11. Quinn #4
“And the current exhibit language?” I asked, trying not to look like an intern who had just overstepped in front of a museum director, a dragon client, and the woman who could probably have me socially removed with one elegant finger.
“If the claim is under serious review, then the language should reflect that. Even temporarily. Something such as, ‘The museum is currently reviewing a restitution claim related to this artifact.’ It signals transparency without projecting an outcome.”
Miriam’s smile went bright and proud, which felt generous from a woman who had known me for less time than it took most people at this gala to finish a canapé.
“That,” Dr. Sorel said, “is not unreasonable.”
Coming from her, it sounded like a parade.
“Thank you,” I said.
Rafe inclined his head. “I appreciate your willingness to discuss this.”
“I appreciate,” Dr. Sorel said, “that Ms. Bradley appears to understand the distinction between pressure and persuasion.”
Rafe glanced at me again.
There was something in his eyes I didn’t know what to do with.
Respect, yes. But warmer than that. More personal. Like he was seeing not merely a useful intern or a clever opportunist, but someone he hadn’t yet found the right category for.
Which was inconvenient because I had no category for him either.
Miriam squeezed her wife’s hand. “See? That wasn’t so terrible.”
“It was mildly terrible,” Dr. Sorel said.
“But productive.”
Dr. Sorel turned to her wife. “You were right.”
“I do enjoy that sentence.”
“I know.”
“Say it again later.”
“In private.”
“Fine. But with feeling.”
Dr. Sorel’s mouth curved into a genuine smile. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet beloved.”
“Yes,” Dr. Sorel said. “And yet.”
For some reason, that undid me a little.
I didn’t cry in the middle of a gala alcove, but something in my chest pulled tight.
Miriam and Georgiana were so clearly different, so obviously mismatched on paper in ways certain people probably never stopped noticing.
High society polish and bright warmth. Institutional power and accessible design.
Severe black gown and cobalt sleeves. Process and instinct.
But they had a system: a word that meant, Come back to me, and a way to interrupt harm before it hardened into habit.
I’d never thought much about relationships like that. Not because I didn’t want one, necessarily, but because wanting required time and space, and those were two things I didn’t have.
Still, seeing their obvious love for each other was wonderful. Not perfect. Better than perfect, maybe. Solid.
Dr. Sorel turned back to Rafe. “Elaine will coordinate the details. If you send the materials by nine tomorrow, I’ll have time to review before Friday.”
“You’ll have them by eight,” Rafe said.
Her gaze shifted to me. “Ms. Bradley, I assume you will be present Friday?”
Rafe answered before I could say anything. “She will be.”
My heart gave a foolish, excited little flutter.
Dr. Sorel nodded once, as if that settled it. “Good.”
The string quartet was playing a slow, romantic piece, and couples were beginning to drift onto the dance floor. Miriam gave her wife an imploring look.
Dr. Sorel sighed. “No.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“You want to dance.”
“I do.”
“We have guests.”
“They can donate without your direct supervision for three minutes.”
“That’s never been my experience at the events, Miriam.”
Miriam tugged gently on her hand. “Georgiana.”
“Oh, very well. Three minutes,” she said.
“Five.”
“Four.”
“Done.”
Rafe and I locked eyes, and we shared the same thought so clearly it might as well have been spoken.
Negotiators everywhere.
Miriam turned to me, happiness clear on her face. “Thank you for bringing Max. Keep the dog close,” she said. “He’s excellent leverage.”
Max wagged once.
“Please don’t tell him that,” I said. “He already has too much influence in my household.”
Miriam laughed, then led Georgiana onto the dance floor, their hands linked again. This time, Dr. Sorel didn’t seem to mind who noticed.
“You were very good,” Rafe said.
His voice was even, but the words were not casual. Praise from Rafe didn’t arrive decorated. It arrived cleanly, like evidence placed carefully on a table.
“Thank you,” I said, then because sincerity made me itchy, “I only blacked out for maybe thirty percent of that.”
“That’s concerning,” he said, but his mouth was curved in that almost-smile.
I grinned before I could stop myself.
Across the ballroom, Miriam and Georgiana stepped into the music, cobalt and black moving together beneath the chandelier light. Georgiana said something that made Miriam laugh, and Miriam leaned closer, bright and delighted and wholly unembarrassed by joy.
After a while, Rafe said quietly, “What are you thinking?”
I could’ve made a joke, and I almost did.
Instead, maybe because the night had become stranger and softer than I expected, I told a portion of the truth.
“I was thinking that it must be nice to have someone who knows how to call you back without making you feel small.”
Rafe was silent beside me.
When I looked at him, the humor had left his face. “Yes,” he said. “I imagine it is.”
And because that felt suddenly too close to both of us, I looked down at Max and cleared my throat. Rafe was still looking at me, and for once his attention didn’t feel like assessment. It felt like recognition.
“I wanted it to work,” I said quietly. “For you.”
His expression changed.
“It did,” he said. “Because of you.”