29
Before sunrise, I sit up in bed, but Liam isn’t beside me.
I smooth my hands over the sheets, confused. Where is he? My eyes adjust, and I see him asleep on the couch in front of the main bank of windows.
Our last conversation comes rocketing back into focus, and my stomach plummets. He wants to take some time apart while he’s
on his book tour. And I have a gallery to save. I groan and heave myself out of bed, take a quick shower, and make the strongest
pot of coffee I can. While I wait for it to brew, I scroll through my phone, once again trying to find intel on Ben but coming
up blank. He isn’t a composer anymore, apparently, and he has zero recent online presence, which, in this day and age, is
both annoying and impressive. I’ve even searched obituaries to make sure he hasn’t passed away.
Liam finally sits up, hair sticking up at adorable angles. I shove my phone into my pocket guiltily and pour him a cup of
coffee.
He graciously accepts it and takes a long, sleepy sip. “Thanks.”
I contemplate what to say as my phone begins to ding with incoming texts. I feel like Liam and I have so much to talk about, and yet if Rita and I want to pull off our big idea, we have to work around the clock until it’s done. I gather my things and pour my coffee in a to-go mug. “Do you think we can talk when I get home?”
“I’m going out with my team tonight,” he says, pulling on a T-shirt. “About the new tour dates.”
I hate that I’m putting a damper on his exciting news, so I try to stay neutral. “Okay, maybe tomorrow?” I don’t know how
this will all end, but I do know that Liam cannot leave for his book tour with us at odds. I’ve done it once before—leaving
him and our relationship—and I won’t do it again, even in this fake world.
“We’ll see. Good luck today.” He adds another splash of cream to his cup before slinking out onto the balcony. I stare after
him and almost cancel my day. This is way more important than an art gallery, or my career. This is Liam.
But part of me doesn’t trust myself to spend all day with him. What if I let my guard down? What if I make a mistake? I choose
to stay on safer territory and battle the foot traffic to the gallery because I’m not sure how to fix a relationship I can’t
fully lean into. Is this part of my lesson here? To choose between love and work? Before I can go too far down that rabbit
hole, Rita is waiting for me outside, talking to someone on the phone. She ends the call and taps her watch with a pointy
nude nail. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”
“Sorry.” We rush inside, where, to my surprise, our idea is already underway. Rita has called in the biggest online art influencers to post about this upcoming show. For my big idea, we’ve nabbed the freshest talent to each bring in a half-finished piece. Attendees will be allowed to contribute to any piece they want, so that the art becomes “living art.” Then we will have an auction, where a quarter of the proceeds will go to a charity I picked. I chose a pancreatic cancer charity as a way to honor Ben, even in this other world. The other two-thirds will go to the artists and the gallery.
After crunching the numbers, it could be enough to save the entire business and put us back on the map in terms of innovation.
Rita already has interviews lined up with some of the largest trade publications.
“This is going to be a moment,” Rita says, extending her arms in front of her. “Like before.”
Though I wasn’t around when Rita was at the peak of her career, I’ve read all about it. The parties. The intrigue. The mystery.
There was no social media to tease an event. It was simply word of mouth, reporters, and the clout of being invited. We’re
creating a bit of mystery around this event too, and it feels different, purposeful even, despite it being a Hail Mary to
save the gallery.
“I really think it’s going to work,” I say.
With less than three weeks to go, our list of to-dos is a mile long. After crossing off most of our tasks, Kendall stops me
in the hall.
“Hey, lady. You got a visitor.” She lifts her eyebrows suggestively and then motions toward the front door. Liam stands there
and offers a wave.
“This is looking great,” he says by way of greeting.
“Thanks. It’s getting there.”
“Got a sec?” He nods for me to follow him and pushes through the gallery doors and walks a few steps to the café next door.
We grab a table outside and order two lattes.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just wanted to see you. I don’t like how we left things.”
There’s so much I want to say but can’t. I hate being a horrible girlfriend in this version of life. What’s the point of a glimpse if I can’t go all in? I silence my phone as it sounds with a new slew of incoming texts.
“Look, I know I said the tour might be good for us to take some time apart, but Harper, I don’t want time apart. I just want
you.” He reaches out and interlaces his fingers through mine. The feel of him, after so many years, ricochets through my body
like an electric spark. I can’t pull away... and if I’m honest, I don’t want to.
“I want you too,” I hear myself say. It’s not only the kind thing to say; if it were just the two of us in this life, then
it would also be true.
Something releases from his shoulders—a visible weight that sloughs off like a second skin. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes, I mean that. Look, I know I’ve been a little off lately, and I’m sorry for that. Everything will be better once I can
get through this show. But you matter to me, Liam. You’ve always mattered.” It’s the truth, at least.
He smiles and squeezes my hand tighter. A thousand images surge through his touch straight toward my heart. Memories of our
week together all those years ago break through some of the barriers I’ve created.
“Can we spend some time together tonight? Alone?”
“I thought you were meeting with your team.”
“I moved it,” he explains.
I attempt to spin up some excuse in my head as to why that’s a terrible idea and wonder if I can buy a chastity belt on the
way home. Instead, I nod. “I’d love that.”
“Okay, good.” My phone vibrates again, and he chuckles. “I’ll let you get back to it.” He throws a few bills on the table, stands, and kisses the top of my head before disappearing down the street. I think through the details of this evening. I’ve managed to avoid kissing Liam or getting too close. But what if I can’t tonight?
I finish my drink and take a quick walk around the block. Somehow I need to understand why I’m here, what lesson I’m supposed
to learn. Because if I’m already in a relationship with Liam, is it really cheating to be affectionate with him? And though
I’m helping Rita save her gallery, shouldn’t I be focused more on my own art? Wasn’t that my wish in the first place? After
I’ve taken the time to process, I enter the bustling gallery and knock on Rita’s door.
“Can we talk?”
She barely looks up. “If it’s about this show, yes. If not, no.”
“This will only take a minute.”
I slide into the chair across from her desk, transported back to the very first time I came here. Rita sniffs, drops the pen,
and glances at a painting on her wall.
“Do you remember the night I brought my piece to your gallery?” I ask.
“Well, of course I do, my dear,” she says. “I saw something in you I hadn’t seen in a long time. I was jealous of it, if I’m
being honest. That you got to start fresh. That you were just beginning when I felt like I was on my way out.”
The puzzle pieces continue to shift and fit together in my head. “But you weren’t on your way out,” I say. “And you’re still
not on your way out. You’re right here.”
She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Harper. Handing over the keys to the kingdom was a pretty big signal that I’m nearly
done.”
“Are you?”
She contemplates the question. “I’m not sure. I mean, if I’m honest, I do miss it. But it’s a young person’s game, and I’m no longer young.”
“Who says it’s a young person’s game? Shouldn’t it be a game for someone who knows how to play it best?”
She smirks and arranges her bracelets. “Touché.”
“What happened to me wanting to focus on my art?”
She shrugs. “You know the answer to that better than I do. You’ve been stretched thin at certain points over the years, and
that might have been my mistake in hiring you, my dear. An artist should be an artist, not a gallery owner. You’ve been caught
between two worlds, and it’s taken a toll on you. I’m sorry for that.”
Her words have more impact than she can possibly know. I have been caught between two worlds, literally and figuratively. In my real life, I’ve been so focused on keeping Ben alive that
I’ve let my dreams wane. And in this world, I’ve put work first. Though I can’t possibly know the lesson I’m here to learn
yet, I take a shaky breath and know at least one thing I have to do.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to be an artist. It’s been a dream my entire life, and I want to pour more effort
into it.” I rummage in my purse for the gallery keys. “After the opening, the gallery is yours. It’s always been yours. You
should give it a resurrection, but you don’t need my help to do it.”
Her lips part as the keys land in her hands. After a moment, she looks up at me. “But you said you wanted this.”
Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I did once, but I want art more.” I wave as I turn, promising her I will continue to help with
the show and that we can deal with the paperwork and contracts later. As I leave for the day, alerting my assistants to what’s
left to do, I feel a lightness in my body, a freedom. Space.
I rush home, an idea already festering in my mind, a piece I want to contribute for the gallery’s big opening night. I barely get through the loft door and kick off my shoes before I’m putting on my smock, tying up my hair, and losing myself to the rhythm of my work. It’s only when Liam comes through the door that I look up, bleary-eyed and content.
He smiles when he sees me. “Well, well. What do we have here?”
I take it from his surprise that I haven’t had much time for my own art lately. I remove my smock and wash my hands before
approaching him. “I quit the gallery today,” I say. “I want to paint. I want to pay attention to my own life. To our life.”
A little ripple of pleasure flares in my body as I say it. It feels like testing the waters at doing something I shouldn’t.
But I remind myself I’m not. And what if going all in with Liam is part of the lesson I’m supposed to learn here? How will
I know unless I try?
Liam stares down at me and that devastating smile sweeps over his face. “You really quit?”
I nod. “I did. I’m helping with the show, and then we’ll see what’s next.”
“Harper.” He walks slowly to me, and I can tell from the look in his eyes that I’m in trouble. He slides his hands across
my chest and throat, and my body aches for him like a long-lost addiction. Finally, he rests his palms on my neck. “I love
you so much.”
My stomach drops. In our one week together, we never said those words to each other, though I wanted to. Before I can respond,
he closes his eyes and tugs me toward him. Time suspends as his lips hover near mine. This is a line I would never dare cross
in reality, but before I can logic my way out of what’s happening, his lips crush mine, and I remember.
I remember our first kiss and our last. I remember how right I felt in Liam’s arms. I remember that he was my first true love and that still means something. I remember that I was a fool to walk away and let pride get in the way of ever finding him again. I remember the way he tastes and smells and how he can play my body like a piano. I remember that I loved him... that I still love him somewhere deep inside. This kiss unlocks it, and I remember.
I remember everything.
His arms wrap tightly around me, and I moan into his open mouth. My pelvis presses into his. My skin is on fire. Our tongues
entwine and I ache for him. For every inch. All reasoning goes out the window as we stumble back toward the bed. I can’t think,
can’t peel myself away from him. I want this. I want him.
As I lose myself to this man I once loved, one refrain repeats itself over and over again:
This is not real.
This is not real.
This is not my real life.