Chapter 4
“I can’t believe this,” Harper says while buzzing by my side and enjoying her second glass of champagne. A curl has escaped the headband and has fallen in a whirl over her temple.
She’s admiring a giant abstract. It has whorls of green and blue, and, to my eye, it’s nice but not unique.
“Believe what?” I ask. “It’s the fortieth abstract we’ve seen tonight.”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. This might be our twentieth, but it’s not a true abstract at any rate because… see those black lines along there? They’re interspersed and represent walls. It’s a recurring theme in his pieces. And you have the chance to buy it.”
“Mm-hmm.” I raise an eyebrow at her. Tonight, she’s been happier than I’ve seen her in a long time, listening to everything Susan Ritchie said during the tour with rapt fascination. They ended up discussing the merits of Soren’s art until I think they both forgot I was in the room.
It’s wonderful to see.
Selfishly, I’m glad I could give her this evening. That despite the Dean-shaped box hidden in the back of a metaphorical closet, she said yes. I want to give her more experiences like this.
“You know what,” she says, her tone teasing. “I don’t think you deserve to own this painting. Not if you won’t admire it the way it should be. This should be hung on its own wall and given ample space to be admired. There should be a chair in front of it just to sit on and observe it.”
“I would love to see how you live, if that’s your decorating ethos.”
“Oh, I don’t have any art like this,” Harper says. “But if I did, that’s what I’d do.”
I run a hand along my jaw. “And you said this was for sale?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re recommending I purchase it.”
She looks up at me, and her eyes are trepidatious. “Well, I don’t know if I would… it’s a big thing, to recommend for you to buy it.”
“You’ve done it plenty of times before.”
“No, I didn’t know you actually acted on my words before,” she says. “That was different. I was just expressing my opinions.”
“So express it again about this. Don’t think about me or my wallet. If you were building an art collection, would this piece be something you include?”
Her eyes light up, and she waits only a second before answering. “Yes. It would be.”
“Great. I’ll buy it.”
“Jesus, Nate, you can’t… Oh my God. Will you really?”
“Of course. I have it on great authority that this is a wise investment.”
“That’s not what I said,” she retorts.
I turn, intending to find Susan and tell her to reserve the painting when Harper’s hand grips the sleeve of my suit jacket. “Nate. It’s terribly expensive.”
“I know.”
“No, it’s like… this is the kind of painting galleries buy. Not private individuals.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Let’s pretend I’m starting a gallery, then.”
Harper lets out a nervous laugh. “Okay. Okay, yeah. It’s just… God, you’re rich.”
That makes me chuckle. “Hate to break it to you, but yes, I am. Thought you knew that already, though.”
“I knew. But I haven’t actually, like, seen it before.” She shrugs and looks away from my gaze. “The sports car, the gallery invite… the art purchasing. It’s big leagues stuff.”
Her tone of voice makes me want to ask what she thinks of it. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing.
“I suppose it is,” I say instead.
Dean’s well-off, but she’s never seemed interested in glitzy or glamorous things. I know they’ve done some traveling, and I suspect he spoiled her when they were together. But I’ve also always had this feeling that she didn’t appreciate being indulged, at least not the way he did it.
Should’ve taken her to art galleries.
The thought feels sour in my mind. Dean is hurting. I know he is. And so is Harper. I shouldn’t be taking any joy from their breakup.
It probably makes me an asshole for feeling relief when Dean first told me about it.
I know I’m terrible for bringing her here.
“Nate,” she says. She glances from the painting I intend to buy back to me, and there’s a nervous glint in her eye. “I truly appreciate us being here tonight, and that you invited me.”
“I sense there’s a but coming.” I raise my champagne glass in her direction. “Let’s hear it.”
“But, I’m confused why you’re not angry with me.” Her eyes narrow, her eyebrows furrow. “I’m not telling you to be angry if you’re not. I’ve just been trying to figure out why you’re doing this for me. Why you have agreed to put… to put him in a box, agreeing not to discuss everything? Why aren’t you furious?”
“It sounds a lot like you want me to be angry with you.”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean.”
My brow rises in disbelief. “Isn’t it? Because I feel aggression coming from your side of this argument.”
Harper rolls her eyes, and a smile tugs at her lips. “Can you be serious for five minutes?”
“I can, if you force me to be. Let me think, why am I not angry with you…” I take a long sip of my champagne and focus on the whirls of paint on the canvas in front of us.
What answer can I give that she’ll accept?
“Back home, everyone is angry,” she says.
My eyes dart to her again. The furrow is still there, creasing her forehead, and there’s a look in her eyes that I don’t like. Not at all. “Not everyone,” I say.
“Well, Dean sure is. Dean’s parents and his sister. Even my parents are… concerned. I feel like I set off a bomb and then got on a plane.” Her gaze shifts to own glass of champagne, and she chuckles a little. “Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have had a second one of these.”
“Champagne tastes best when it’s free,” I say. I feel numb, hearing her words, her question, and seeing the look of sadness on her face. Sadness about the end of a relationship while I felt nothing but joy at the same.
It’s a punch to the gut, knowing how fruitless my feelings for her are, and how wrong they’ve always been. How unwanted, unneeded, and unwise.
And how I’ve never been able to turn them off regardless.
“Maybe you did,” I say. “Set off a bomb. But maybe you needed to. And the people in your life will realize that with time.”
“Will they?” she asks. But she’s smiling a bit. “Because I don’t think Dean’s parents or his sister will ever come around.”
“Maybe they won’t,” I admit. “But maybe that’s not… a huge loss.”
Her eyes widen, and then she chuckles. “No, you’ve met them, too. I don’t think it might be.” Then, she covers her face with a hand. “God, what am I saying? Please don’t tell?—”
“Of course not. Never.”
Harper nods, and her hand slides down to the side of her neck. She cocks her head. “So? Why aren’t you angry?”
I thought I escaped that question.
“Because you broke up with Dean?” I ask. Like clarification is necessary.
And it’s really, really not.
But she nods anyway. “Yeah. So close to the… the wedding.”
“If that was the right path for you,” I say, “then it was the right path for him, too. You shouldn’t be together unless both of you are fully in. In time, I’m certain he will realize that as well.”
She digs her teeth into her lower lip. “Yeah.”
“And besides, we’re friends. Always were.” I incline my head toward the painting we’re standing by. “Not to mention, you’re invaluable to my private interests. I couldn’t possibly lose that kind of asset just because of a breakup.”
Harper laughs a little. “Of course. Right.”
“Now come on. I think the artist himself is here somewhere.”
“What? Really?”
“I heard he might show up around… yeah, around eight to give a speech.”
She smiles. It’s wide and happy, and her eyes dance with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. That I’m here. This is incredible.”
“Believe it,” I say quietly. I want to make her smile like that again.
Harper turns, and her curls brush against my shoulder. I catch a scent of her perfume, of something floral with just a hint of spice.
Her voice is soft. “Look, see those people over there? By the sculpture? The woman in red is a legend in the British art scene. I’ve heard such cool things about her.”
“Go say hi.”
“I can’t.”
I nod. “Yes, you can. Go. Say hi.”
“She would?—”
“What do you have to lose?”
Harper digs her teeth into her lower lip again, but then she nods. Resolve enters her eyes. “You’re right. I have every right to be here.”
“Of course you do.”
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
My phone buzzes in my suit pocket. I wish I could chuck it across the room. It’s the second call tonight, and there was a reason I didn’t pick up the first one. But I also know that I can’t let it go too long without a response, or he’ll keep calling, and at the worst possible moments.
“Go ahead. I’ll join you in a bit.”
She nods and walks in a straight line toward the art legend she wants to speak with. I watch her go, taking in her familiar form.
I answer my phone without looking away. “Hey.”
“Nate,” Dean says. “How’s London?”
“It’s good. Same as always.”
“Great. Look, I know I’ve been… Did you do what I asked you to do?”
I look at Harper. She’s made contact with the lady in red. She nods a few times, her curls bouncing. “Yes. I spoke to her at her work.”
“And?”
“She’s fine. She’s doing well here.”
He sighs on the other end. “Good. It’s so fucking frustrating that she won’t… anyway. Good. Thanks for checking up on her.”
“Yeah,” I say. It’s the one thing I agreed to do when he called and told me the wedding was off, and that she was heading to London.
And now that’s done.
“So, ah… I’ve been thinking,” he says. “She needs time to cool off. To come to her senses and get over this whole rebellious idea of hers. I figure I’ll give it a month or two and then I’ll fly over there. See if I can make her see reason once she had a few weeks to consider her actions.”
“Dean, I’m not sure?—”
“It’ll work. It has to work,” he says. “But I need another favor, man. Can you keep an eye on her? Make sure she’s not getting into trouble?”
In the distance, Harper’s hands are moving animatedly as she describes something. I see the lady in red smile.
“Mm-hmm. Sure.”
“Thanks, man. That’s all I need, to know she’s doing okay.”
“Right. Look, what really happened between you two?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t, but the question slips out, disappearing into my phone, and off across the Atlantic.
“Fuck if I know. One day everything was fine, and the next, it’s over. Her explanations made no fucking sense, and I?—”
“I have to go,” I cut in, spotting Harper’s excited smile and frantic wave, calling me over.
“Nate?”
I’m already walking her way. “Talk to you later, Dean.”
I hang up and slide the phone into my pocket. My insides churn, a bitter taste sitting on my tongue. A feeling I am familiar with. Lived with for years.
Guilt.
Guilt for wanting my best friend’s girlfriend.
Guilt for accepting dinner invitations that I should have declined.
Guilt for looking Dean in the eye and telling him that they make a great couple.
And now… Keep an eye on her.
That’s never been a problem.
Keeping my eyes off Harper was always the issue.