Page 21 of The Stolen Queen

It looked as if Lori was planning on making her sleeping arrangements permanent. Charlotte cringed at the idea of the study’s rose-gray walls being jabbed with thumbtacks for Lori’s posters of the Doors and the Beach Boys. But she reminded herself that Lori had entered Mark’s life first; it was Charlotte who was the interloper.

Five minutes later, Mark appeared, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Hey, again, I’m sorry about last night. I thought she was out for the evening.”

“Right, about that.” Charlotte took a deep breath. “When I picked up your apron, I noticed what was in the pocket.”

“Oh, God.” All signs of sleepiness disappeared. He sat down at the table and she joined him. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “I thought we agreed that marriage wasn’t for us?”

“We did. But I’m worried that we’re pulling apart, and part of me wants to make sure you’re in it for the long haul. That you’ll hang on through the tough times. And trust me, I don’t blame you for pulling away. When I finally convinced you to move in with me, I didn’t think we’d have a third party involved.”

She lifted her arm and brushed away the crumbs stuck to her skin. “A third party who doesn’t know how to clean up after herself.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

That wasn’t the point she was trying to make. “I’m sorry if you feel like you’re caught between us, but to be honest, getting engaged right now would not help one bit with the family dynamic.”

“Of course, of course. Pretend that you never saw it. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age.”

He gave her a mischievous smile. “Probably. I can’t help but notice that you said ‘getting engagedright now.’ Does that mean you might consider it later?”

She stiffened. “I don’t know what it means.”

“Sorry, I was trying to be funny.”

“Right.”

His eyes searched hers. “Charlotte, sometimes I have no idea what you’re thinking and it scares me.”

Part of her wanted to pull him to her, tell him that he was the man of her dreams and they didn’t need a ring to prove that. But the moment she considered the possibility, it was as if a deadbolt slid over her heart, pinning it deep inside her chest.

Instead, she reassured him with hollow words. That they were fine, that they’d be fine.

It was the best she could do.

“Meet me in Musical Instruments.”

Charlotte knew that her best friend, Helen, would drop everything with that directive. The Musical Instruments collection at the Met was up on the second floor, behind a set of double doors. Not the sort of gallery that folks randomly strolled into, which gave the two of them a modicum of privacy.

Charlotte’s favorite instrument was an Indian lute from the nineteenth century that extended out from the back of a brilliantly blue carved peacock, complete with real tail feathers, while Helen’s was a late seventeenth-century Italian harpsichord with a mermaid carved between the front legs and a lush landscape of a hunter and his dog painted on the underside of the lid.

Helen strolled in, still wearing her white conservator’s coat. Shespent most of her day in the basement of the building restoring Old Masters, a painstaking job that required a deep knowledge of the sciences as well as an artistic eye, a rare combination. Helen was in her early fifties, and the two had been friends since she’d come over from the Gardner Museum in Boston fourteen years ago. Her parents had immigrated from Hong Kong when she was a baby, and she spoke with a Boston accent that thickened like chowder when she got riled up. “What’s the buzz?” she asked.

“Mark was planning to propose last night.”

“Wow. Have you ever discussed it?”

“No. I thought I’d made it very clear I wasn’t interested in marriage. But he had a ring hidden in a pocket of the apron he was wearing. While he was cooking my favorite meal.”

“That’s so sweet. I swear, you should consider it. He’s a good guy, he’s in love with you. Married life isn’t all that bad, you know.”

“Easy for you to say. You and Brian are the perfect couple.” Brian was a civil engineer, working for the city. Helen and Brian’s parents had been best friends back in Boston, and there was never any doubt they belonged together. Their children were off at college, one at Johns Hopkins and the other at Yale.

“What do you mean he wasplanningto propose?” asked Helen.

“Lori interrupted our quiet evening at home.”

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