Page 114 of Full Tilt
“Sold out,” Eme said, consulting her iPad. “The entire show sold out. Every last piece. Gone.”
Jonah ran a hand through his hair, looking around at his work, his face happy, dazed, and a little bit weary.
“Congratulations,” I said, embracing him tight. “But I need a better word. A bigger word.”
“Evenshedoesn’t have words,” Oscar said, jerking a thumb toward Dena. “Not even a Rumi quote.”
A hand half covering her trembling smile, Dena shook her head. “I’m at a loss.”
Oscar gaped. “You hear that, ladies and gents? Jonah reunited with old friends, sold out his entire show, met his idol, and—wonder of all wonders—rendered Dena Bukhari speechless.”
Dena shoved him. “Unfortunately for you it was only a momentary loss.” She raised her wineglass. “Rumi said,Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.I toast to our dear friend, Jonah, whose exhibit is the embodiment of those words. You’ve created so much beauty, my friend, the world cannot help but be grateful to you for it.”
In the limo on the ride home, I sat with my temple resting on Jonah’s shoulder. “Dena’s right, you know,” I said. “The art world is going to lose their minds over you. And you deserve every bit of it.”
He nodded against my head. “A legacy,” he said. “That’s all I wanted.” His fingers picked my chin up and he regarded me, his brows furrowed in the dimness. “I never thought to ask for more.”
A twinge of unease tainted my happiness, like a drop of black ink in a clear bowl. “Are you all right? You seem a little…”
“Tired,” Jonah said. “Tonight was…surreal. More than I’d ever imagined. I feel a little punchy.”
“Let’s go to your place,” I said, my hand on his thigh. “Tocelebrate.”
He smiled and took my hand in his. “Have something particular in mind?”
“I can think of a few things.”
But back home, after he changed out of his suit and emerged from the bathroom in his sleep pants, it was a different matter.
“I know I’ll regret this later,” he said, his gaze trailing over me as I sprawled on his bed in my lacy red underwear. “But I’m about done in. Give me a few hours to recharge?”
I took the raincheck and kissed him goodnight. I curled up next to him and closed my eyes, expecting to wake in the deepest part of the night by kisses along my neck—his customary line of attack. Instead, my eyes next fluttered open to full daylight. The clock on the nightstand read six a.m. Jonah was still sleeping, his warm breath wafting over me.
No big deal, I thought.He’d been working nonstop on his glass for months. No surprise the bottom fell out. He needed—and deserved—a long rest.
I dozed until his watch alarm went off an hour later, indicating it was time for his meds. He went into the kitchen, and I drifted between awake and asleep, pleasantly anticipating his return, sure we’d make love now. But instead, he slipped back into bed, wrapped his arms around me, and went back to sleep.
Now I lay wide awake, listening to him breathe. In and out, a whispering metronome, keeping time, counting down minutes.
When he finally stirred awake at quarter to nine, he frowned at the clock as if he couldn’t believe what it said. I saw a sliver of fear his eyes, and felt its twin slide itself into my heart.
“Come here,” I whispered. I kissed him hard, and he responded immediately, gratefully. We fell into each other, grasping and rocking until the headboard banged the wall.
Afterward, I told myself it was the intensity of our lovemaking that sent Jonah back into sleep again.
Nothing more.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
Two days after the opening. Two mornings of Jonah sleeping late, waking only to take his meds, then going back to bed. Two days of him hanging around, skimming Facebook on his phone, hardly saying a word to me, or watching mindless noise on TV. Two days of increasing tension between us that had no source, but that scared me to my bones.
On the third day, Jonah and I had breakfast at Baby Stacks café, a pancake house off the Strip. It had been my habit to order the same types of food Jonah ate, partially out of solidarity, but also because I ultimately felt healthier. Everything I had done since moving to Vegas had been better for my health, mental and physical.
The waitress came to take our order.
“I’ll have an egg-white omelet…” I began.
