Page 70 of Handle with Care
And Gray doesn’t even know the half of it with the missing exhibit. Plus, Will must be exhausted, now that I think about it. After all the sex and late nights and the pressure of the workweek—never mind the now missing collection of Vivienne Westwood items. All I want to do is wrap Will up in my arms in bed together.
“It’s not something you’ve done,” Gray says gently to me. “Will isn’t always easy. Especially since the accident. He takes everything to heart. And he’s intensely private. However, I know you mean the world to Will.”
I gulp. “Yeah? Well… I feel the same way about Will. It’s mutual.”
Anything more feels too personal to open up to Gray about. And even if I wanted to, I don’t know how to even be a boyfriend, to be honest. It’s a lot safer to stick to casual dating, a path I know well. Never mind trying to have an actual boyfriend when I’m twenty-two and living halfway around the world.
When Will returns, he’s subdued till we leave, and he heads off with his brother. And I head home alone, my mind spinning overtime as I think about what Gray said.
I know you mean the world to Will.
All I want to do is make Will smile again, fight the urge to make promises that I can’t keep if I’m leaving at the end of the month. It’s extra motivation to send out a few job applications to museums, in case I don’t get a permanent job. Because I don’t want to think of the alternative either.
And then, I feel heavy too.
When Raj texts me that he’s headed back soon to London, I tell him that I’ve been seeing the cad after all—and that one way or another, I’m doomed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After a brief late-night text exchange when I was in bed, Will and I agree to both go in early to the museum to start looking for the exhibit together before most people come in. By 8:00 a.m., I arrive at the museum with two lattes in hand, surprising Will with coffee before we go into the gallery or down to the collections space to start our search in earnest for Vivienne Westwood.
Will looks at me, surprised at the treat. “Thanks.”
“I know, very North American of me to be walking around with takeout coffees,” I say brightly. “But I figured we could use the extra energy to get rolling today.”
When his shoulders ease a little and a hint of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, it’s confirmation that getting the coffees was the right choice. It feels like a win. Something lifts in me to see his mood rise even by a notch. But his eyes are still distant. Or lost, even. Like I’ve already left.
“I need to show you something,” Will tells me.
“Sounds hot.”
“Dylan, please.”
“Sorry,” I say meekly, giving him a half smile as we take the lift upstairs.
We sip our coffees for a few minutes in the boardroom. He sets his bag down and takes out his computer. Will fires up his laptop. The room is pared down from our earlier setup over the summer. We still have a cart in there with the textbooks I brought in for Will to read as references and copies of various printouts and files. The side of the room has the latest iteration of the gallery layout, the final version. Otherwise, the boardroom has been reinstated as a boardroom. The long table feels very sparse with only our coffees and Will’s laptop.
He sits down in front of his computer, waiting for it to start up and log in. Which he does, and I watch over his shoulder as he opens up our master tracking spreadsheet for the exhibition. I’m fighting the urge to put my hand on his shoulder or massage his neck.
“Here. Look.” Will glances over at me. I move closer, like I need any encouragement.
He navigates to the color-coded section with the fashion exhibits that have arrived and their location and associated packing materials and special handling instructions. He scrolls through, but there’s nothing for Vivienne Westwood.
I frown, leaning in. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. There should be something there. We’re missing a whole chunk.”
“There isn’t anything.” His tone is matter-of-fact, crisp.
Then Will navigates to the big planning spreadsheet with the complete list of objects that Lily has compiled with the rest of the Curatorial team, including lender information, item dimensions, and more. Will finds the Vivienne Westwood section and leaves his cursor hovering over the insurance values.
There’re six Vivienne Westwood pieces we’ve borrowed from a private lender. He opens a linked page with an itemized list with a brief description and materials each piece is made from and, of course, the insurance values. Which prove to be eye-watering.
“Holy fuck.” My eyebrows lift in alarm when I see one corset is insured for £50,000, and we have three. Along with a tartan dress, skirt, and top. The combined values for all the pieces make me feel sick.
No wonder Will looks stressed.
It’s my turn for the brow furrow. I set my coffee down and fold my arms across my chest as the full gravity of this situation hits me.
We’re quiet for a long moment.
