Page 104 of The Unraveling

“Sure.”

He pops a bottle of Krug and pours me a glass. I take it and say, “Thank you.”

He pours his own, and then holds it out. “To art.”

“To…art.” I clink my glass against his.

We both take a sip. It’s so good.

It’s amazing how lately I have been unable to think of Alistair without feeling uncontrollable desire. Sometimes I want him so bad just from the memory that I gasp at the thought.

My night with Luca was beautiful, but it definitely did not have the same effect. That felt more like a nice night with a boyfriend of many years or something. It didn’t have the electricity of the kiss with Alistair.

Well, of course it didn’t. He’s completely off-limits. Married. My donor. I’m an idiot.

“So where are we going?” I ask.

“An art show. I need to buy a piece, and I know you have a good eye. I need someone young to tell me what’s working.”

“You’re not that old,” I say.

He gives the smallest hint of a smile, and says, “No, but I also didn’t spend a year with one of the most popular emerging artists. I can only imagine that some of Morales’s taste rubbed off on you.”

I feel shocked by the sudden appearance of Jordan in this conversation. I take a bigger sip of my champagne.

“Am I wrong?” he asks.

“No, I heard him talk about all kinds of artists that are selling right now. I don’t know how much I remember.”

“It’s better than I could do without you. This is an important purchase.”

“Why?” I ask.

“It just is.”

It’s clear I’m not meant to ask for further clarification, so I just nod and look out the window. I swallow the questions I want to ask about his and Clementine’s relationship.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he says.

“Oh, thank you—thank you, by the way, sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t lead with that.”

“It’s all right.” He smiles.

“Yeah. It’s not hard to look good in a dress and jewelry like this.”

He hesitates, then says, “Just take the compliment. You don’t need to give the dress credit.”

“Women are always doing that. Having trouble taking compliments. I blame men.”

This elicits the first real laugh I’ve gotten out of him.

—

The gallery isn’t far, and when we get out, there are paparazzi.

Holy shit.

I smile and try to look pretty and less normal than I feel.

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