Page 13 of One Wrong Move

“It’s just that I want to make a name for myself at this gallery,” I say. “And I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression. You know, about us.”

His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. “And what might that impression be?”

“Nate,” I say with a groan. He’s never serious, not for a second, and it helps settle the nerves in my stomach. Being around him is easy. It always has been. “Don’t make me say it.”

He chuckles and opens the passenger door. “I’ll take pity on you. Now, if you’re ready…”

I slide into the car. It sits low to the ground and the interior smells like leather. A glance at the center console tells me more than enough of what the vehicle might be worth. Dean would have been all over a car like this. He’s always liked swanky wheels, while they have never interested me. This is, clearly, a car with a capital C.

Nate gets into the driver’s seat.

“You’re driving in London,” I comment.

He revs up the engine. “I am,” he says. “Your tone is disapproving. Think I’ll crash, Harper?”

“No, but they drive on the left side, and the traffic is…” I shake my head. “I’m just surprised, is all. And then there’s parking.”

“Parking is a bitch,” he acknowledges. He pulls away from the curb and onto the calm Chelsea side street. “But I need to drive.”

“You need to?”

“Yeah.” He glances at me, flashing me a quick grin. “I don’t do it a lot, it’s true, but I’d go crazy if I couldn’t at all. Besides, I’ve been here for two years now. Driving on the left side isn’t so hard.”

“But everything is in… reverse.”

“Yeah, you have to adjust your thinking.” He stops the car at a red light and looks over at me again. “Want to try it some time?”

“Drive? In London?”

“Yes,” he says. “This car is an easy one to handle. I have another that’s a stick shift, but we can start with baby steps.”

My instinct is to say no. Absolutely not. I haven’t driven in years, considering I was living in New York, and my first time getting back behind the wheel shouldn’t be in London.

But I’ve said no for too long. Remained within the gilded lines until they started to feel like a cage. And the reason I’m here now—the reason I left the engagement ring behind and moved to a new country—is to experience new things.

I wrote out a list on the plane. Thirty things to do before I turn thirty. I tried to outdo myself with each new entry, to think big, to think back to what I wanted before I became a responsible adult. Visiting Europe’s biggest art museums— the Louvre, the Prado, the Rijksmuseum—is on the list. So is buying the first piece of art myself. And…

Start saying yes to things.

“Maybe,” I say instead. I run my hand over the leather interior. “If you have great insurance.”

Nate chuckles. “Consider it covered.”

He drives through crowded streets. I’m grateful for the tinted windows, for the privacy they allow as I look out at the cityscape. The people on the sidewalks, the bus stops, the old stone buildings. Neighborhoods change subtly here from one borough to the next. And as we leave the royal borough where I work, the buildings become more modern. Nate drives us over the Thames. The water is a deep gray, almost hovering on blue.

I love this view. The river snakes through the city, and from our vantage point on Lambeth Bridge, I can see Parliament and Big Ben, and the London Eye on the opposite shore.

Nate pulls up to the museum, housed in the giant building that was once a factory. The parking lot is full, but there are a few vacant spots marked reserved, and Nate confidently swings into one as if it’s ours.

I peer out. “Uh, can we park here?

“My team called ahead. It’s all good,” he says with a smile. “Ready to look at some art?”

The staggering privilege of that move momentarily takes my breath away. Not only is he invited to these kinds of events, but he must also be considered a VIP.

“I’m ready.”

And I am. But it doesn’t stop the excited nerves from making my stomach turn.

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