Page 34 of Gilded Saint

“Why are you inside on a day like today?”

“I was out this morning. The light changed. I’ll spend the afternoon working from the studio. What do you paint? Can I see?”

I hesitate, only because it’s a work in progress and, if I’m honest, it’s a reflection of my state of mind as opposed to a piece with strategic direction.

“It’s okay,” he says, sensing my hesitation. “I get not wanting to show a piece in progress.” His timid smile sets me at ease, and I take in the youthful man with angular cheekbones and long, bony fingers. His aesthetic strikes me as more French than British, but his accent is unmistakably British. “I was going to go grab lunch. Would you care to join me?”

A shortened acoustic version of “Strawberry Fields Forever” by the Beatles blares, and I scan the floor for my mobile. It’s my ringtone for Scarlet.

When I find the mobile, I tap it quickly and answer, “Hey, hold on a minute.”

“Another time?” Geoff asks, backing away like I’ve already turned him down. I wouldn’t have, as I’d love to get to know others in the London area, especially artists.

But he’s gone before my brain kicks in with a counter response to keep him here. When I look back to my mobile, my gaze snags on my fingers. Ringless fingers.

When I come across Geoff again, I’ll make it clear I’m married but welcome the friendship. I don’t know what the syndicate is like, but I know no woman in the Grigi family would dare cheat on her husband. Retribution could be painful for both the wife and her extracurricular.

“Hey, I’m here,” I answer, stepping up to the window to peer over the green quad.

“Is Leo back?”

“No.” Scarlet’s aware I haven’t heard from Leo since departing Rome. We’ve had countless conversations debating what that means. Should I expect to live a solitary life from here on out? Does he not live in London? Did he place me in one of his properties to keep me safe with no intention of more? What rules should I live by? What are his expectations?

Yes, we have an arrangement, but most of the unions in our world are arrangements. What rules am I bound by? He disappeared without any discussion, or at least, after scolding me for my attire. For all I know, he could have a different lover in his bed every night. Just because Orlando never saw him with anyone doesn’t mean he’s celibate. He may choose discretion.

“Willow. I wish I could reach through this phone line and give you a hug. You sound sad, but you barely know the man. You should be grateful. The men in our world would’ve demanded sex.”

“I am grateful.” My high-pitched response earns a well-deserved annoyed groan from Scarlet. Is it wrong I’m disappointed? Is it weird I keep asking myself what’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t he want to have sex with me? He’s beyond distant. He’s not here.

“I, for one, am relieved for you. The fact he’s not coming around means he’s sleeping with someone else somewhere. Give thanks to the heavens.”

I try not to think about him with someone else. But she’s truthful. I don’t like the queasy feeling in my belly when I think about it. It’s completely illogical. I suppose I’m too traditional or…confused. It’s an arrangement. He’s helping me out. That’s all.

“Willow?”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

“It could be so much worse.” She’s speaking from experience. The pad of my thumb roves over a clump of dried paint on my smock. There’s no good response to Scarlet. “You can’t trust the men in our world,” she says in Italian.

“I know,” I respond in Italian.

“Tell me something good,” I say in English, forcing a brightness in my tone I don’t feel. “What’s going on at home?”

“Leandro came to visit.”

“You?” He can’t possibly want to marry Scarlet. If my leaving saddled Scarlet with that— “You’re a widow. He can’t?—”

“He wasn’t here for me.” She snorts. “Trust me. He’s too much of a coward.”

Scarlet killed her husband in self-defense. Rumors abound she killed him by divesting him of his manly body parts and letting him bleed out. It’s one reason no one has asked for Scarlet’s hand, and, according to Mamma, they never shall. She’ll be the Scarlet Widow of the Lupi Grigi for the rest of her life.

“If he didn’t visit with an interest in you, then why? What did he want?” I don’t particularly want to hear her answer.

“He asked about you.”

“Me?” My stomach twists and my hand falls over my unsettled tummy.

“Wanted to know how you were getting on in London and if I had any plans to visit you.”

---