She watched him reach for his shirt with an anxious expression. “It’s going to be expensive.”
“I think I can afford it,” he said dryly.
The fare seemed reasonable enough to him but Jay’s eyebrows had shot up, which made him wonder if he was being subjected to a tourist tax. He still tipped the man, mostly because Jay would have, though he didn’t miss the way the driver’s eyes lingered on the shape of Jay’s legs.
The art museum’s stone façade surrounded a central atrium, looming over the park across the street and its adjoining mall. They went through a side entrance, which involved going up a staircase with a big glass window that reminded him of a racketball court. It looked into a lobby area with photographs and paintings displayed prominently on the wall.
He studied their reflections in the glass as they made their way to the big double doors. The bohemian florals swathing hercurvy body were a stark contrast to his own lean solid build and sober colors. Nobody, he thought, would ever think that they were siblings now.
“Did you come here often?” he asked casually, putting his hand on the small of her back.
“On free days. And sometimes special occasions, too.”
“What special occasions were those?”
“Um, well. I saved up to see the Magritte exhibit. He’s that Belgian artist, the surrealist. He painted the man in the bowler hat who had an apple for a face.”
“And here I thought you’d go for the impressionists.”
“Wow,” she said. “Am I being schooled on aesthetics by the man who has a mutant jellyfish hanging in his foyer?”
“If you don’t like the Chihuly, I can sell it. We can buy anything you want.”
She stared at him incredulously. “Are you seriously offering to buy me art?”
“Yes,” he said. “Why? Do you want a Magritte? We can hang it in your room.”
Her cheeks colored as someone nearby glanced over at them with raised eyebrows. “No, Nicholas. Oh my god, I can’t even imagine what that would cost you.”
“I think I could afford it,” he said, and she stared at him, as if realizing that he actually could.
He paid for their tickets while she fiddled with the latch of her purse. He was happy that she didn’t try to pay, although he suspected that she wanted to. She was so fidgety. Or was she nervous? He’d never seen her this agitated when she was talking with anyone else.
Once they had their admission stickers, they went toexamine a map by one of the stairwells. “This floor is photography, if I remember right,” she was saying. “And there’s a living wall and some mobile sculptures. I’m not that into photography, so we can skip that unless you are—oh.” Some of the enthusiasm drained from her face. “That’s right, I guess you are.”
“We can skip it. Let’s go to the fifth floor and work our way down.”
Jay nodded tightly and turned towards the elevators. He followed, regretting the brief moment of ease that had slipped away between them like sand through his fingers. Knowing she was thinking about the past and not being able to do anything about it made it feel as if a hot ball of lead were burning in his gut. Especially when he realized her hand was trembling in his.
The elevator doors opened, spilling them out into another gallery. Jay squared her shoulders, giving a nod of acknowledgement to one of the guards stationed by the wall.
Nicholas tightened his grip minutely, lacing his fingers with hers. He didn’t recognize any of the artists, and the vast empty rooms with their reverberating echoes didn’t exactly inspire confidences. “This place is certainly spacious.”
She eyed him. “Mario Botta is the architect. He designed the Evry Cathedral in France, too. They both make use of truncated cylinders in their designs.”
“Sounds hot.”
She swatted at him with her free hand and he gave her trapped one a squeeze, which she returned after a brief pause. By the time they had made it into the third room, her shoulders had relaxed again and it was as if the subject of photography had never been brought up at all. But there would be other pitfalls going forward. Other mistakes.
Sometimes when they were in bed together he would do something that would make her freeze and he would see the light in her eyes die, consumed by a storm of dark memories.
Maybe that’s why she keeps them closed.
Nicholas shoved that unpleasant thought from his mind, burying it deep, and smiled down at Jay’s too-serious face. “Show me your favorites.”
She tried to hide her enthusiasm but he knew her too well and recognized the little gleam in her eyes when she turned back to the gallery as she decided where to lead him. Despite her claims to the contrary, she gravitated to paintings with bright colors—fantastic dreamscapes, neon palettes, impressionistic swirls. The colors glowed the way she did, like she fucking belonged in flower fields and pools of sunlight.
But not with him. No, there in his bed, she closed her eyes and confined herself to self-inflicted darkness, enduring his demands in a way that was beginning to make him wonder how much of her pleasure was real. She wouldn’t look at him until he told her to. He knew she liked his body, but as soon as he was inside her, parts of Jay became so remote he was afraid he could never reach them. A fool’s journey, paved by the best sex of his fucking life.
