“No. My mother never saw the point. She doesn’t look back, my mom. Just like my brother.”
“You have a brother?” Ari asks curiously, and Tom nods, but his eyes have gone dark.
“Yeah. But he’s . . . a little odd.”
“Odd? Odd how?”
“Just odd,” Tom replies, before he stands abruptly. “Let’s go out for dinner. Have a final meal in Copenhagen before we head for Holland.”
“But is your brother, like, I don’t know... mentally incapacitated? Or is he—”
“Ari,” Tom says, “let’s go out for dinner. I’m hungry.” He pulls her to him roughly. “And after dinner,” he adds languidly, “I’d like to eat some chocolate.”
“But just tell me if—”
He silences her with a kiss, his mouth hot, hard and insistent against her own.
Ari’s not a fool. She knows what this is. It’s deflection, evasion and silence, wrapped in the sweetest package. And Ari tries to pretend at this moment that it doesn’t bother her, that this doesn’t worry her.
But it does. Because she wants to love more than a shell.
She wants to love the whole man... whoever this stranger might be.
* * *
She stared at the painting and felt strangely dead inside. Empty of everything, all emotion having fled at the simple sight of a Norwegian sunset caught in blended shades of acrylic. She could recall, with perfect clarity, the cool northern breeze on her face and the clean smell of the fjords in her nose. She could still feel Tom beside her, his voice warm as he said, with confidence and pure conviction,“Ari, the painting is good.”
She gave this painting to him. She gifted it to him, this canvas, a little piece of her heart and soul. Shegaveit to him, and yet here it now sat, forgotten and alone, in a cold and dark corner of this gallery.
He abandoned it, Ari realised. Abandoned this painting, just like he did her.
“He sold it,” she whispered, her voice little more than a shadow. “He sold it.”
Behind her, she heard a voice clearing. A hand on her back, calm and reassuring. Sebastian. She felt him step forwards, a manicured hand resting on her shoulder.
“Ari, love,” he said kindly. “I don’t think he did.”
She turned to him, anguish in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
For a moment, Sebastian chewed on his lip. It was, she knew, a sign of his uncertainty, because she did it too. In fact, it must have been an old family trait, because Ari had a vague memory of their mother doing the same. Sebastian was a great believer in appearances, a man for perfection and order. With Sebastian, there was never a hair out of place, or a word spoken unnecessarily. His suits were always pressed, and his shoes always shone. His nails were perpetually clean and his eyes bright. If she had to put money on it, Ari would have bet that — underneath his designer vests and underwear — Sebastian’s body was as smooth and hairless as a sphynx cat, or maybe a baby seal. He did moisturise, after all.
“So, it’s a good news day and a bad news day.” Sebastian finally spoke, his voice brightening.
Ari stared at him incomprehensibly. “What?”
He paused. “Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news and—”
“Sebastian,” Ari interrupted. “I heard you. I just don’t have the foggiest what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, right.” Sebastian nodded, brushing an invisible piece of lint from his shoulder. “Just hear me out for a moment, will you?”
Ari gave him a wary look. “You only say things like that when you’re about to say something I don’t like.”
“Oh no,” Sebastian said, straightening. “It’s fine. Like I said, it’s bad newsandgood news.”
Ari gave a tired sigh. “Okay. So, tell me the bad news first.”
Sebastian nodded. “We’re in this gorgeous house. The wedding is in the bag. The mother of the groom has already paid the first part of what is going to be a mostsizeablebill, and thebride is ecstatic with me, her soon-to-be-designed dress and the photographer we’ve managed to get onboard.”
