“Any sign of that loser since his drunken spectacle at Muse?”
I shake my head and glance up at my friend. “I went by his apartment in Midtown the day I interviewed for the accounting job. His landlady was on her way out of the building as I arrived. She asked me if I’d heard from him recently, said his rent was overdue and she had no way of reaching him since he’d left for Europe a few weeks ago to look after his sick mother.”
Eve snorts. “His mother who’s been dead for more than a decade?”
I nod. “He’s long gone and never coming back.”
“Good riddance,” Eve says, her tone effectively closing the chapter on Daniel Hathaway. She stares at me for a long moment, a look of question in her pale green eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me about Jared? Gabe and I have invitations to his exhibit later tonight at Dominion. It’s the talk of the town.”
I’m well aware of Jared’s heralded return to the art world stage. I’m genuinely happy for him, too. The city has been buzzing all week with excitement for his new show, anticipation at a stratospheric level for him to reveal his first paintings in two years.
His career reboot is guaranteed to be even more successful than he’d been originally. It’s been in the headlines everywhere that Jared Rush is painting with a renewed passion for his work, creating in his Hamptons studio like there’s no tomorrow.
There’s been no public mention of the disease that’s got its hooks in him. Evidently, it’s a secret he intends to keep. I’ve honored the faith he showed me in telling me what he was going through. No matter what else has happened between us, I’ll never be the one to betray his trust.
After all this time, I’m not certain he feels likewise when it comes to me. I can’t help thinking about the erotic painting he made of me that day in his studio. While our agreement forbade him from revealing my identity in his finished work, that contract was no longer in play when I gave him all of me, both on his canvas and in his arms.
He’s under no obligation to honor any of our terms now, not even the compensation, so I have no choice but to wait like the rest of the public for word on what the master reveals at his exhibit tonight.
As much as I dread he might take out some measure of revenge on me by putting my body on full display at Dominic Baine’s gallery, I’m even more loath to imagine Jared in his studio with any other woman.
“You should join us, Mel.” Eve smiles up at the server as he leaves our bill on the edge of the table. “Gabe’s got extra tickets. I think you should come.”
“No.” I push my empty plate away, panic beating in my breast. “No way. I can’t see him again.”
As much as I might hope to see him again someday, I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to be swayed when I’m still picking up the pieces of my broken heart.
“Gabe and Nick both say he’s miserable without you.” She stares at me as if considering how much to divulge. “Did you know he sold Muse?”
I shake my head. “When?”
“The day after you and he broke up. He sold all of his clubs, Melanie. The Lenox Hill mansion is up for sale, too. He’s moving to the Hamptons permanently next week.”
I draw in a breath. Why does hearing he’ll be moving out of the city make me feel as if my heart is being ripped out all over again?
Because I know if he leaves, the chances of bumping into each other one day when it might not hurt so bad will be next to nil.
I should be relieved by this news. Instead I feel as if I’m mourning the imminent loss of a friend. More than a friend, a part of myself.
“I think you should talk to him, Mel.”
I wince, wishing I didn’t want to take my friend’s advice. “What would I say?”
“That you forgive him. That you miss being with him and you don’t want to live without him anymore.” She smiles softly. “Just tell him how you feel. Tell him the truth.”
“The truth is the one thing he couldn’t give me. Not until his hand was forced.”
Her gaze holds mine with tender understanding. “You have the truth from him now. It’s up to you to decide what to do with it.”
31
MELANIE
I’m in the kitchen that evening with Mom cleaning up after dinner when the front doorbell rings.
My heart stutters at the sound, and at the unusually late interruption at eight o’clock on a Sunday night. Sadie lets out a string of barks from the living room where the dog had been cuddling with Katie in front of the TV after we ate.
Mom sets her dish towel down on the counter. “Whoever could that be at this hour?”
