Page 31 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Ditto,” I replied in the same haughty tone he had used.

His gorgeous companion turned to us with a brilliant smile on her perfect face and stood close to him. Too close. She put a hand on his back.

“Aarti,” Sameer said, his eyes averted. “This is Tara. She’s Amar’s friend from Baroda. Tara, my girlfriend, Aarti.”

The slight guilt working its way into my heart disappeared fast.

I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you,” I said as her brows hit the roof.

“Wow, that’s an old connection.”

I smiled, wondering how she’d react if she knew about our real connection.

“How do you know the family?” Aarti asked.

In other words, where might I stand in the hierarchy of the social elite?

As far away as I could put myself.

“I’m appraising the paintings they’ve donated to the museum,” I said, wishing I had a drink in my hand to hold as a barrier.

Her brows flew higher. “That’s wonderful.” She looked impressed, but I couldn’t decipher if it was genuine appreciation or derision. I wasn’t good at these things. Sameer was. I looked at him.

“Aarti’s an old friend of their daughter.” Sameer’s voice, firm and guiltfree, conveyed the private message loud and clear. The friend who knew the family was the girlfriend. Sneaky, but I was impressed he had managed to keep her out of our conversation this morning.

“Yes, Mary Beth is visiting after a long time since her wedding.” Her eyes beheld Sameer in unmistakable admiration, and my stomach did a funny flip.

“Well, it was wonderful to meet you, Aarti. Nice seeing you again, Sameer.” I faked a big, broad smile, and walked away.

Grabbing a glass of red, I returned to my refuge behind the wall. It was safe to assume he hadn’t told her about buying my painting for that exorbitant amount. But judging by the designer cocktail dress on her, twenty-five thousand dollars was probably pocket change. I resisted the urge to spiral down into thoughts of him and his gorgeous girlfriend and redirected my focus to the painting.

Suddenly something clicked. The painting snapped into relief. I moved in closer, then immediately stepped back in shock and disbelief. It had been right before me all along. I just needed someone to confirm my theory, a desire that took precedence over my anger and heartbreak in that moment.

I found Sameer at the other end of the grand room, talking and smiling. As I approached, hustling quickly through people holding drinks, his smile faded.

“I’m sorry, can I borrow you for a moment?” I asked him, then looked at Aarti.

She smiled. Sameer managed a micro-expression as he set his drink aside. I felt my heart thumping against my eardrums as we weaved back to the landing behind the wall.

“I need to run something by you. See what you think.” He responded with a solemn nod. “Ok, tell me what you see.” I pointed to the painting.

His eyes stayed on me. “Tell me what you want me to see,” he replied with a gruff breath.

“Sameer,” I said sharply, and his frown ironed out. “I need a moment’s détente. This is important.” He responded with a slight nod, and I directed him to the painting once more. “What do you see?”

He scanned it, dispassionately at first, then with a series of knowing blinks. “Is this the same artist?”

“One of them.”

I pointed to specific parts. “What do you see here?”

“I…are those eyes?” He stepped closer to the wall, and I closed my hand around his wrist. I kept my eyes on him as he gazed into the canvas, his pulse steady against my fingers. Notes of musk and tobacco flirted with the drifty oud in his mysterious, seductive cologne. The smell alone was enough to make my heart race. Then I saw it—a twinkle in his eyes, a smile at the corners of his mouth—an expression I knew too well.

“These aren’t benign-looking landscapes, it’s symbolism.”

“Yes!” My fingers clenched tighter around his wrist.

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