The air between us feels thick, charged. I'm acutely aware of the space separating us, and I know it should be more. That I should put some distance between myself and whatever this… is.
“Fitting, since there’s an element of risk in much of his work,” I offer, trying to keep the conversation on neutral ground. Safe ground. “The Conversion of Saint Paul, The Calling of Saint Matthew, they show that becoming something new requires the death of what you were before."
“So transformation requires violence?” His eyebrow raises, and I see the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips, an expression I don’t entirely understand.
"I think it requires sacrifice." I gesture to the painting. "Paul doesn't get to stay Saul. He doesn't get to keep his certainty, his righteousness, his sense of who he is. All of that has to die in order for him to become who he’s meant to be."
“So becoming someone new requires total obliteration of your old self.” His voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it, an emotion that I don’t know him well enough to decode.
I turn to look at him. His face is unreadable, but his eyes—I realize that, even in the dim light, I can finally see what color they are. They’re a light, icy blue, piercing in their intensity. I’m almost relieved that they’re not focused on me at the moment—being the utter focus of his attention feels overwhelming.
"I think," I say slowly, "that some things can't be changed gently. Sometimes you have to burn all the way down to the foundation before you can rebuild."
"Mara?"
Annie's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. I turn to see her walking toward us… except there is nous, I realize. My last words were spoken into thin air. Alexander has vanished.
I’m about to look around for him when I realize that Annie looks pale, and everything else in my mind flees. "Hey." I move toward Annie immediately, concern overriding everything else. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, just..." She presses her lips together. "I think I overdid it. I'm feeling a little dizzy."
"We should go." I take her arm, steadying her. "We’ll tell the driver to head back…"
"No, don't." She squeezes my hand. "Mara, you've been wanting to see this exhibition for months. I'm not going to ruin it for you."
"You're not ruining anything?—"
"Stay." Her voice is firm despite her pallor. "Please. Enjoy it. I'll have the driver take me back, and you can take your time here. I’ll send him back for you; I’ll give you the number so you can let him know when you need to be picked up."
"Annie—"
"I mean it." She's already pulling out her phone. "I feel terrible that I dragged you here and now I'm bailing. The least you can do is actually see the rest of the show."
I glance around for Alexander, but he's disappeared completely—melted into the shadows between paintings like he was never there at all.
Maybe that's for the best, I tell myself. There’s nothing that can come of a connection like that. I’m not going to bail on Annie while I’m here for a hookup, no matter how hot he is or how intense the sex might be, and I meant it when I said I had no desire to entertain the idea of long distance. Whatever this is, it can’t go anywhere.
Ten minutes later, I have Annie safely ensconced in the car with her continued insistence that I stay. I head back to the exhibition space, trying not to worry about her while I’m here. It defeats the point of staying if I can’t focus on anything else, and she promised to call her doctor immediately. There’s really nothing I can do, especially since, as she kept saying as we walked to the car, she’s just going to go home and nap.
"Your friend—is she alright?"
I nearly jump out of my skin, turning as I feel that same electric awareness prickling across my skin.
"She's fine. She’s pregnant… she just overdid it a little." I swallow hard, trying to ignore the feeling coursing through me. "I thought you'd left."
"I was giving you privacy." He moves to stand beside me again. "But I was hoping you'd stay."
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. He sounds genuine—it doesn’t sound like pretense, or as if he’s playing a game. Just a simple statement of want.
"Why?" The question comes out before I can stop it.
"Because I'd like to walk through the rest of the exhibition with you." He tilts his head slightly. "If you'll allow it. I'm curious about your perspective."
Everything in me screams that this is a bad idea. That every minute I spend with this man is a torture and a temptation that I don’t need.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Alright."
He smiles, and it softens his face. It makes him look younger, slightly vulnerable, and I can feel myself softening toward him.
