. I told them they weren't exciting. Actually, I thought they looked like shit. They're from a terrible period in the artist's lifetime, and he did much better work before that.”

“I'm perfectly aware of that, Liam, but those two paintings are what they wanted, so I located them. It took me eight months to get them from a dealer in Holland, and you damn near screwed up the sale. Besides which, you can't just stroll through here and pour yourself a drink while I'm meeting with clients. You have to show some respect.”

“So do you,” he said, looking annoyed. “You think you run the world here. I'm every bit as good as they are. You can't just sweep me under the rug because someone with a fat checkbook walks in the door.”

“Oh yes, I can. They're my bread and butter, and my children's. And if you're going to be here, when I dance to their tune, so do you.”

“Like hell. I'm not your little minion, Sasha. I don't work here. If I'm the man in your life, you have to treat me with respect.”

“Then don't push your luck and show off. You looked like a Hell's Angel, strolling in here and pouring yourself a drink, while they were having tea.”

“That is total bullshit and you know it. All you have to tell them is that I'm one of your artists. That's all they need to know. I'm not going to parade around here in a suit and drink tea because you're selling two rotten paintings that you shouldn't be selling anyway. If that's what they wanted, then educate them, find them something better, and charge them more. But those two paintings were shit, and you know it. And as far as how I look, I'm wearing underwear and socks. That should be enough for you. I'm not going to walk around like a monkey on a leash, in a costume for you.”

“No one's asking you to do that. I'm just asking you to be polite to my clients, look decent, and be discreet. You can wait to have a drink till they leave. And you have no business walking into my meetings. I don't care how independent you are, I'm not going to tolerate that from you.”

“Who do you think you are?” he shouted at her. “You're not my mother. I can do anything I want. You can't tell me what to do. I love you, but you're not going to control me, Sasha. I'm not one of your employees, or your children. In fact, I'm not even sure what I am to you.” He was working himself into a rage, as she spoke quietly. She was not going to get into a war with him. If she did, she knew no one would win. But she was not going to allow him to behave any way he wanted either. The wacky artist was in full swing.

“You kissed me, Liam. On the mouth,” she said as he glared at her from across the room. “In front of clients. That's completely inappropriate and you know it.”

“Don't tell me what's appropriate!” he shot back at her. “I love you. I didn't stick my tongue down your throat, for chrissake. I gave you a peck on the mouth.

“What am I, just a boy toy you're having fun with? And that you want to keep in the closet?” he asked, looking insulted. She had hurt his feelings by criticizing him, and she knew it. But he had to learn to behave. This wasn't going to be easy, just as she had feared. She loved being with him privately, but he made her nervous when he strolled around the gallery, doing and saying whatever came into his head. Sometimes he just didn't think. And he was obviously allergic to any kind of rules.

“You're too old to be a boy toy,” she said demurely. He started to say something to her, looking heated, and then burst out laughing.

“You're right. I guess I am. But I feel like that sometimes. You're so uptight when you meet with clients, and so stuffy. Why don't you just relax? They might like it better too.”

“They're not that kind of clients. People who buy emerging artists are different, Liam. These kind of clients expect you to be stuffy and uptight. If I weren't, they'd be buying from someone else who is. Believe me. I've been in this business for twenty-three years. And I watched my father do it from the time I was a little kid. I know what I'm doing. There are certain rules about this.”

“You and your rules,” he grumbled, but he got over it quickly. Quicker than she did. He had upset her terribly walking in on her client meeting. As far as Sasha was concerned, it didn't bode well for the future. It had unnerved her. In spite of that, she took him to dinner at Le Voltaire that night. It had become his favorite restaurant too. He didn't have to get dressed up to go there. He could wear his jeans, leather jacket, and cowboy boots, even though some of the most stylish and sophisticated people in Paris went there. He was in a much better mood after a great bottle of wine. But she was still uneasy after their brief but heated quarrel that afternoon. He had felt disrespected, and she had been outraged at his cavalier behavior while she was conducting business. He was going to have to learn the ground rules very soon. Something had to give, and he was it. If not, they were going to run aground very quickly. It took her the rest of the evening to calm down, and by the next day she did.

For the rest of the week, everything went smoothly between them. Bernard commented to Sasha that Liam seemed to be staying in Paris for a long time, but she didn't think he suspected why. She told him that Liam couldn't afford to stay in a hotel, and was using Xavier's room, which made sense to him. But if he stayed with her often, and for long enough, she knew that sooner or later their secret would come out.

They had an easy, fun weekend. They went to the movies, had lunch at the Brasserie Lipp on Sunday, and coffee afterward at the Deux Magots. She tried to take him to the bar at the Ritz for a drink, but they wouldn't let him in wearing jeans, unless he was staying at the hotel, which Liam said was dumb. It was, but they had rules, too. Liam had very few. His were about being decent and kind and affectionate, not about behaving properly. And he was always loving to her. There was no doubt in her mind that she loved him, but she was nonetheless worried that he would do something alarming to expose their situation, and she wasn't ready for that to happen yet. Letting him stay with her in Paris for a week and hang around her office was a major step for her. And she was not going to go further than that. Now or maybe ever.

They were lying in bed on Sunday night, when Liam asked her casually what she was doing the next day. It was her first clue that he wasn't planning to leave on schedule. She didn't mind, as she loved being with him, but she was also aware that his continuing presence was going to become harder to explain, at the gallery, if nowhere else. They were the only ones who knew he was staying with her. He suggested they have dinner the following night with some of his friends in the Marais.

“Does that mean you'd like to stay?”

He nodded and smiled sheepishly at her. “Yes, if it's okay with you.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, weighing the risk, and then smiled at him. She loved his being there with her. And she'd come up with some explanation. “Yes, it is.”

But she was hesitant about meeting his artist friends, since some of them might know her, and then she remembered that she was busy anyway. He looked instantly disappointed and a little hurt. She kissed him and explained that she was going to a black-tie dinner, given by important clients. They had bought a Monet from her that summer, and she had accepted the invitation weeks before. Taking him with her to a formal dinner at a client's house was an experiment she was not prepared to venture yet, which he said he understood, but he looked annoyed nonetheless. All she had said to him was that she was not allowed to bring a guest.

“Then tell them you can't come,” he said, looking petulant, which she purposely ignored.

“I can't do that, Liam. They're the most important clients I have.” She was sincere about that.

“And what am I?”

“The man I love. But don't bring this to a showdown. You're talking about my work.”

“Would you have taken Arthur?” he asked bluntly. They both knew she would have. But everything about that situation was different. Arthur could have gone anywhere, and did. Liam couldn't. He didn't want to play the game. And Arthur acted like an adult. Liam didn't.

“That's not fair,” she said, looking unhappy. “We were married. He was as proper and conservative as my clients. He was a banker, for God's sake.”

“And I'm a young punk.” He had added anger to the petulance by then.

“No,” she said calmly, “you're a wacky artist, remember? That's what you told me. And you don't want to be 'controlled.' If you want to wear a dinner jacket, be proper, and act like a banker, you can come anywhere with me you want.” It was a major concession to him. But he didn't want concessions. He wanted freedom to behave any way he wanted, wherever he went, with or without her.

“They should accept me as I am. And so should you,” he said angrily.

“I do. They won't. If you want to go places like that with me, then you have to play their game. So do I. Those are the rules of the road. I can't take you with me this time, because it's too short notice. But if you're serious about this, we'll buy you a dinner jacket, and you can come with me next time, to something else. If you're willing to play by their rules. That's the deal.”

“Fuck them,” he said, suddenly very angry. “Who the hell do they think they are? I'm twice the man they are. I heard this shit from my father when I was growing up. I'm not going to play that game for anyone, Sasha, not even for you.”

“You don't have to,” Sasha said calmly. “You don't have to go to any of the stuffy things I do. But if you want to, you have to follow the rules. That's just the way it is.”

“And who makes those rules? Some pompous old asshole in a monkey suit? Why should I behave like him, and dress like him? Why can't I be me?”

“Because those pompous old assholes have all the money and power and make the rules. He who has the gold, rules. And if you want to go out in that world, then you have to be civilized, and play by their rules.”

“If you were proud of me and loved me, you'd take me anyway.” He was a child in full revolt, as she felt her heart sink. She had been afraid it would come to this, and it hadn't taken long. This was the second argument they'd had in less than a week. It confirmed her worst fears that this wasn't going to work. There were many things she loved about him, his kindness, his warm, open affection toward her, his sense of humor, his intelligence, his talent, how fabulous he was in bed. But his temper tantrums and immaturity were definitely not on that list.

“I am proud of you, and I do love you. But I'm not going to take you into that world, if you're going to make a fool of me, or yourself. If you want to behave any way you want, you will make a fool of both of us.”

“What's more important to you, Sasha? Them or me?”

“You both are. I love you. But I live in that world. That's who I am. I told you that the first time we met. This is the problem we are always going to have, unless you want to give up being a wacky artist and walk into my world like a man. If you want to continue playing wacky artist, or wild young man who can't be tamed or controlled, then you have to let me go into that world by myself. It's as simple as that. That choice is up to you.”

“I'm who I am. And I'm not going to change that or kiss anyone's ass, for you or for them.”

“You have the right to make that decision. But you don't have the right to force them to accept you, if you won't play by their rules, or mine.”

“This is really about you, isn't it? And not about them. You want me to pretend I'm Arthur. Well, I'm not. I'm me.”

“This has nothing to do with Arthur,” she said to him through clenched teeth. “Look, why don't you have dinner with your friends tomorrow? I'll go to my stuffy dinner, I'll leave early, and join you wherever you are in the Marais.”

“What, and go slumming? Lady Bountiful will leave the mansion and meet her peasant boyfriend in the slums? If I'm not good enough for you to take me with you, then I'm going back to London tomorrow.” He had originally been planning to leave then anyway. His offer to stay on had come as a surprise to her.

“That's up to you,” she said quietly. “I'm doing the best I can, Liam. Sometimes this is going to be a stretch for both of us. We knew that from the first.”

“Yeah, we did. I just didn't realize that the one we'd be stretching is me. Just how much humiliation do you expect me to take? You tell me how to behave in your gallery, what not to do to offend the clients. I have to tiptoe around, not kiss you, and not pour a drink. And if I want to go out with you anywhere that matters, I have to dress like Little Lord Fauntleroy and act like Malcolm Forbes. Well, I'm an artist, Sasha. I'm not a trained monkey or a banker, and I won't let you cut off my balls.”

“I'm not trying to cut off your balls. We live in different worlds. This was bound to happen. We are going to have to have a lot of understanding and flexibility with each other if this is going to work.” Neither of them knew yet if it even could, and it was beginning to look like it couldn't, if he was going to insist on doing his wacky artist routine and going everywhere with her. The two just didn't mesh. She had warned him of it before. And now they had hit a wall.

“I told you, I'm not going to let you cut off my balls. I'm going back to London tomorrow. When you get your priorities straight, give me a call.” Listening to him, she wanted to scream.

“This isn't about priorities, Liam,” she said, sounding desperate not to lose her temper with him. It was frustrating trying to reason with him, like an angry child. “It's about playing by the rules, and living in different worlds. Like entering a club. If you want to come into this club, you have to follow their rules.”

“I'm never going to do that, Sasha. Never. If I wanted to do that, I'd still be living in California with my father, and taking shit from him. I'm not taking shit from anyone anymore, and sure as hell not from you. If you want me in your life, then take me, but don't tell me how to behave by whose rules. If you love me, there are no rules, or shouldn't be.”

“There are always rules,” she said sadly. “I have to play by those same rules. I can't behave any way I want. I can't show up in blue jeans tomorrow, or wearing cowboy boots and a baseball cap. I have to show up looking like they do, with my hair combed and an evening gown. I have to be just as proper as they are, and fundamentally I am, because I believe in their rules. It keeps things civilized.”

“I don't want to be civilized, dammit! I want to be me. I want to be respected and accepted for who I am, however I want to behave, not for who I pretend to be, because I'm willing to kiss their asses. I'm not going to kiss anyone's ass ever again.” Their argument was obviously bringing up things from his childhood, because even she could see that his anger at her was out of measure. He was beside himself as he ranted. And nothing she said made sense to him or induced him to calm down. On the contrary, it seemed to make it worse. She felt utterly hopeless as she listened. He was out in the stratosphere somewhere, on his own.

“I'm not asking you to kiss anyone's ass, Liam. Least of all mine. You can behave any way you want. But if that's what you want, then you have to play on your side of the fence, and stay in your own world, or in our private world, which is fine with me too. But if you want to cross over to the other side of the fence, and go there with me, then you have to play by their rules.”

“Fuck their rules. And come to think of it, Sasha, fuck you. If you're not proud of me, if you're embarrassed because I'm younger than you are, if you don't respect me for who I am, then I don't want to be with you. And I don't want to be here. I'm going home tomorrow. You can call me when you make up your mind.”

“About what? What am I supposed to make my mind up about? What do you want from me?” She was feeling dazed. Some of what he was saying was so unreasonable, it just wasn't making sense. And none of it was news. He had known who she was, and what she stood for, right from the first. Those had been among her primary concerns about him, other than his age. His age was the least of it. His lack of boundaries and immature behavior was far worse. He was behaving like a five-year-old.

“Either you take me into that world with you, just as I am, and don't try to leave me at home like some hooker you've hired for the night, or I'm out of here for good. I'm not going to be left at home, like some piece of garbage. And I'm not going to be told how to behave.” He stormed at her, as she fought back tears. She wanted him to be better than this. She wanted it to work, and it never would like this.

“Then figure it out for yourself,” she said, suddenly as angry as he was. “Stop acting like such a baby, saying you won't take a bath or put your suit on, and you can throw your dinner on the floor anytime you want to. If you want to come downstairs and eat with the grown-ups, then be one. That's all it takes, for chrissake. You can't play wacky artist forever, unless you want to hang out with other children who are as badly behaved as you are. If you want to do that, then don't whine because I can't take you out. I'd like to, for chrissake, I'd like that very much, but I'm not going to embarrass myself while you show off and try to prove how outrageous you can be. If you love me so much, Liam, then grow up and learn to behave. I'm not taking a badly behaved spoiled child out with me. You think about it, and you make up your mind. I already did. I'm here with you. Now you live up to your end of the deal, or forever hold your peace. It takes more than just love and being good in bed to get on in the world. At some point, like it or not, we all have to grow up. Maybe it's right about that time for you. You figure it out. Go back to London if you want to, and when you decide to grow up, give me a call.”

They never said another word to each other that night. For the first time since he had been there, they each stayed on their side of the bed, with a vast chasm between them. Liam was deeply wounded by what he viewed as her disloyalty, and everything she'd said. And she was furious at the tantrum he had thrown. He was acting like a very badly behaved child. They each got up in the morning silently. He showered, shaved, and dressed. And before she left for the office, he packed his bag and stood looking at her in the front hall.

“I love you, Sasha. But I'm not going to let you control me, or tell me what to do. I respect myself too much for that.”

“I love and respect you too. I really do,” she said honestly, “both as an artist and a man.” Although she was a little unsure about how respect-worthy he was as a father, she didn't know him well enough to judge that yet, and she had never seen him with his kids. But there were so many things she liked about him, and she was falling more in love with him each day. But not enough to give up her whole life for him. She was too old for that. And she liked her life, just as it was. “This isn't about control. It's about mutual respect. If you respect me, then come into my world, play by their rules, and act like a gentleman. If you don't want to do that, which is your right, then don't complain if I visit people in my world alone. You can't have both. You can't do your 'I'll do whatever I want' routine in the polite world, Liam. You're too old for that. Even children can't behave that way.”

“I'm never going to be anyone different than I am. And if you love me, you have to accept that, and be willing to take me anywhere, just as I am.”

“I can't. I can't do that to myself, or my kids, or the reputation I've built for all these years. I can't let you make a fool of me in public, Liam.” And she knew he would. She had heard too many of his exploits from Xavier, although she had never seen him act out herself. The scene of him walking in on her meeting at the gallery was enough for her. And a tantrum like today. She had serious concerns. “It's bad enough that I'm almost ten years older than you. I know that's not a lot, but it feels like it to me, given your behavior and ideas. That's hard enough, and will raise enough eyebrows as it is. Don't ask me to usher you into all the loftiest places, and then reserve the right to play outrageous wacky artist, just so you can prove a point. That's not loving or respectful of me, and who I am. You knew who I was, and how I live. You said you could do this, and do it right. I believed you. Now you don't want to deliver. You want to do whatever you want in my world, and you can't. Neither can I. No one can. We all have to behave and toe the line. I hope you come to your senses, because I love you, and I want to be with you. And what you're doing is not fair to me.” The fact that it was even a conversation or an argument was frightening her. Who was this man? And why was total freedom so vital to him, at her expense?

“I'm the one who's getting screwed here, and being disrespected,” he said, almost pouting. “You want to call all the shots.”

“The only shot I'm calling is that I'm asking you to grow up. Either be civilized, or let me do what I have to do, while you play with your friends. You can be as outrageous as you want, but if that's what you want, then don't expect me to take you out and show you off. If you want to be outrageous, then stay home with me and do it privately, not in public.”

“I'm not going to be your dirty little secret, Sasha. If that's what you want, then find another man. Either take me out and show me off, just as I am, or all bets are off.”

“Then I guess they are, for now anyway. Think about it, Liam. I hope you come to your senses when you go back to London. If this starts to make sense to you, then give me a call.” He looked at her, nodded, never stopped to kiss her, picked up his bag, brushed past her, and slammed out the door.

After he left, she sat down and thought about everything that had happened. She loved him, but not enough to turn her life upside down for him, and give up who she was. It was too late in the day for her to do that for anyone. Not even Liam. She knew she was in love with him. But maybe not enough.

Chapter 9

The days after Liam left seemed to drag at first. In the short time he was there, she had grown used to being with him, talking to him, eating with him, making love with him. Even Bernard commented when he left, and asked if he was still around. Sasha said he had gone back to London.

“He's a sweet boy, but it must have been hard on you to have him around for that long.”

He had stayed with her for ten days, and she had loved everything about it, until the last few days when they began to argue. It also struck her that Bernard called him a “boy.” That was the essence of the problem she was having with Liam. He was a boy, not a man, and acted like one. At times he was age appropriate, at others he was an unruly teenager. She expected more of him at nearly forty. He really was Peter Pan. She thought Bernard was being sarcastic with his comments at first, and curious about their relationship. And then she realized he was sincere in what he'd said about her houseguest. He thought Sasha had been an incredibly good sport to let him stay there for so long. Apparently, their secret was still safe. It would never have occurred to Bernard that Sasha was involved with Liam. And in any case, it looked like the relationship was over. She sat and waited for the phone to ring at night, once Liam went back to London. It never did. He never called, nor did she. They had come to an impasse over his ridiculous demands and childish behavior. She hadn't expected their affair to last forever, but she had expected it to last longer than it had. There was no point calling him, since he had made his terms clear to her. Either she would take him out in public in the circles that she moved in, no matter how proper, and no matter how he behaved, or the deal was off.

The conditions he had set were impossible for her, whether or not she loved him. She had no compromise to offer him, other than what she had said to him before he left Paris. At the end of the month, she stopped waiting for the phone to ring. She knew he was gone. And as he sat waiting to hear from her in London, he knew the same. It had taken weeks, instead of years, but they had parted ways. She had been right from the day they met. It was impossible. She reminded herself that it was better to face it sooner than later. But as she waited for the call that never came, she was sad anyway. As childish as he was at times, there was an appealing side of him, and she truly missed him.

It took two months for Sasha to make her peace with it, and even then she was still sad about his disappearance from her life. But there was no one to tell. No one had ever known about them, so there was no one to turn to for advice or comfort. She couldn't mourn him with others, or speak to anyone about him. She just had to accept the fact that he was gone. She knew it would never have worked anyway. He was too immature, too difficult, too unreasonable, too determined not to grow up. He had proven all that to her when he had a tantrum and vanished.

Sasha went to New York in February and March, and both times ran into a blizzard. Tatianna loved her new job. And the gallery was doing well. She was planning to visit Xavier in London in April, and she braced herself, knowing that Liam would be somewhere near. She just hoped she didn't run into him with Xavier. And she couldn't say anything to Xavier about avoiding him, or it would expose their secret.

Shortly before Sasha left for London in April, Eugénie told her they'd had an e-mail from Liam. He had finished several new pieces of work, and thought Sasha should come to see them. He had volunteered to send transparencies, but wanted his dealer to see the work in the flesh. He said in the e-mail that it was the best work he'd ever done.

“Oh,” Eugénie remembered, as she reported on the e-mail to Sasha at the end of a long day, “he said to send you his best, and hopes you're okay.” Sasha was in fact okay. After more than two months of silence from him, she was a lot better than she had been in February, but she was still annoyed at him. And it sounded stupid to her to send her his “best.” His best what? She had already seen his best and his worst. Although she had believed herself to be in love with him for about a minute, he had put her off forever with the way he'd behaved. He had pulled an incredibly childish move on her. She was tired of self-indulgent artists, who were not so young, but pretended to be, and still behaved like teenagers well into middle age. At thirty-nine, in her opinion, he was far too old to act the way he had when he left Paris. Still, she was hurt that she had never heard from him again. She had far too much pride to call him.

She told Eugénie she was going to a dinner party that night, and it reminded her again of her blowout with Liam while she was getting dressed. She was leaving for London the next day to see Xavier. She didn't know what she was going to do about Liam and seeing his new work. She represented him, but she was in no hurry to see him again. He had created a very awkward situation for her, in fact for both of them. She was glad that she hadn't introduced him to her world. His absence now would have been embarrassing to explain.

The dinner party she was going to that night was being given by the American ambassador to Paris. He had invited several important artists and dealers, an American writer who was visiting Paris, and someone had told her there was a famous actor coming, too. It sounded like a motley crew to her, and she wasn't in the mood. For reasons known only to herself and Liam, she had been testy and short-tempered with everyone for the past two months, although lately she had been in a slightly better mood.

She wore a black lace dress to the dinner party at the ambassador's residence, her hair in a bun as always, and a new pair of very sexy shoes, although most of the time, she wondered why she bothered. She hadn't gone out with anyone, nor did she want to, since she and Liam had had their brief, ill-fated fling. She had known right from the beginning that their affair was doomed. She felt stupid for having allowed him to convince her to try it. But in private moments, she admitted to herself that she had wanted it as much as he said he did, and in her heart of hearts she had hoped it would work. It was too bad it didn't. He was a talented artist, but a totally immature man. It was no surprise to her now that Beth had left him, and taken their kids. Being married to him for twenty years must have been a nightmare for her.

She forced him from her head, as she had for two months, as she walked into the ambassador's residence that night. With the exception of a rock star and two actors, Sasha knew everyone there. In its own way, Paris was a very small town. The whole world was these days.

At the dinner table, Sasha was seated next to one of the actors, who was completely self-involved, and had nothing to say to her. He was far more interested in the woman on his right, who was married to a Hollywood producer. He was busy charming her, and had been for an hour, when Sasha turned her attention politely to the man on her left. She knew she had seen him somewhere, and then remembered who he was. He had once been considered the wizard of Wall Street, and had since retired. Arthur had introduced her to him at a party in the Hamptons once. And much to her surprise, he remembered her.

“It must have been about ten years ago,” she said, looking impressed. He was about Arthur's age, who would have been fifty-nine by now. He had been gone for a year and a half.

“I was very impressed when we met. I've been in your gallery several times.” He smiled at her, and she noticed that he was a good-looking older man. She no longer remembered if he was widowed or divorced, and by now he could have remarried, if that was the case.

“The gallery in New York?” she asked, to keep the conversational ball rolling. She had no particular interest in him, but he was easy to talk to, far easier than the actor on her right, who had virtually ignored her. There was nothing she could do for him.

“I was speaking of the gallery here,” her dinner partner explained. “I live here now.” His name was Phillip Henshaw, and she couldn't help wondering what had brought him to Paris. He had retired young, just as Arthur had hoped to. “Both my daughters married Frenchmen and moved here. When my wife died, I decided I needed a break from New York. I've been here for five years, and I love it.” Sasha noticed then that he had a soft southern drawl, and a moment later he explained that he had been born in Louisiana. He and the ambassador had gone to the University of Virginia together. The wife of the ambassador was from Georgia. Phillip went on to explain to Sasha that he had a house in Provence, and a flat in London. He managed to get to each of those places about once a month.

“I'm going to London tomorrow, to see my son, and some artists.” She smiled easily at him.

“So am I, going to London, I mean.” He returned the smile, and then a little while later said he had been sorry to hear about Arthur. “It's not easy, finding yourself alone at our age, particularly if you've been happily married.” He touched her heart with what he said.

“That's why I moved back to Paris. It was just too depressing to stay in New York after Arthur died,” she confessed.

“Do you still have your house in the Hamptons?” He remembered that as well.

She nodded, and then sighed. “I never go there anymore. All those familiar places we used to love are just too hard.” They talked about New York for a while, and discovered they knew many people in common. The good thing about talking about her old life with him was that it kept her mind off Liam. He had distracted her constantly for the past two months. She was angry and disappointed by how things had worked out, and frustrated by the way their affair had ended, in silence. Worse yet, now she had to get over it, and act impartially as his dealer. Getting involved with him had been even more foolish than she had feared. But she wasn't devastated, as she had been over Arthur. She was just disappointed and sad, and finally philosophical about it.

She was surprised, as she left the ambassador's residence, when Phillip Henshaw asked her if she would like to have dinner with him the following night in London. She told herself that maybe she could sell him some art for his houses.

“That would be very nice,” Sasha responded. He suggested Mark's Club, which she and Arthur had always liked. It was another establishment owned by the same man who had started Annabel's and Harry's Bar. Phillip offered her a ride home then, and she thanked him, but said she had come with a car and driver. She didn't like driving herself at night, when she was dressed up and went to parties. He walked her to her car, and told her he'd pick her up at Claridge's the following night at seven. She thought about him on the way home. There was nothing exciting about him, but at least he was intelligent, polite, and pleasant. And it might be nice to have dinner with a friend in London. She didn't know what Xavier's plans were, but she was planning to spend the afternoon with him, and if he was free, she could have dinner with him the following evening. She still had to figure out what to do about seeing Liam. Maybe nothing. Maybe she could have Bernard fly to London to meet with Liam, although the gallery manager would think it strange that Sasha hadn't seen him, particularly since Liam had stayed with her when he came to Paris. It was going to be awkward to explain it. Everything about their situation had become awkward, thanks to Liam.

She caught a nine o'clock flight at Le Bourget the next morning, and with the hour's time difference and the short flight, she was in London at exactly the same time she had left Paris, nine A.M. She was settled into her usual suite at Claridge's by ten-thirty. She called Xavier, agreed to meet him for lunch, and then set off to see two of her artists.

She arrived promptly at one to have lunch with her son, at the restaurant he had suggested, and as she walked out into the garden where he was waiting for her, she was shocked to see he had brought Liam. It was small comfort to see that he looked as uncomfortable as she did. Apparently, she learned later, Liam had been in Xavier's studio all morning, and her son couldn't think of a plausible excuse not to bring him, since Sasha was his dealer. He liked Liam, although Xavier was sorry to miss some time alone with his mother. He loved talking to her.

“Hello, Liam,” she said cautiously, as he stood up to greet her. Being obliged to have lunch with him felt like a nightmare to Sasha. It was the first time she'd seen him since he stormed out of her house in Paris. As usual, he was wearing one of his eccentric but sexy outfits. A T-shirt, a leather jacket, baseball cap, and this time paint-splattered pants and high-top red sneakers. But despite her irritation with him, she had to admit, as always, he looked incredibly handsome. And his blond ponytail was two months longer.

“How've you been, Sasha?” he finally turned to her and asked, sounding awkward. Until then, Xavier had been carrying the bulk of the conversation, and he was surprised to notice some sort of strain between them. He had gotten the impression before that they were on good terms and very friendly. Although he suddenly realized that Liam hadn't mentioned her lately.

“Have you two had some sort of artistic difference of opinion?” Xavier finally asked with a look of amusement. He knew them both well, and that they had strong opinions. The atmosphere between them was tangibly stressed. You could cut it with the proverbial knife.

“Yes,” Liam said, looking angry and unhappy.

“Not at all,” Sasha said politely at exactly the same moment.

“Well, which is it, yes or no?” Xavier asked them. He was laughing, as Liam squirmed in his seat, and his mother looked icy.

“She wouldn't take me to a party in Paris, when I was staying with her. I thought that was pretty rude, since I was her houseguest.” That was one way to explain it, Sasha observed. The last thing she wanted was for Xavier to get caught in the middle, particularly since he only knew half the story and she didn't intend to fill him in on the rest. She was pleased to see that Liam had obviously not shared his story of their brief affair with him, since Xavier appeared to know nothing about what had happened. He was completely in the dark.

“What were you wearing when she wouldn't take you to the party?” Xavier asked comfortably, as dealer and artist, previously lovers, glared at each other. It was obvious that Liam was still furious with her.

“I don't know…the usual stuff… what difference does it make?” Liam growled at him, while Sasha watched them both in silence.

“A big difference, at the kind of parties she goes to. If you want my guess, that's why she didn't take you.” Xavier spoke as though his mother weren't present. Sasha said nothing. “She won't take me either. The people she knows are incredibly stuffy and pretty boring. Sorry, Mom.” He glanced over at Sasha apologetically, and she nodded. She had said the same thing to Liam right from the beginning.

“That was what I told him,” Sasha interjected. “I told him he couldn't do his wacky artist thing with those kinds of people. And he told me I couldn't control him.”

“You probably can't,” Xavier said sensibly, and then looked at Liam. “What's with the wacky artist thing? If you want to do that, why would you want to go to those parties? Personally, I'd pay her money not to take me. I hate them.”

“So do I. I just don't want to be left home like a four-year-old, or be told how to behave when I get there.”

“What difference does it make if she takes you? You're one of her artists, Liam. Not her husband. My father didn't love going to them either. He said most of her important clients bored him to tears. He got out of going to those parties every chance he got.” Sasha smiled at the comment and Liam looked pensive. “You sound like a jealous lover,” Xavier chided, still not understanding what had happened, for which Sasha was profoundly grateful.

“Or a spoiled brat,” Sasha added. “I told him you can't behave like a goofball if you go to those parties. He informed me that he'd behave any way he wanted. End of story.” End of romance. But thank God Xavier didn't know that. From what Liam was saying, Sasha was amazed her son didn't suspect it. It had never occurred to him for a single second that his friend might have slept with his mother. She turned to Liam then, and reminded him of what she'd said two months earlier. “Anytime you want to dress and act like a grown-up, you're welcome to come to anything with me. In the meantime …” Her voice drifted off, and Liam rolled his eyes.

“You sound like my father.” He looked angry at her again, which surprised Xavier. His mother was right. Liam was being childish and bratty, and he didn't always side with his mother, but this time he felt he had to.

“You were a kid then,” Xavier reminded him. “You're an adult now. You just turned forty. Hell, that's fucking ancient …” And then he glanced at Sasha. “Sorry, Mother.”

“Not at all. It's not fucking ancient, but it's old enough not to have a tantrum about a party.”

“My father and brothers never took me anywhere. My father called me a freak, and my brothers said I was a weirdo. I was always an outcast. That's why I left San Francisco. I just got tired of it. I'm never going to let anyone treat me that way again.”

“You probably were a weirdo,” Xavier said with a look of amusement. Watching Liam, and the look in his eyes, Sasha felt suddenly more sympathetic. She had obviously tapped into some serious wounds from his childhood. And he had had no mother to protect or defend him from his father and brothers' insensitivity and cruelty. Looking at him, she suddenly wanted to put her arms around him, but she couldn't. “You still are a weirdo sometimes,” Xavier said, and Liam smiled. “Hell, what do you expect? You're an artist. I'm weird, too. It's a sign of greatness and talent. I like being a weirdo, so do you. And you couldn't get me to one of those parties if you paid me.”

“I just felt left out, I guess. It was like the old days when I was a kid. I guess it hit a nerve. I was being told I couldn't go somewhere unless I acted like someone I wasn't. Maybe it was old tapes in my head that made me crazy, and not your mother.” Liam glanced at Sasha anxiously, and wanted to apologize to her, but he couldn't. Their eyes met and held for a long moment. And miraculously, Xavier missed it.

“Shit, man, you were only a houseguest. She probably couldn't take you to the party anyway.”

“No, I couldn't,” Sasha added. “The argument was more about theory, and freedom of behavior.”

“And control,” Liam added. “When people insult me like that, it just makes me crazy. I was always left out as a kid, like I wasn't related to them or something, or good enough to be one of them. They were always trying to control me and make me behave the way they wanted, and I just couldn't.” It went even deeper than that, Sasha realized. It was about having lost the protection and unconditional love of his mother at seven. That's who she had been dealing with that night, a seven-year-old boy who had lost his mother. It suddenly explained a lot of things to her, and the immature behavior she'd seen in Paris. Her heart went out to him as she sat there listening to him.

“All right, are we all on the same page now?” Xavier turned to Liam. “You obviously had some kind of psychotic break, or déjà vu or something. My mother goes to parties given by the most boring people on the planet, that no one in their right mind wants to go to. And you're a wacky artist, and shouldn't go to places like that, with people like she knows. My mother's fine, the people she hangs out with aren't. People like us need to hang out with each other. Not people like she knows or sells to, or it'll stifle our talent. Just hang out with me, and forget her fancy bullshit. Believe me, you'd hate it. Now, can we all relax and have lunch? I'm going to the bathroom. You two kiss and make up so she sells your paintings and isn't pissed at you, and when I come back, we'll all have a nice time, like we did last time. Right, children?” They both smiled at him. Xavier had broken the deadlock they couldn't for two months, even if he didn't know the whole story. “Thank you.” He got up and left them, and disappeared into the men's room, while Liam looked at her. He still loved her, and thanks to Xavier he was no longer angry at her. Now that he thought about it, it hadn't really been about her. It had been ancient history that had more to do with his father and brothers than with Sasha. She had hit a hot spot for him, and pushed all his buttons. So much so that he had been unable to listen to reason, until Xavier translated it for both of them two months later.

“I'm sorry, Sasha,” Liam said softly. “I missed you so damn much. You're the most stubborn woman on the planet. You never called me.”

“You never called me, either. And I missed you, too. I'm so sorry. I never really understood what it meant to you or why. Now I do. I didn't mean to hurt you.” She reached out and touched his hand as she said it.

“You didn't. They did. I got you confused with them for a minute.” A long minute. It had been more than two months since he left Paris. “Let's get together for a drink before you leave London.” She nodded, just as Xavier came back to the table.

“Everybody happy again?”

“Very.” Sasha beamed at him. “You're an excellent mediator. I should use your services more often.” She saw when she turned to look at him that Liam was smiling at her.

They ordered lunch, and both men talked about their work, while Sasha listened. She was never happier than when talking to artists, particularly these two. After lunch, they went to Liam's studio and looked at his recent paintings. They were even better than his last ones. She beamed at him when she saw them.

“My God, Liam, they're fantastic.” She could tell that he'd been digging deep into his soul to come up with what she saw on canvas.

“You do good work when you're pissed off,” Xavier commented with amusement.

“Sometimes,” Liam said, looking sad, and Sasha saw it. She squeezed his hand as she brushed past him. “I was only pissed off in the beginning. After that, I was miserable. Actually, that's when I do my best work. I hate that that's true, but it always is,” he said, looking exhausted, as he stared at his canvasses. He had had a lonely two months without her.

“That's true for me too,” Xavier admitted.

“I wish I could say I'd been as productive,” Sasha added. The last two months had been painful for her without him. She wished she could spend time alone with him now, but she had to see another artist. She was glad she had seen Liam's work though. And maybe now it would be better for both of them, if she was only his dealer. Their brief affair had obviously been a disaster. But thanks to Xavier, at least the war between them was over.

“What are you both doing tonight?” Liam asked, as Sasha left them. She was obviously in a hurry.

“I'm busy,” Sasha said quickly, and Xavier said he had a date.

“One of your boring parties?” Liam asked her with a look of amusement.

“No, a quiet dinner with a potential client.” Although she didn't owe him any explanations. The war was over, but so was their romance. With luck, they'd be friends now.

“What about tomorrow?” Liam wanted to see her again before she left for Paris, and it was more comfortable for both of them now with Xavier present.

“I'm free,” Xavier chimed in.

“Me too,” Sasha said, although she had wanted time alone with her son. It would be different if Liam joined them.

He suggested dinner at his favorite pub, Xavier agreed readily, and Sasha more reluctantly, but after all he had said at lunch, she didn't want to be rude to Liam. She could have breakfast alone with Xavier the next morning, before she went back to Paris.

Sasha agreed to pick them both up the following night with her car and driver, although being in a noisy pub was not how she liked to spend her evenings. She was doing it for both of them, and maybe a little more for Liam. She felt loving and protective of him when she left.

She was busy for the rest of the afternoon, did some errands on New Bond Street before she went back to the hotel, and had just enough time to change before Phillip picked her up for dinner. She was brushing her hair and sweeping it into the bun she always wore, when Liam called her.

“I'm glad we met today,” Liam said sadly. “Xavier did us both a big favor. Or me anyway. I'm really sorry I got so crazy in Paris.”

“That's okay,” Sasha said, holding her hair up with one hand, and the phone with the other. “Those things happen. I really felt badly about it today when you explained it.” He had told her about his father before, but somehow she hadn't made the connection. What Liam needed more than anything was a mother. But she didn't really want to be one to him. She had her own children. Maybe he needed mothering more than romance. But with the difference in their ages, it made her feel even older. Maybe as his dealer, and not his lover, she could give him more of what he needed from her.

Most of her artists needed mothers, and expected her to be one. Part of her role with them was nurturing them. She didn't mind doing that, at least with Liam. Maybe it would help him. Not that there was anything in it for her now, except her commission on his paintings. She was still attracted to him, and she still felt the same electrical charge when she looked at him, but what she felt for him now was different. Her feelings for him had gone underground, and in some ways seemed deeper. She loved him, but she was able to look at him now without wanting to tear his clothes off. She had sublimated what she felt for the past two months, and what she felt for him now more than anything was compassion. It was better, and healthier for her, than the insanity she had felt for him earlier that winter when they first met. Although she missed what they had shared. It was as though her feelings for him had matured and been transformed somehow since the last time she'd seen him. She was content to be his dealer and friend, and nothing else.

“Are you happy?” he asked her, and she smiled at the question.

“If you're asking me if there's someone else now, there isn't. It's taken me a while to get over what happened. I was pretty disappointed when you left Paris.” It had been particularly hard for her to lose him after losing Arthur. “I got past it. Things happen. I never thought it could work between us. I was just sorry to find out that I'd been right and it couldn't.”

“It could have, if I hadn't lost my marbles.” Liam sounded embarrassed.

“You didn't. Maybe you were right. It was pretty rude leaving you behind, and treating you like a secret. I just didn't know how else to do it.”

“I didn't either. It doesn't seem like such a big deal now, but it did then.”

“It did to me too. I'm glad Xavier defused it.”

“He's a great kid, Sasha.”

“I know. I'm very lucky.” She looked at her watch then. Phillip was arriving in ten minutes, and she still had to do her hair and put on makeup. “I hate to do this, but I have to run. I'm being picked up in ten minutes.”

“Why is it that I think you're having dinner with a date and not a client?” It was both, but it was no longer Liam's business, and it never would be again.

“Maybe you're feeling paranoid,” she teased him. “Go paint something. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a nice time tonight,” he said, and for a minute, she felt the old stirring, but now she could resist him. Enough time had passed, and she had gotten sane.

“Thanks, Liam.”

She rushed around her room for ten minutes after that, trying not to think of him. And when Phillip called from the lobby, she was ready. Much to her surprise, they had a perfect evening. It was everything a first date should be. Polite, courteous, interesting, intelligent, and amusing. He was a nice man and good company. He'd had an interesting career, loved to travel, and had friends in many places. He played tennis and golf, read voraciously, had a serious interest in art, and was obviously deeply attached to his children and grandchildren. Sasha felt no great chemistry for him, but she enjoyed the evening. She found it was a relief to feel none of the things she had felt for Liam. What she experienced in Phillip's company was easy and peaceful. She didn't even care if she sold him a painting.

They had dinner at Mark's Club, and afterward he took her to Annabel's. She was home in good order, shortly after midnight. He said he was going to Holland the next day to see about a sailboat he had ordered, and he would call her as soon as he got back to Paris. It was a delight to be with someone so intelligent and pleasant. There was none of the excitement or torture she had been through with Liam.

She slept peacefully that night, saw an artist the next day, visited two galleries, and went shopping. She got back to the hotel in time to change into jeans to meet Xavier and Liam. She felt as though she were going out with her two boys. The pub Liam had chosen was as noisy and crowded as she feared it would be. They could hardly hear each other as they shouted across the table during dinner. Afterward, they went to the bar, where Xavier flirted with assorted women, and Liam tried to have an intelligent conversation with Sasha. She couldn't wait for the evening to end, and instead it seemed to go on forever. It was odd for her being there with Liam. The women crowding around them, and lusting after him openly, were all in their early twenties. As she looked at them, and at him, she knew she didn't want to be there. Ten minutes later, she told them both that she had a splitting headache. She left them there, happy and drinking. Neither of them was drunk when she left, but she suspected they would be eventually. It was a far different evening than the night before with Phillip. As polite and civilized as that was, this was loud, disorderly, and chaotic. And as she rode back to the hotel alone, she realized that the evening and where they spent it made her feel sad and ancient. She didn't know why, but it had depressed her to see Liam. This was the price she had to pay for her foolishness in getting involved with him. Now, each time she saw him, she would have to remember what had happened, and why it ended. Because Liam was not an option for her. It could never have worked.

She was relieved to get back to the hotel, and take her clothes off. She put on her nightgown and lay on the bed, enjoying the silence, and thinking about him. It was weird to think now that he had once been hers, and now he was available to all those young, excited, and faceless women. She believed, as she always had, that he should be with women closer to his age, and younger than she was. The one thing she didn't know, and maybe never would, was who she belonged with. Maybe no one. She felt out of place and lonely everywhere now, in Liam's world, and her own.

She turned the lights off at eleven o'clock, and was sound asleep when the phone rang. For a minute, she had no idea where she was, and then she remembered. The voice on the phone was deep and familiar.

“I'm downstairs in the lobby” was what he said for openers.

“Who is this?”

“It's Liam.”

“I was sleeping.”

“How's your headache?”

“I think it's better.” She didn't want to tell him she'd never had one.

“I need to talk to you.” He sounded anxious.

“I'll call you tomorrow.” She didn't want to see him. It would just make her sadder. She had left him where he belonged that night, in the pub, with all those excruciatingly young women.

“I don't want to wait till then. Please, Sasha …let me come up and see you.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.” She was wide awake now. “We've got everything where it belongs. We're friends again. Let's not screw it up by discussing what went wrong and why it did. You're happy. I'm happy. We don't need to go over it again.”

“I don't want to go over anything. I just want to see you.”

“I look the same as I did two hours ago, in a nightgown instead of blue jeans.”

“Please …I know you're leaving in the morning.” He sounded sad.

“I'll call you from Paris.” She was firm.

“I don't want to talk to you in Paris. You're here now. I want to see you.”

“Are you drunk?” she asked, sounding worried.

“No. But I will be if you don't see me.” He laughed.

She sighed, thinking about it. There wasn't a single good reason to see him. And several bad ones. She was still attracted to him, and she didn't want anything crazy to happen.

“Shit… all right… come on up, but if you do anything stupid, I'll call security and have them throw you out.”

“I won't do anything stupid. I promise.”

She got out of bed, put on a dressing gown, and walked into the living room of her suite. He was there before she had finished tying the belt on her bathrobe. He knocked once. She opened the door and looked at him. He looked tall and lean and beautiful, and the same stirrings were there, but this time she didn't heed them. She stepped back from the door and waved him in, looking sleepy.

“I'm sorry…I don't know why, Sash… but I had to see you.”

“Well, now you see me.” She smiled at him, and sat down in a chair, as he walked over, kneeled down, and put his arms around her.

“I'm sorry I was so stupid before. I thought you were demeaning me, and it drove me crazy. I wanted to go with you that night, and I wanted you to be proud of me. I just didn't know how to say it.”

“I didn't handle it well either. Sometimes that happens. The crazier you got, the more I dug my heels in. I told you it was impossible. It never could have worked between us.”

“It's still possible, if you want it to be. I've been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Don't start that again. I don't want to argue with you. And I'm not going to do anything stupid.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she said it, which took a considerable amount of effort. What she really wanted was to put her arms around him, but she wasn't going to let that happen. She still had feelings for him. And he'd been drinking. A lethal combination, as they had proven too many times.

“How was your date last night?”

“Charming, intelligent, respectable, and unbelievably boring,” she said, without thinking, and then stared at him. “I can't believe I just said that. I had a perfectly nice time, with a perfectly decent person. I don't know why I said that.” She was upset by what she'd just said. The words had just slipped out.

“Probably because it's true. Sasha, I love you.” He said it with a look of desperation. “And I don't give a damn if we keep us a secret. I realize now that it would have to be. It would make a mess if it weren't. I don't care if we never go to parties together. I just want to be with you, and share what we had before I blew it all to shit in Paris.”

“You didn't blow it all to shit,” she said kindly, “we both did. This was never meant to be. I told you, Liam. It's impossible. How stupid are we both going to be? We got lucky. We hurt each other, but we didn't do an incredible amount of damage. Next time we could, and end it very badly. Let's just quit while we're ahead. I'll be the art dealer, and you be the artist.” As she said it, he stood in front of her, leaned down, and kissed her. And hating herself for it, she responded. “Okay, so I love you. It doesn't change anything. I'm not going to do this. It's impossible. Impossible. How many times and how many ways do I have to say it?” He kissed her again, and this time when he stopped, she was breathless. “Liam … don't… please… we'll just drive each other crazy again …” He couldn't stop kissing her, and she couldn't stop kissing him.

“I'm already crazy,” he said miserably. “I have been ever since I was stupid enough to walk out on you in Paris.”

“You weren't stupid… and I don't want you to be my secret. You were right. You deserve better. And I can't give it to you. I'm not ready to tell the world I have a boyfriend or a lover or whatever you are who's ten years younger. It makes me feel like a dirty old lady.”

“Nine,” he said between kisses.

“Nine what?” He was confusing her with what he was doing. Her head was spinning.

“It's nine years, not ten. Don't exaggerate.”

“All right, nine. I'm still not ready to tell people. And you deserve better than being a secret.”

“I'd rather be your secret than your nothing.”

“I'm your dealer.”

“I want you to be my woman.” And all she wanted as he kissed her was to be his woman. But as soon as she would be again, everything would get crazy and confusing, just as it had in Paris. “And I want to be your very own wacky artist.” She laughed at him then.

“Well, you're that in any case, even if all I am is your dealer.”

“Sasha, give it a chance again … please, for both our sakes. I really love you.”

“I love you, too. I just don't want us to drive each other crazy. And we would. You know it. I would do something that would freak you out. I'd insult you without meaning to. And you'd show up at a board meeting wearing a loincloth and sneakers.”

“A loincloth?” He backed up and looked at her. “A loincloth? I don't even own one.”

“Then buy one,” she said, smiling. “Every wacky artist should have one. You could wear it to parties I take you to.”

“What about a toga? I could show up at a board meeting or a black-tie dinner wearing my bedsheets.” He grinned.

“That's too easy,” she said to him between kisses. She was in his arms by then, and he was carrying her into the bedroom. He deposited her on the bed where they had made love for the first time. He stopped and looked at her then, and she lay on the bed and looked at him.

“I won't make you do this if you don't want to,” he said softly.

“I should hope not,” she said, with a look of amusement. “Oh God, Liam… what are we doing?” She loved him, but she was frightened.

“We're starting where we left off, only better,” he said, sounding convinced.

“How do you know it will be better? Maybe it will be worse.”

“I know because I love you more than I did two months ago. I know because I want it to work. I want to prove to you that it is possible, and that you were wrong when you said it wasn't. I want you to be wrong.”

“So do I,” she whispered as she held her arms out to him. He untied her bathrobe then, and she took off his clothes. She wanted to believe it was possible. She wanted it to work with him. She wanted to be everything he wanted, and she wanted him to be her dreams. And as he made love to her, they both found everything they had missed and longed for for the past two months.

Afterward she looked up and smiled at him, and this time she had to laugh.

“I can't believe we're doing this again. What a couple of lunatics we are, Liam.” In spite of herself, she looked pleased.

“You're a lunatic.” He grinned at her. “I'm only a wacky artist,” he said, looking proud, and feeling as though he had come home again.

Chapter 10

The next morning they made love again before he left. They took a shower together, and laughed about what they were doing again. There was a sense of humor about their relationship now, a kind of wonderment, an ease and sense of goodwill about it that they hadn't had before it ended in Paris. She wanted more than anything to believe it was possible. But with the difference in their lifestyle and age, she was still afraid it wasn't. It all depended on how tolerant they could be of each other. In her opinion, therein lay the key to their success: an ability for each of them to let the other be who they were. She had no idea if either of them was capable of that. This time it was going to take skill, luck, and magic for it to work.

He kissed her before he walked out the door. Standing in the doorway in her bathrobe, she watched him saunter down the hall. She was terrified that it was still impossible, but she was unable to resist him. He turned and smiled at her, and as their eyes met, everything inside her melted. She loved him more than ever before, this time for who he was.

She was smiling broadly when she met Xavier in the lobby for breakfast half an hour later. Liam had promised to meet her in Paris that weekend, and she had another idea as well. She had been planning a trip to Italy, to see new artists in May. She wanted him to come with her, and was going to mention it to him that weekend.

“You look like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary,” Xavier commented with a grin. “What's up, Mom?” He was wondering about the date she'd had the night she came to London, and he asked her about it. “Someone special?”

“Nope. Nice, but boring.” She liked Phillip Henshaw, although she had no chemistry with him. But now that Liam was back, Phillip had flown right out the window, and didn't even know it. She knew what she was doing with Liam was insane, but she felt compelled to try it again. She reminded herself that doing the same thing again and again, and expecting a different result, was the definition of insanity. But there was absolutely no way she could resist him, and she didn't want to. She was so happy he was back in her life. She could hardly wait for the weekend. They had talked about her coming to London to see him on weekends too, but she was afraid she'd run into Xavier. She was definitely not ready to tell her children. First, they both wanted to see if this could work. She was betting on it, and so was he.

Her driver took her to the airport, and when she got back to Paris, she was all smiles. Bernard and Eugénie saw it the minute she walked into the gallery.

“Well, you're in a good mood,” Bernard commented drily. And when she got home that night, she was happy to see Socks. She was happy to see everyone now that Liam was back. Something was so different and so much better with him in her life.

She had a busy week at the gallery, and when Liam arrived on Friday night, she was waiting for him. She had made a cassoulet, which he said he loved, pasta, salad, and even bought fancy pastries for him at Fauchon. They ate in the dining room, put the music on, and lit all the candles. It felt like a honeymoon to both of them. And on Saturday she invited him to join her in Italy for three weeks in May. He was ecstatic. Everything was better than it ever had been for both of them.

He drove to Paris every weekend for the rest of April. They went to Deauville for one of them. They stayed in a funny old hotel and walked on the beach and gambled. Miraculously, no one in her life seemed to know what was going on. He arrived late on Fridays, lay low on Saturdays, and on Sundays they walked around, or drove into the country. They went to mass at Sacré Coeur, visited Notre Dame, and walked in the Luxembourg Gardens. They never ran into anyone she knew, and she turned down all invitations on weekends. Not because she was hiding him, but because she wanted to savor every moment she could spend with him. And once or twice, they dined with his artist friends in the Marais, who nearly fainted when they found out who she was. Most of them were half her age, which made her uncomfortable, but she knew being with them was something she had to tolerate for his sake. They told them they were friends. She knew he needed to see his friends. She saw hers, and the clients she entertained during the week, while he worked in London. They both knew it would be too complicated if he spent the weeks in Paris, and there would be no way they could keep their secret, with her gallery right in the same house. They had agreed this time to keep their affair quiet, until they felt more secure with each other again.

They left for Italy on the first of May. They began their trip in Venice just for the fun of it, and spent four glorious days like a honeymoon at the Danieli. He had flown in from London, and she from Paris, and they met there. They did all the tourist things, rode in a gondola under the Ponte dei Sospiri, which the gondolier said would bind them to each other forever. They had sumptuous dinners, shopped, visited churches and museums, and sat in cafés. They were the happiest days they'd ever shared.

From Venice, they rented a car and drove to Florence, where she was meeting with four artists. They did the same things in Florence they had done in Venice, and had lunches and dinners with the artists in between. She liked two of them very much, and thought their work was right for the gallery. She was uncertain about the third, and said she needed to think about it. They were unusual sculptures and possibly too big for her space. And the fourth artist was charming, but she disliked his work immediately. She told him kindly that she couldn't do him justice, and their gallery wasn't worthy of his work. She liked letting people down gently. There was no point hurting their feelings, or crushing them with unkind rejection. As Liam watched and listened, he liked how she did things. She was a good person and a nice woman, and he loved sharing what she did.

They went to Bologna and Arezzo, spent a week in Umbria, driving through the country and staying in small inns. A few days in Rome. A visit to an artist on the Adriatic Coast, near Bari, and they spent the last days of the trip in Naples, visiting an artist whom Sasha had warned him was utterly insane, but she was also very charming, had six children, cooked them a fabulous dinner, and Sasha adored her work, as did Liam. She did enormous paintings in vibrant colors, which would be a nightmare to ship. But by the time Liam and Sasha left her, they were all in love with each other, including the artist's Chinese lover of twenty years who was the father of her six kids. They were beautiful children. And it was a fabulous trip, for both of them.

They spent their last weekend in Capri, in a small romantic hotel. They were both sad at the prospect of going back to real life, and their own worlds. She loved waking up with him in the morning, going to sleep in his arms at night, discovering things together, meeting people, and sometimes just walking around while they shared pieces of their history, or laughed. They had both had difficult, somewhat lonely childhoods. He because he had been a talented artistic misfit in a supremely conservative and unimaginative family, and she because her father had been a cold taskmaster much of the time, although he loved her very much. It was only once she was an adult that he had come to respect her, and her opinions. Liam's family never had, and he still paid a high price for the ridicule and rejection he had suffered at their hands. They had both been shortchanged by not having their mothers present as they grew up. Liam remembered his as a warm, wonderful woman who adored him, and in whose eyes he could do no wrong. He was still looking for the unconditional love he had gotten from her and no one else, and sometimes Sasha felt that he expected her to mother him now. That kind of unconditional love was a lot to expect from anyone who had entered his life later on. Love between adults and lovers was always somewhat conditional, and often fell short of expectations, particularly when not all needs were reciprocally met. She had similar memories of her own mother, and she sometimes wondered if people always believed that those who had died had loved unconditionally. Perhaps they hadn't, or wouldn't have later on. But her memories of her mother were as sweet and gentle as his recollections of his. She wondered sometimes what it would be like if her mother were alive now, although she would have been very elderly, eighty-eight years old. Sasha had turned forty-nine on their trip. Liam had woken her up that morning singing happy birthday to her, and she groaned thinking of it. He had given her a simple gold bracelet he had bought for her in Florence. She never took it off once he put it on her wrist, and knew she never would.

The age difference between them still bothered her at times. There was no avoiding it. They seemed to have more in common than she once thought, the loss of their mothers, their passion for art, the things they enjoyed doing when they were relaxed and had more time. Galleries, museums, churches, shops. When removed from daily stresses, they were both fairly easygoing, loved traveling together, and were curious about life. They were drawn to different kinds of people. She gravitated toward venerable elders, perhaps because of her much older father and the people she'd been exposed to with him all her life. She was impressed by reputations and education, as well as talent. Liam was instantly attracted to all things different, unusual, new, and young. She liked innovation and eccentricity in art, but not in people. When they sat in a café, she watched older people. Liam always gravitated toward youth and within minutes had met every young person in the place. He was most comfortable with people in their twenties and thirties, she preferred people her own age, or older, which created a gap of many decades between the people they wanted to meet and spend time with. It was a difference between them that they both had to learn to respect and tolerate, which was not always easy to do. It bored her to hang out with traveling students, and even young artists. She felt she had nothing to say to them, and wasn't interested in their juvenile ideas. Liam felt there was much to learn from the young, and he identified with them to an unusual degree, for a man his age. Watching him with them, Sasha felt like he was one of them. Liam seemed to feel that way too. And he also said that talking to the people who interested her put him to sleep. It was definitely a stumbling block between them. But traveling on their own, isolated from their familiar lives, they were both somewhat more willing to investigate and explore new worlds.

“What are you doing with someone as old as I am?” she asked him one day, as they left a beautiful fourteenth-century church, and stopped to buy gelati by the side of the road. He looked like a big kid as he ate his, as it dripped everywhere, and she was holding hers in a lace handkerchief she had bought at Hermès. She felt like his mother, or worse, his grandmother, sometimes. “You're going to get tired of being with an older woman one day.”

It was one of her worst fears, and she always noticed him checking out young women. But so far, to the best of her knowledge, he had never acted on it. He just liked to look. She kept a close eye on him, and was more jealous than she was willing to admit. No matter how fit and attractive she was, young bodies were undeniably more appealing than hers.

“I like looking at young women sometimes, all women in fact,” he admitted readily, “but I love talking to you and being with you. You turn me on more than any woman I've ever known. I don't give a damn how old you are.”

She smiled at him, tossing the last of the gelato away. He was still licking the stick, and then wiped his hands on his jeans, which made an even bigger mess. She sat looking at him with a rueful grin. It was his childlike style that made her feel old sometimes, not her age.

“I love you, Sash. You're a beautiful woman. And yeah, okay, so you're not twenty-two. Who cares? Twenty-two-year-olds don't get it, don't interest me, and don't understand me. You do.” She didn't tell him that at times she wasn't sure she did either, but she knew what he meant and what he expected of her: tolerance, nurturing, and understanding above all else. He was very needy sometimes, and self-centered, as children are, and he liked the way she nurtured him. Sometimes, when she treated him like a child, it worked best. At other times, he wanted respect, and made a lot of sense when he expressed himself. They seemed equal at times, and not at others. In truth, they were not equal. She was older, more successful, more powerful in the art world than he was, she was respected and important, she had more money. But he was just as talented and smart. He could hold his own, even in her world, if she let him. So far they had not ventured into her world together. And when they did, he would still be viewed as a young artist, and she was one of the most respected art dealers in the world. It was a huge difference between them. People paid more attention to her than to him, which she knew would annoy him. Liam liked being the center of attention, which he always was with young girls. People her age expected more of him than great paintings, good looks, and blond hair. They expected him to be a serious person, and at times he wasn't. But with him, she wasn't always serious either, and she liked that about the time they spent together. She loved being playful with him. Sometimes they laughed so hard at each other's stories, or their own, that tears ran down their cheeks. No one had ever made her laugh like Liam. Or made love to her the way he did.

There were a lot of benefits to the combination they offered each other, and also some risks.

When they were in Rome, they went to visit an art dealer she liked and had done business with, a man in his late sixties whose ideas she respected. When they saw him, Liam had been having an off day. He acted like a bored schoolboy while they sat in his office. Liam had been sitting there pouting, swinging his foot, and kicking the desk, until Sasha turned to him quietly and asked him to stop. He was so furious over the reprimand that he had stormed out. Her colleague had raised an eyebrow and didn't comment. And she had been forced to decline lunch as a result.

Afterward, they had had a huge argument about it, and how badly behaved she thought he had been. It was the only unpleasant moment on the trip. Later, Liam had apologized for it, after they made love that night. He said he had been bored and tired, didn't like the way the man looked at Sasha, and it made him jealous. His confession touched Sasha, but it was too late to convince the Roman art dealer that the man she had brought with her was an intelligent, civilized adult. And it didn't bode well for the future yet again. There were lots of meetings like that in her life, and sometimes Liam just wasn't up to it. In fact, he rarely was. When he was bored or felt left out or unimportant, he almost always acted out, more often than not, like a child. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he was forty years old. At times, he seemed half his age, and looked it, which was part of his appeal, but also his greatest downside in Sasha's life. They still had a lot to work out. But all in all, their trip to Italy was a huge success.

Sasha called her children several times while she and Liam traveled. They both had her itinerary, as they always did, but rarely called her. It was almost always Sasha who called them, because she was harder to find, and she often turned off her cell phone. She and Liam were registered in hotels as Liam Allison and Sasha Boardman, which Liam said sounded like a law firm, Allison and Boardman, or tax accountants. And once in a while the hotels got it wrong and registered them as a single person, Allison Boardman, which they didn't mind. Tatianna was amused by it when she called her mother in Florence, and laughed, saying that she had asked for Sasha Boardman and they said all they had was an Allison Boardman, which was obviously the right person but the wrong first name. It meant nothing to her. If it had happened to Xavier, he might have wondered. But Tatianna made no association between her mother and Liam, except that she knew Sasha represented him. So it never occurred to her, that he was there. Sasha laughed along with her at the stupidity of operators in hotels, even good ones, to screw up her name.

She wasn't aware of it at the time, but the same thing had happened to Bernard, when he called her from the gallery in Paris. He had corrected the error of the first name, and they had insisted, and then corrected it themselves to Mr. Allison and Mrs. Boardman, which had stunned him, but he said nothing to Sasha about it until she got home.

It was her first day back, and she was working her way through the mountain of correspondence, files, and slides from aspiring artists that had accumulated on her desk during her three-week absence. It was overwhelming, but the price she had to pay for her trip.

Bernard had stopped in her office for a minute, sat down across the desk from her, and looked at her cautiously, wondering if it was the wrong time to broach it, or if he even should. But he was always concerned about her, like an older brother. He had been trained by her father, just as she was, and had worked for the gallery for more than twenty years. He had started there before she moved back to New York and opened the gallery there. He was ten years older than Sasha, but in an odd way, she had always felt as though they had grown up together, and they had, in the art world.

He sat looking at her across the desk for a long minute, as she glanced at some slides. She had told him all about the artists she'd visited, and the one she particularly liked in Naples. Sasha was enamored with her work, and the artist herself.

“Am I correct in believing that you had an art consultant with you?” He asked gently, and then quickly added, “You don't have to answer me if you don't want to, Sasha. It's none of my business.” She stopped and looked at him thoughtfully, and then nodded.

“How did you know?”

“The hotel in Rome had you registered as Allison Boardman, and when I corrected them, they explained it was Mr. Allison and Mrs. Boardman.”

“The same thing happened when Tatianna called me in Florence, more or less. Fortunately they didn't tell her the last part, about the Mr. and Mrs.”

“Is everything all right?” He looked concerned. He always worried about her, and always had. Ever since Arthur's death, there was no one to take care of her. She took care of everyone else, even him. She was an extraordinary employer and friend, just as her father had been before her. Bernard had deep loyalties to them both, and trusted no one else, except his wife.

“I think everything's fine,” Sasha said calmly, and smiled at him. “It's not what I expected to be doing with my life. And it's a little unusual to say the least.” She was still embarrassed by the difference in their age, and wondered if she always would be.

“I wondered, when he stayed with you for ten days. That's a lot of hospitality to offer anyone, even a good artist. Was that when it started?” He was curious as much as concerned.

“No, that's why he came. It started in January in London, when I went to see his work with Xavier. The same day, in fact. It has started and stopped several times since. I'm not sure what to do about it, to be honest. We're very different, and he's nine years younger than I am, which is awkward. And… what can I say… he's an artist… you know what that's like.” They both did. He laughed as she said it.

“So was Picasso.” Bernard smiled at her. “People put up with him. Liam's a nice boy.” He liked him, and respected his work, although he preferred more traditional painters.

“That's the problem,” Sasha said honestly, relieved to have someone to talk to about it. Bernard was a sensible man, and her friend. “He's young for his age. Sometimes he's a boy, and sometimes he's a man.” She sounded philosophical about it. But they both knew that with a life as complicated as hers, she needed a man, not a child, as her partner.

“We're all children sometimes. My wife still treats me like I'm twelve years old, and I'm fifty-nine. Actually, to be honest, I like it. It makes me feel comfortable and safe, and loved.” He said it honestly as Sasha watched him with pensive eyes.

“I think Liam feels the same way. His mother died when he was seven. I like taking care of the men in my life, of everyone in fact, but I don't want to be a mother to him all the time, and I might have to be. I also don't want to look like his mother, and sometimes I'm afraid I do that too.”

“No, you don't. Nine years isn't much of a difference, Sasha.” He wasn't opposed to the match, and it wasn't his business to be. He was just concerned for her, and he wanted her to be happy. He knew how lonely she had been since Arthur died, and his heart ached for her. There was nothing any of them could do to help her. Maybe Liam could.

“That's true. But it feels like a big age difference with Liam. He hangs out with twenty- and thirty-year-old artists, and I feel a hundred years old when I'm with them.”

“That's a problem,” Bernard admitted, and then sighed. “You don't have to make any big decisions. At least I hope not.” He didn't want her running off and marrying him on an impulse, but he knew Sasha wouldn't do that. She was a wise, sensible, very cautious woman, although the affair with Liam was certainly unusual for her, and showed a side of her he had never suspected.

“Don't worry. I won't do anything hasty. I'm not planning to do anything at all, just enjoy our time together, for as long as it lasts.” She still believed it wouldn't last long, and had no great hopes for the future. Bernard was relieved to hear it. He thought an affair with Liam was fine. A lifetime was something else.

“Do the children know?”

“No, they don't. Tatianna would probably kill me, and I'm not sure how Xavier would feel. He and Liam are good friends. That's hard to predict. I'm in no rush to tell them, and I won't if I don't have to. Who knows where it will go. Our time together has been very erratic. We stopped seeing each other from February to April. We just got back together before this trip, and it was lovely. We'll see what comes next.” She sounded extremely philosophical about it, and not stressed.

“Keep me posted,” Bernard said as he stood up. He was glad he had asked her. It all seemed discreet and sensibly handled to him.

That was all he had wanted to know. And she seemed happy with Liam. “Let me know if there's anything I can do to help.” That was enough for him for now.

“You just did. Just keep it quiet. I'm not planning to tell anyone, at least not until we see how this works for a while.” Bernard agreed. It had helped her to talk to him. She'd been worried that the people in her life would be horrified and fall out of their chairs in shock and disapproval. Bernard seemed perfectly comfortable with it, which made Sasha feel more at ease. She had no intention of telling Eugénie for the moment, or anyone else at the office or elsewhere. Although Eugénie took his calls, when he called the gallery, which was rare. Most of the time he called on her cell phone. And she was not planning to tell her children for a long time. She and Liam had agreed on that, and thought it was a wise decision. Telling her kids could complicate things, and they had enough to adjust to and deal with as it was. But so far so good. This time.

Liam came to Paris for the next two weekends. The weather was beautiful, they had a great time together, and they were both in good spirits. They spent all of their time together when he was there, and saw none of their friends. There was too much they wanted to do together, and they had little enough time as it was. They didn't want to share it with anyone, his friends or hers. And during the week, he had been hard at work preparing for his December show in New York. She was anxious for the world to see his work. He could hardly wait, and the work in his studio in London was going well.

They were walking in the Bois de Boulogne with Socks when she asked him about his children in Vermont, as she often did. She always encouraged him to talk about them. She knew he missed them a lot. It had been a year since he'd seen them. The divorce was in progress, and would be final around Christmas. Beth had told him she was getting married as soon as it came through. He said he had made his peace with it, and Sasha was convinced he had. They had both moved on. But the children still needed him, in her opinion, as he did them. Maybe more than he thought, or was willing to acknowledge. In Sasha's opinion, he seemed all too amenable to letting Beth handle them, and staying out of the way.

“Why don't you go over and see them this summer, Liam?” she encouraged him, as he threw a stick for Socks, who retrieved it. He had taught her a few tricks as well, and she had turned out to be a lovely dog. Sasha was crazy about her, even more so because she had been a gift from him. “I have to spend time with my kids in August.” They all had time then, and she loved spending every minute with them that she could, particularly when she and her two children could go away on vacations, which was becoming rarer and rarer as they got older and had ever-busier lives. She knew that one of these days they would have serious significant others, and it wouldn't be possible at all. These were her very last chances to do it, and each year seemed like the last one. “Maybe we could go away somewhere this summer after we both spend time with our kids.” She was always organizing him, which annoyed him at times and amused him at others. He knew it was just what she did. For everyone. She was a classic mother hen, which he also loved about her, especially when she mothered him.

“I don't even know if they want to see me,” Liam said honestly. He said often that they were angry at him for staying away for so long, which was what Sasha had feared. He called them infrequently, and when he did, the conversations were difficult. They blamed him openly for the demise of the marriage. Beth had told them enough to upset them, without the gory details, but none of them had forgiven him. It made calling them hard, and the distance had taken its toll as well. Sasha was afraid that if he waited too long to see them, the damage would never be undone, or not for years. She had warned him of that, too. After only one year, there was still time. His children were young. His oldest son was eighteen and leaving for college in September, his middle child, also a son, was twelve now, and his daughter had just turned six. They were young enough for him to rebuild a relationship with them, but only if he made an effort. And she knew he loved them. There were often tears in his eyes when he spoke of them, and he said he missed them. But he was beginning to feel they were Beth's children now, more than his. She saw them every day. He didn't.

“Why don't you ask them?” Sasha suggested. “Do you think Beth would let you take them somewhere?” She thought of offering him the house in Southampton, but she didn't want to interfere, and she didn't know if Tatianna planned to use it. She suspected she would. Both her children loved that house, and the memories they had there of their childhood. She had tender memories there, too. Of them, and Arthur.

“I'm not sure how she will feel about letting me take the kids. She's not too fond of me these days.” As Sasha knew from what he'd told her, the support he had sent her for the past year had been skimpy. Beth was being helped by her future husband, which embarrassed Liam and complicated matters further. Sasha had given him an advance, but Liam had to live, and buy paints and canvas. He couldn't afford to send her much. They both hoped it would improve after his show. But in the meantime, his financial situation was still tough. And as a result, so was Beth's. She'd been dealing with that with him for twenty years, and she was sick of it. Liam didn't blame her. She was going to be much better off with her new husband. He was happy for her. And he was happy with Sasha. The only thing missing in his life now were his kids.

“Why don't you call her and the children?” Sasha prodded, and he promised to do that during the week. After he did, he called Sasha, and reported on his conversation with Beth. He sounded pleased, and thanked Sasha for pushing him to do it.

“She doesn't want me taking them away. I can't afford to anyway. But she said I can come to visit, and take them for a few days if I want to. Her parents have a cabin on a lake near where she lives, and she said I could use that. The kids love it. The boys love to fish there.” It sounded like the perfect solution to both of them. Beth wanted him to come that month. They had other plans for the rest of the summer, and were planning to visit her future in-laws in California, and take a trip to the Grand Canyon.

“That sounds great,” Sasha said, sounding delighted. “I was going to talk to you about that anyway. I have to be in New York later in June, and I was thinking about staying for a few weeks. I was going to ask you if you want to come with me. As long as we're relatively discreet, you can stay at the apartment with me.” Tatianna was so busy with her own life, she hardly saw her mother when she was in town, never showed up unannounced at the apartment, and never stayed there now that she had her own place in Tribeca. Liam's presence would be easy to hide.

“I probably shouldn't take the time off right now, with a show coming up, but God, Sasha, I'd love it.” It sounded great to both of them. They had missed each other more than ever after their trip in Italy in May. She missed living with him. And there was lots for them to do in New York. “When are you going?”

“In about ten days. I was going to ask you about it this weekend.”

“Count me in. I'll come.” He was thrilled.

“If you can spare the time, we could spend part of the month there,” Sasha suggested. They both loved the sound of it. Their trip to Italy had been a huge success, and hopefully this would be too, although a little different since Sasha had to work. “We could spend the Fourth of July in New York and then come back to Europe.”

She was planning to work at the Paris gallery in July, and then leave on vacation with the kids in August. They were going to St. Tropez, which her children loved, and she had chartered a boat to entice them. Both of them were planning to bring friends, which was fine with her. The only part of it she didn't like was that she hated leaving Liam for three weeks. She had some vague plan to see if she could invite him on the boat for a weekend, as a “visiting artist,” but she wasn't sure yet if she could pull it off. Tatianna had a keen nose, and Xavier knew him. At her most devious, she thought of asking Xavier to invite him, but she didn't want to tempt fate. There was a distinct possibility, and it was more than likely, that she wouldn't see Liam for three weeks. But at least they'd have the rest of June in New York.

They were both excited when they talked about it that weekend. He had lots of artist friends in New York, in Chelsea, Tribeca, and SoHo. And there were places and events where she wanted to take him. There hadn't been so much as a hint of his wild and wacky artist side since they'd gotten back together, and she was feeling confident about going out with him, particularly in New York, where her life was so much less stuffy and formal than it was in Paris. He was going to fit in perfectly in New York. And they were both looking forward to it.

“Maybe,” she said wistfully, as they lay in bed on Sunday morning, “we could spend a few days at the house in the Hamptons. It's a beautiful place, and I used to love it.” In the twenty months since Arthur's death it had been too painful for her. Maybe now it would be different.

“I like the Hamptons,” Liam said casually, and then went back to talking about going to the lake with his children. Sometimes he didn't listen. Sometimes he was just a boy. And sometimes he needed everything to be about him and only him. She knew it wasn't personal, or a sign that he didn't love her. She understood it now. It was just the way he was. No one had ever listened to him as a boy. And now he had Sasha to hang on his every word. He loved that about her. “I wish you could come to Vermont with me,” he said, as he rolled over in bed and looked at her nose to nose. Their lovemaking just before that had been as sweet as ever. It seemed to get better over time, although she found that hard to believe since it had been fabulous since the beginning.

“You need to be alone with your children, to get reacquainted with them,” she said sensibly. He knew she was right. He was a little scared to see them. He knew that both of his sons were angry at him for staying away for so long. At six, Charlotte was just excited to see Daddy. He had talked to them a few days before on the phone. He hadn't even called them in months. Sometimes it just slipped his mind. Beth had always made excuses for him, and covered for him in his paternal lapses, but she wasn't willing to do that anymore. He also suffered from comparison to her fiancé, who was present and attentive to them. As a result, Liam had taken a hit for his year of absence. He had some serious repair work to do with them now, and he knew it. He was anxious to take it on. And thrilled to be spending the rest of June in New York with Sasha.

“Will you go to a Yankees game with me, Sasha?” he asked, lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling with a grin. He looked like a kid who could hardly wait to go to camp.

“I'll do anything you want, within reason. I have to work, too. But I think we can manage to do both, work and play. And I want you to see the space where you're going to have your show.”

“Mmmmm…,” he said, smiling at her. “You make me feel like a king.”

“That's a good thing.” She smiled at him, nestling next to him. Sometimes he made her feel like a queen. And sometimes he made her feel like the Queen Mother.

Chapter 11

Liam flew to Paris on a Friday night, and they flew to New York together from Paris on Sunday morning. She had treated him to the ticket, and they settled into first-class seats side by side. He looked like a kid at a birthday party, and took advantage of everything they offered. Caviar, champagne, he ate his lunch and most of hers, reclined the seat into a bed, covered himself with the duvet, and took a nap. He even changed into the pajamas, and for a moment, wearing the plastic bag on his head like a hat, he showed distinct signs of slipping into his previous unruly behavior. He watched two movies, ate a snack, used everything in the toiletry kit, and invited Sasha to join the mile-high club in the bathroom.

“I think we may have to sedate you for the next flight.” She grinned at him, after declining his offer to join the mile-high club. “We did that to Xavier once, because he always got airsick as a little kid. He had an adverse reaction to the medicine, and took off like a jet engine out of control. I've never seen a kid so hyper. After that, we just let him throw up on the flight till he outgrew it.” But she had never seen anyone enjoy a flight so much, or appreciate it as vocally, as Liam. He didn't stop thanking her from takeoff to landing.

“I always thought it was normal to sit with my knees wrapped around my ears, and my neighbors' elbows in my chest. This is a hell of a lot better,” he said, looking ecstatic, as he laid the seat back again and stretched his legs out.

He was still in great spirits when they went through customs in New York, and joked with everyone in sight. As usual, he made friends with all the flight attendants, most of whom Sasha knew and who knew her from previous flights. He called the customs inspector by his first name, and had an animated conversation about baseball with their skycap, while she located her car and driver. “Exuberant” didn't begin to describe it. But mostly he was just happy and grateful and excited to be there. And in spite of his acting like a spinning top, Sasha loved being with him.

He calmed down finally when they got to her apartment. He was impressed by how elegant it was. He appreciated the quality of the antiques and was somewhat taken aback by her paintings. There was a Monet, two Degas, and a Renoir, a series of priceless Da Vinci drawings, and countless others he hadn't even seen yet. In many ways, her apartment in New York was far more formal than her wing of the house in Paris, which she had kept simpler and more modern when she redid it. New York showed the evidence of a lifetime of collecting important artists, most of which had been purchased by her father and given to her as gifts.

“Wow, Sash… this is heavy stuff …” He stood in awe before a somber El Greco she had never liked, and kept in a hallway. She finally dragged him away long enough to show him her bedroom. She had a moment of hesitation herself, because she had never shared it with any man but Arthur. But it was time now. She was ready to open her doors and her life to Liam.

She asked him to put his things in the guest room, just in case one of her children turned up at some point, and she didn't want to shock the maid who came to clean daily, and had during most of her marriage. Liam didn't seem put off by her asking him to do that. He dropped his bag in the room down the hall and then wandered into her bedroom with a dish of ice cream. He looked perfectly at home as he sprawled out in Arthur's favorite chair, flipped on the TV, and caught up on the baseball game in progress. And then he looked up at Sasha with the boyish grin that turned her knees to mush, and burst out laughing.

“Boy, is this cool, Sash. I feel like I died and went to heaven.” He had grown up with money too, though perhaps not quite this much, but his family was prominent and solid. The only difference was that they had always treated him like a misfit and an outcast because he was artistic and different from them. He felt completely at ease and welcome in her apartment, and lately in her life. It made all the difference in the world to him, and now to Sasha. They were both in high spirits and enjoying the relationship they shared.

She suggested they go to a nearby restaurant that night. She checked in with Tatianna before they left, and as she had suspected, Tatianna was busy with friends, had a thousand plans that week, and told her mother she'd stop in to see her at the gallery when she had a free moment, more than likely on her lunch break. Sasha felt completely secure when she settled into bed with Liam that night. The housekeeper wasn't coming in till noon, and by then she and Liam would be long gone, she at the gallery, and he to visit his friends in SoHo. Their secret was safe here. And for all anyone would know, if discovered, Liam was nothing more exotic than a houseguest.

Liam won her heart forever when he put an arm around her that night in bed and pulled her closer to him. Despite his own excitement to be there, he had seen her face earlier that day when they entered the room. He had a feeling that being there with him was hard for her, and brought back memories of the past.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, lying close to her. She knew instantly that he understood, and she nodded.

“Yes, sweetheart, I am… thank you for asking.”

“I don't want to do anything that would offend you here. If you want, I'll sleep in the other room.” She looked up and smiled at him.

“I'd miss you too much. You're fine here,” she said, and kissed him. It was a gentle kiss and not one that suggested she wanted anything more from him than the understanding he'd just given her. He kissed her just as gently and held her close to him, as they did nothing more than cuddle that night.

She took him to the gallery the next day, and he was impressed by the space and the way they had used it. He liked the artist's work that they were showing, and squinted, imagining his own work in the same place. It was perfect for him, and now he had a better idea of how many pieces he'd need, how many horizontals and verticals. It was inspiring to him just being there. She introduced him to all her employees. Marcie, her assistant, nearly fainted when he sauntered in, and rolled her eyes in awe at Sasha behind his back.

“Oh my God, he looks like a movie star,” she said breathlessly, as Sasha laughed. She hated to admit it, but sometimes he did. She liked it better when they were home in old worn clothes, with uncombed hair, looking a mess. Sometimes it was daunting being out with him, and it made her feel her age.

“He's a nice guy, and a good artist,” Sasha said casually. “I'm glad we happened to be in New York at the same time. I think he's on his way to Vermont to see his kids.” Marcie nodded, impressed by him. Not only was he a hunk and talented, but he was even a good father. She had already idealized him after knowing him for five minutes. Sasha knew him better and was a little less dazzled by him than Marcie. She just loved him, clay feet and all. And like anyone else, he had them. So did she.

He spent the morning at the gallery with her, meeting everyone, and looking around. He looked in the racks, went upstairs to see the classical work, and then left for SoHo to meet his friends. He whispered to Sasha that he would see her at the apartment later, and she nodded.

Providentially, five minutes after he left, Tatianna walked in. She was on her way to pick up something from a photographer, and stopped in to see her mother. She looked happy and pretty as she always did and, as Sasha looked at her with new eyes now, extremely young. She was exactly the age of the women Liam always chatted with and admired. She had just turned twenty-four. Looking at her with a fresh perspective, Sasha felt ancient. She knew she was going to have to get over feeling that way if she and Liam were going to make it work. She had never thought about her age before, and now she was obsessed with it. Everyone else looked young to her. And she felt old.

“Hi, Mom. How long are you here for?” Tatianna asked as she grabbed a piece of chocolate from a dish and kissed her mother.

“A month, I think.” As always, Sasha was thrilled to see her daughter.

“That's a long time.” Tatianna was surprised to hear it. In recent months, her mother never stayed in New York long. The apartment she'd shared with Arthur depressed her, and she always said she felt his absence more acutely here.

“We're opening a show this month, I have to curate it, and I figured I'd stick around for a while. How's everything with you?”

“Great. I just got a raise, my editor hates me, and I want her job.” Tatianna was on top of the world. She smiled as she looked at her mother, happy to see her.

“That all sounds normal.” Her mother laughed.

“See you soon, I gotta go now. I'm late. I just wanted to say hi.” She had a cab waiting outside, and blew out as fast as she blew in, taking a handful of chocolates with her, in lieu of lunch. Sasha kissed her quickly, and she was gone.

Sasha had a busy day in the gallery, working on the new show. She curated their shows herself, and loved to do it. She had to tear herself away to meet Liam at the apartment at six o'clock. He was eating ice cream and pizza in the kitchen when she walked in, and kissed her on the mouth.

“Mmmmm… delicious. What is it? Rocky Road?”

“Fudge Brownie,” he corrected her. “I always forget how good the ice cream is in the States. In England, it tastes like shit.”

“It's worse in France.” She smiled at him. “Gelato is good …” She sat down at the kitchen table and looked at him, it was nice to see him there at the end of a long day. He seemed right at home.

“Gelato is for sissies,” he corrected. “This is the real thing. Have a piece of pizza, I'm taking you out.” She didn't want to tell him she was tired after a long day, and jet-lagged. He looked vibrant and full of life. He'd had a great day with his friends.

“Where are you taking me? Do I need to change?” All she wanted was to fall into a hot bath and relax before going to bed. She was exhausted after hauling paintings and curating all day.

“Yeah. Put on blue jeans,” he said, as he rinsed the bowl and put it in the dishwasher. He was good about those things when he was with her. His own place was a total mess. He'd been living in his studio since Beth and the children left, and camped out in a sleeping bag on a cot. This was grand luxury for him. “I got tickets to a Yankees game,” he said victoriously. “I bought them from a friend.” He glanced at his watch. “We have to leave in ten minutes. The game starts at seven-thirty, and there might be traffic.” He had lived in New York years before, for about a year, and always forgot how much he loved it till he came back again. He loved the electricity and excitement, and the Yankees best of all.

Sasha tried to look enthusiastic for his sake, and went to change. Once in a while, she wondered what she was doing with a man his age, who acted half his age. He needed someone like Tatianna, and instead he had wound up with her. She didn't bother with the pizza, but washed her face and combed her hair instead, and put on jeans and a white T-shirt and sandals. She pulled a shawl off a shelf, and ten minutes later was back in the kitchen. He was ready to go, wearing a Yankees cap he had brought with him from London.

“Ready?” He smiled down at her ecstatically. He chatted with her elevator man on the way downstairs, and told him they were going to the game. They were playing the Boston Red Sox. And he said it was going to be a great game. The Yankees were on a winning streak, and he told the elevator man they were going to cream them.

By the time they were in Yankee Stadium, Sasha was feeling better. The jet lag seemed to have receded again, he bought her a hot dog and a beer, and told her about both teams and the best players. He was a total fanatic about baseball, which Sasha thought was cute. It was a far cry from the stuffy dinner parties she didn't take him to in Paris. And actually, she liked this better. It was all new to her. She had never been to a baseball game in her life.

While they waited for the game to start, she told him she had seen Tatianna briefly that day, and he said he was looking forward to meeting her. Sasha couldn't help wondering how they'd get along. She hoped they would. It would make a difference in their relationship, she knew, if eventually her kids accepted him. She knew Xavier would, since they were friends, although she had no idea how he'd feel about Liam being involved with his mother. She worried about her daughter. Tatianna was unpredictable as to whom she liked, and whom she didn't. It was never an easy call, and she had stronger and far more critical opinions than her more easygoing brother.

Liam explained everything that happened at the game to her, and the Yankees won, six to nothing. He was ecstatic, and chatted animatedly with her all the way back in the cab. They went to bed right afterward, and again didn't make love, and Sasha slept like a log. He was leaving for Vermont the next morning, to see his kids, and told her he'd be back in four days and would call her from Vermont. She dropped him off at Grand Central Station, and went to the gallery after that. She felt silly, but she missed him as soon as he left. He had promised to be back by the weekend. She was thinking of taking him to the Hamptons, depending on how she felt. It had taken a little adjusting to get used to having him in the bed she had shared with Arthur at the apartment, and Liam had been sensitive about it. She was sure he would be in Southampton too. She just didn't know how she would feel. Their bedroom in Southampton was where she had seen Arthur for the last time. It was a sacred place to her, and she wasn't sure Liam belonged there. Yet. Or maybe ever. She needed to feel her way along on that one, and was in no rush to decide.

She was busier than she expected all week, went to several cocktail parties, had lunch with Alana, who was now happily married and spending every penny she could of her new husband's money, and saw Tatianna for dinner. Other than that, Liam had called her regularly to report on how he was doing with the kids. It had been difficult with his oldest son at first. Tom blamed Liam entirely for the divorce. Beth had finally told him the ugly details of the incident with Becky, and Liam was livid about it when he called Sasha. She told him to calm down and try to work it out with his son. It was better by the end of the week. They had spent a tearful night talking about it, and both father and son felt better in the morning. His twelve-year-old, George, had been happy to see him, but had developed a nervous twitch in the course of the year, and was on medication, which Liam thought he didn't need and wouldn't give him. He had called Beth about it, and she had threatened to pick them up at the cabin if Liam didn't give George his medication, so finally he did. And Charlotte was adorable and easy, thrilled to see her daddy, and the only mishap was that she fell off her bike and sprained her wrist. But other than that, everything had been fine. A typical weekend with kids, particularly kids he hadn't seen in a year. None of it surprised Sasha, although some of it shocked Liam. He had been in denial about the fallout of his absence during the entire time. Seeing them again woke him up.

“It's hard to walk into their lives after a year, and pick up where you left off,” he said to Sasha late one night when he called her. “Everything is changed, they're all different,” he had complained. But they were still his kids, and she had given him all the advice she could whenever he called her. He was grateful for her support, and looked exhausted but happy when he arrived back at her apartment late Friday night. He had just gotten off the train. And he looked delighted to see her. He had his baseball cap on backward, his jeans were torn at the knees, and he hadn't shaved all week. Other than the beard stubble, he looked like a boy coming home from camp.

She ran a bath for him, made him something to eat, handed him a bowl of ice cream, and he lay in bed and looked at her like an angel who had just come down from heaven.

“It was hard, Sash,” he admitted to her, as he ate the ice cream.

“I knew it would be,” she said calmly, happy that he was back.

“I didn't. I guess I told myself it would be like the old days when I saw them. It's not. It's different. They've changed. We felt like strangers at first. They were all really pissed at me.” The only surprising thing was that he hadn't known that. He'd been in denial, and expected time to stand still. But from what he said, after four days together, he had opened the door to healing and a better relationship with them. It had been a wonderful trip, and they were great kids.

“You have to come back and see them more often. It's not fair if you don't.” If she had to, she'd give him a ticket. She knew how important it was, even if he didn't. But she thought he understood it better now that he had seen them. They loved and needed him in their life. He was their father. Even if their new soon-to-be stepfather could provide better for them, they loved and needed Liam, and he had seen that. He had hated leaving them at the end of the four days.

She rubbed his back when she got into bed, and gave him a massage, and afterward he made love to her. It was the first time he had made love to her in that bed. But it was no longer hers and Arthur's. It felt like hers and Liam's now. He fell asleep almost the moment they stopped making love, and he looked like a big beautiful boy in her bed, as she lay beside him, stroked his hair, and kissed him in the moonlight.

Chapter 12

When Liam woke on Saturday morning after he'd been to Vermont, Sasha suggested to him that they go to Southampton for the weekend. She had been thinking about it all week, and hadn't mentioned it to him, because she wanted to be sure she felt she could do it. But as she made breakfast for him, she thought it was a good idea, and Liam was thrilled. It was a hot sunny day and he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than go to the beach.

They left the apartment in New York shortly after eleven, and by one-thirty they were there. She had been quiet on the ride out. Liam drove, and he looked relaxed as they chatted from time to time, mostly about his kids and the time he'd spent with them in Vermont. He was still slightly concerned about his oldest son, Tom, having discovered that since the last time he'd seen him a year before, he had turned into a very angry young man. He was going to the University of Pennsylvania in the fall, on a scholarship, and with his future stepfather's help with the dorm. Tom had pointed out to Liam several times that his mother's fiancé had done more for him in the last six months than Liam ever had. Liam had explained to Tom that he was a starving artist, and Tom said he didn't give a damn, and called Liam a flake and a lousy father. Tom had also confronted him about his one-night stand with his mother's twin. Liam was still furious that Beth had told him.

“That isn't fair,” Sasha said, frowning. “Your ex-wife shouldn't have told him.” It made Liam look terrible in his children's eyes, and she felt sorry for him, although it had been a stupid thing for him to do. But people made mistakes, and regretted them. It was obvious that Liam did. Sasha felt that his betrayal of their marriage should have remained between him and Beth.

“She didn't hold much back.” Beth had told Tom all about their father's sins, his one adultery, and financial irresponsibility for twenty years.

“How was she when you saw her?” Sasha asked, wondering about her.

“I didn't. She was out when I picked them up. Their grandmother was there, and she didn't say two words to me. Becky was at the house with Beth's new guy when I dropped them off. I hope she doesn't pull the same stunt with him. He's probably a lot smarter than I was.” He sighed then, and looked at her. “He seems like a nice guy. And the kids really like him.” She could tell, listening to him, that Liam felt left out. But at least he had gone to see them and opened up communications with them again, even if it had been hard with Tom at first. Liam had told her the night before that Tom had finally calmed down and warmed up. But he wanted to vent his anger first, and it was obvious that he had. She still thought Beth had been wrong to be so open with them about their father's fatal mistake. No matter what the end result, the incident itself should have remained known only to the adults. In her opinion, children didn't need to know their parents' sins, and she said as much to Liam.

“I think she's still pretty bitter about what I did. She sounds like it. She and Becky have always been jealous of each other.” He hadn't said a word to his ex-sister-in-law when he dropped the children off. Just nodded and drove off. Becky had said nothing.

By then, Sasha and Liam had reached the house in Southampton. It was a big rambling white Victorian that had reminded them of New England when she and Arthur bought it twenty years before. It looked like houses they had seen in Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket, and it had a wide covered porch all around it. She and Arthur had always loved sitting there on warm nights, and sometimes even all bundled up in winter, sipping hot chocolate. She tried to force the memories from her head as she opened the door for Liam. She usually walked in through the kitchen, but this time she decided to go in through the front door, so it would be different.

“It's a beautiful old house, Sasha,” Liam said, as he looked around. They had kept it rustic and simple, but it looked comfortable and inviting. There was nothing pretentious about it. There seemed to be no important art, just pretty things, big inviting leather chairs, and two canvas-covered couches. And then he saw the painting by Andrew Wyeth over the mantel. It was stark and bleak and beautiful, and one of his most famous paintings. It looked just like the beach outside, on a winter day. There were little tufts of snow on the ground, and you could sense a stiff breeze in the air on the canvas. It was without a doubt the work of a great master.

“Wow!” Liam said, as he stood staring at it in awe. He had admired Wyeth all his life. “I'd give my ass to own a Wyeth.” He whistled and then smiled, as she laughed.

“My father gave it to us for a wedding present.” There were a lot of things like that in the house, mementoes, treasures, things the children had made, early American furniture they had bought together on trips through New England early in their marriage, or when Tatianna was in college and they drove up to see her. There was a beautiful old battered refectory table in the dining room that Sasha had bought in France. Everywhere he looked, Liam saw things that he knew instinctively that she treasured. The house had deep meaning for her, and he realized easily that it had meant a lot to her to bring him there. Even more than her New York apartment. Much more. This house was far more personal, and more important to her.

“I think I'd move here if I had a house like this,” Liam said admiringly as he sprawled out on the couch, took off his baseball cap, and looked around.

“We used to spend the summers here when the children were small. They still love it, although neither of them comes out here very often. I think it makes all of us sad. It was Arthur's great love, and at one time mine.”

“And now?” he asked, looking at her tenderly. This was yet another side of her that he was glad to know. She had as many facets as a diamond, and shone as brightly, although he could see that her eyes were sad.

“I've only been out here once since he died. But I didn't stay. I couldn't. This morning I knew I wanted to come here with you.” He was touched and flattered, as he stood up and walked over to put an arm around her. She was letting him into her private world, which he knew was the best gift she could give him. “I should probably change some things and redecorate. Every-thing's looking a little tired,” she said, glancing around. It looked worse than she remembered, as she suddenly saw it through Liam's eyes.

“I like it like this. It makes you want to sit down and stay forever.” She smiled at him. That was how she had always felt about it, and in some ways still did. The only thing missing was Arthur, but Liam was here now.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, as she pulled back the curtains and raised the shades. Sun streamed instantly into the room, and they could see the ocean and the beach from where they stood. She had brought a bag of groceries from the city to make lunch and breakfast for him. She thought it would be fun to take him to one of the local restaurants for dinner.

“I'm okay. I could make something for you.” He carried the bag into the kitchen and set it down. It was a huge old country kitchen, with a giant butcher-block table in the middle of the room, and worn counters. The house looked well used, and much loved, because it was.

He made both of them turkey sandwiches, and opened two cans of soda, which he drank out of the can and Sasha poured into a glass. As soon as they'd finished eating, he suggested they walk on the beach. They hadn't been upstairs to her bedroom yet, and he had a feeling that was going to be hard for her, too. The house was full of memories, and one much-loved ghost, her husband. Liam wanted to tread gently here, and he thought the air would do her good.

They walked down the beach for nearly an hour, holding hands most of the time, in comfortable silence. He stopped to pick up shells from time to time, and at the far end of the beach, they sat down, and then stretched out and looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue and the sun was bright. The sand was warm beneath them.

“This is my favorite place of all your houses,” he said as he lay there with an arm around her. “I love it here.”

She could see he did. “I wish my kids could see it one day. They love the beach.” And so did he.

“Maybe they will,” she said quietly, then sat up, and looked down at him with a gentle smile. He always looked so beautiful to her, especially here at the beach, with his blond hair loose and blowing in the breeze. Hers was in a braid, which she often wore at the beach.

“Do you swim here?” he asked with interest.

“It's still pretty cold this time of year. I don't usually brave it until after the Fourth of July, and it's still cold then. It doesn't really warm up till August.” And by then, she'd be in St. Tropez with her children. She wanted Liam to join them for at least one weekend, and had said as much to him, but they hadn't planned it yet.

“Do you have a wet suit at the house?” Liam asked.

“I think Xavier left one here.”

“Maybe I'll go in this afternoon. Want to join me?” She laughed in answer.

“I'm not that crazy. You must be a tourist,” she teased him, and then they walked back to the house.

He found the wet suit in the garage, while she unpacked their things upstairs, and came down looking pale. Every time she saw her bedroom and the huge four-poster bed, she thought of the last time she had seen Arthur, when he told her he loved her, the morning she left for Paris. And the next day he was dead. But she didn't mention it to Liam. It was her private cross to bear, and she didn't want to spoil the weekend for him, or make him feel uneasy in her bed.

He was already wearing the wet suit when she came downstairs. He looked like a very tall, blond seal, and he had tied his long wheat-colored mane into a ponytail. “I'm going in. Do you want to watch me?” He reminded her again of when Xavier was small and whatever he did, was always shouting “Watch me, Mom!”

“Okay.” She followed him onto the beach, and sat down while he waded in. At least it was bearable in the wet suit. She knew it wouldn't have been otherwise. He swam for a few minutes and then came out, dripping the chilly water of the Atlantic all around him.

“Shit, it's even cold in the wet suit.” He shivered, and she smiled.

“I told you.” But he looked as though he enjoyed it.

They walked back to the house then, and she took him upstairs. She had unpacked his things and hung them in the closet next to hers. She had had a lock put on Arthur's closet the year before. Everything was still there. She hadn't cleared it out yet, and had no idea when she would, if ever. This was his house, too. Even now. In some ways, it always would be. Liam was a guest here. He was well aware of it as he looked around the room. There was a strong male influence in the decor. There were a lot of paintings of birds and fish, and a large one of a sailing ship over the bed. She hadn't brought any of her contemporary pieces here. Most of those were in Paris. This was a whole other life. Even he could sense Arthur here, although he'd never known him.

Liam took a hot shower after his swim, and they drank wine, sitting on the porch. She had made a reservation at a small fish restaurant. They drove there at seven, both ordered lobster, and drank more wine. As they chatted over dinner, he could see Sasha relax.

They sat on the porch again when they went home, talking softly in the moonlight, and at midnight, they went upstairs. He could tell this was another one of those places that was sacred to her, and he didn't make love to her that night. They just lay in bed and cuddled. And in the morning, she didn't tell him that she dreamed of Arthur that night. It was a peaceful dream. He was walking away from her on the beach, she didn't try to catch up to him. And when he turned to smile and wave at her, he looked happy, and then he disappeared.

She made Liam a huge breakfast of scrambled eggs and waffles. They had a big well-used waffle iron in the kitchen. Liam made coffee. They walked on the beach, lay on the porch, and Liam took a nap in the hammock. By late afternoon, as the sun started to go down, they decided to spend another night. Their time together there had been absolutely perfect, and just what they needed.

They cooked dinner together that night, slept peacefully, cuddled up together, and drove back to the city on Monday afternoon. She didn't even bother to go to her office. And they had dinner with friends of his in SoHo that night.

They met at an Italian restaurant. There were four artists and two sculptors. They talked about galleries and shows, the work they were doing. They were younger than Liam, she guessed most of them to be in their late twenties and early thirties. Liam introduced her only as Sasha. She stopped and listened as one of them mentioned her gallery over dessert. She was a pretty young woman who said she was going to drop some slides off the next day, as Sasha glanced at Liam, and he smiled. He didn't explain who Sasha was, and on the way back uptown in a cab, she asked him if the girl was any good.

“She will be. She's not ready for you yet.” It seemed funny to her to be anonymous among them. Funnier yet that they didn't realize who she was. There was something about it she liked, although she felt a little bit of a fraud, as she listened to them talk openly about rival galleries and then hers. Her name had come up more than once as a legendary figure.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked with a yawn as she got into bed beside him. She missed the beach.

“I'm going to a Yankees game,” he said with a look of delight.

They were leading a very nice life. Beach, friends, artists, baseball games for him, work for her. It seemed magical and easy to both of them, and she was grateful for his presence. Without meaning to, he had changed her life, and added something she'd never had. A youthful side of life that had eluded her when she married young and had babies. Even before that, she had been busy learning from her father, and then later working for him. She had never led the casual, unconventional life that Liam was still enjoying at forty. None of these people had tasted success yet, or the responsibilities and burdens that came with it. They worked hard but made almost nothing. Few if any were married, and no one but she and Liam had children. They seemed to have no responsibilities at all. Liam did, but his were being taken care of by someone else, his ex-wife and her future husband. She would have liked to meet his children. Maybe one day that would happen. And in the meantime, he still seemed like a child to her.

Sasha was busy at the gallery that week, preparing for the opening the following week. She curated all the shows herself, and sometimes even hung the paintings, working late into the night.

By Friday, she was exhausted and ready for another weekend at the beach. This time they left on Friday, just as she and Arthur used to. They got to the house by nine, sat on the porch, and went to bed early. And this time, ever so gingerly, they made love. Everything seemed to go fine. She was getting used to having Liam in her private world. It was a major step for Sasha, even more than for Liam.

On Saturday, as they walked down the beach, she told him she was invited to a party, and asked him if he'd like to come. It was being given by a well-known Hollywood actress. The movie set had recently discovered the Hamptons, and Sasha had met her two years before through friends. She had received the invitation the month before, and Marcie had reminded her of it on Friday, before Sasha left. It sounded like fun. It was supposed to be a big clambake, with entertainment and a band. When she told Liam about it, he looked surprised at the invitation. She had never invited him to a party before, and he knew she'd been reluctant to do so.

“You want me to come?” He was flattered. She had never offered to take him to any other social event before. This was a first.

“Yes” was all she said, without explanation. He didn't question her further.

The party began at seven, and they arrived at eight. The invitation had said informal, but Sasha knew that some of the women might dress up a bit. She wore white slacks, a white silk sweater, and a string of pearls, with her hair in a loose bun. Liam wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a blazer she had brought for him, without telling him why she had, along with a pair of loafers she had found in his closet in the guestroom.

“And you don't have to wear socks,” she teased him. “It's considered fashionable here if you don't.”

“Then maybe I should. I'd hate to start being fashionable now.” He had taken great pleasure all his life in swimming against the tides.

In the end, he didn't, and they both fit right in. They made a striking couple, and Liam admitted to her in a whisper that it was impressive meeting their movie star hostess and her famous friends. There were at least a dozen faces there that anyone in the world would have recognized at first glance.

“I wish I could tell someone,” he whispered. But the only person he had to tell was her.

“It always impresses me too to meet people like that,” Sasha confessed.

They stayed until nearly one in the morning, danced to the band that had been flown in from L.A., and they both looked happy and tired when they got back to the house. He had been a perfect gentleman all night, and she had felt totally comfortable with him. Several of the women there had been with much younger men, with far greater age differences than hers and Liam's. It was the rage in Hollywood for older women to date younger men. She commented on it to Liam as they got into bed.

“I told you I hate being trendy,” he said, looking unconcerned. He had had a terrific time, and was proud to be out with her. “Besides, nine years is no big deal.”

“Maybe not to you,” she said with a giggle as she snuggled next to him and he turned off the light. “I'm not sure my kids would feel that way.” And on bad days, neither did she.

“When am I going to meet Tatianna?” he asked in the darkness.

“Probably at the opening this week. She doesn't always come, but she said she would this time.”

“Do you think she'll like me?”

“Maybe. It's hard to tell. Tatianna is tough to predict. She has strong opinions. She loves some people, and others she hates. It'll go a lot better if she doesn't know you're involved with me.” She had no intention of telling either of her children for the moment. It was none of their business. She and Liam were still taking their relationship out for a spin. They hadn't decided to make a down payment on it yet. But so far they were doing well. Even she had to admit it, although she had doubted it was possible. So far so good.

Chapter 13

Liam was excited about the show at her gallery that week. It was going to give him a sense of what they'd be doing for him in six months. And he liked the artist whose show it was. He was a young man from Minnesota whom Sasha had discovered at the art fair in Chicago the year before. He did powerful, provoking work. She had been at the gallery till two in the morning the night before, hanging his paintings, standing back and looking at them, then moving them around again, until she liked it. She was a perfectionist in all things.

Liam had stuck around till midnight to watch her do it. She was so lost in thought and concentration, she hardly talked to him, and finally he left. He was sound asleep in her bed when she got home.

The next day Sasha was at the gallery all day. She showered and changed her clothes there, and was greeting guests when Liam walked in for the party at six o'clock. She looked beautiful in a white linen suit, in stark contrast to her jet-black hair, dark eyes, and summer tan. Her eyes were a deep sable brown, and sometimes looked almost black. She smiled at him the moment she saw him walk in. She introduced him to the artist, and several more people, and then left him to greet others. He was wearing black slacks, a white shirt, his loafers, no socks, no jacket or tie. But in the uptown arty group, what he had worn seemed appropriate and didn't stand out. The artists wore all manner of dress, her clients wore suits and ties. There were several well-known models there, a famous photographer, who bought her work frequently. Writers, playwrights, art critics, museum people, and others who just came for the free ride and the champagne and hors d'oeuvres. It was a standard New York art opening, only better, because Suvery Gallery was top of the line.

Tatianna walked in at eight o'clock, the crowd was thinning out by then, but there were still plenty of people scattered through the exhibition rooms. She was on her way to dinner somewhere, and came because she had said she'd stop by. Her mother's openings were old hat to her. She was wearing a simple turquoise silk summer dress and sexy high-heeled silver sandals, and she looked striking as she walked in. With her halo of almost-white blond hair and big blue eyes, she looked nothing like her mother. Liam saw her stop to talk to Sasha and wondered instantly who she was, and then he saw her kiss her mother, as the two women exchanged a warm hug. He knew then it was her daughter, but nothing about their appearances, nor their style, would have suggested to anyone that they were related. Tatianna was slinky and sexy, and everything about her was standoffish and cool. Sasha was far warmer and more animated, introducing people to each other, smiling, and talking. The essence of Sasha was warm and inviting. To Liam, the core of Tatianna seemed cold. Sasha had told him that Tatianna was shy. She stood apart from everyone for a moment, as her eyes swept the room. He could tell from looking at her that she was used to men admiring her. At twenty-four, striking in her youth and beauty, she was at the height of her game. Her mother was much humbler, and although she was striking too, part of her charm was that she was unaware of her beauty, and always had been. Sasha had tremendous charisma and charm. Liam found Tatianna daunting, just watching her from the distance. He kept his eyes on her as people came to talk to her, and then as though sensing him, she turned her head and her eyes met his. He had the feeling she didn't like him, even from across the room.

He waited a while before going over to talk to her, so she wouldn't suspect anything. He didn't want to appear anxious, or as though he were pursuing her.

He nearly bumped into her as he walked by her, and helped himself to an hors d'oeuvre from a passing tray. She was standing, looking aloof, while three young men crowded around her, and she sipped a glass of champagne. He decided to join the group.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly, “I'm Liam Allison. Nice show, isn't it?” She looked at him as though he had said something rude. Everything about her body language told him not to enter her space. Sasha was far more nurturing and welcomed people in. She was the consummate mother.

“Yes, it is,” Tatianna said, seeming indifferent to him. “Are you an artist?” He looked like one, almost everyone there did, and she had met a lot of them in the course of her life. She wasn't easy to impress.

“Yes, I am. I'm having a show here in December.”

“What kind of work?” He explained his theories to her, and suspected she hadn't listened to a word, which would have been correct. She had heard it all before. She seemed to lack her mother's innocence, vitality, and excitement about life. He liked Sasha a whole lot better. Independent of his relationship with her mother, he would never have pursued this girl. She was far too cool and snooty for him. And he was far too old and arty looking for her. The men she went out with were preppy and traditional, and most of them worked on Wall Street. She thought the men she met in the art scene, even at her mother's gallery, were self-centered jerks. She assumed the same about him. With only a few words of conversation between them, they took an instant dislike to each other. In an effort to warm things up a little, if only for Sasha's sake, he mentioned that he knew her brother. She nodded, and seemed not to care. She realized then that she'd heard his name before, but Xavier always had crazy, badly behaved friends. Tatianna didn't.