He resumes his song on the piano. I feel a sting of guilt as I’m walking away from him. It doesn’t take long to find Christian. He’s on the other side of the gallery, staring at a sculpture. “There you are,” he says, smiling at me. “Thought I lost you for a second.”
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”
“What do you think of this piece?”
Christian turns to show me. It’s a sculpture of a woman bathing herself. I think it’s made of stone.
“For your apartment?” I ask.
“Possibly.”
I rub my chin. “It’s interesting. But I don’t know if it’syou.”
Christian looks at me. “What makes you say so?”
“It isn’t gold.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Only a little bit.” We both smile. I look around the gallery. “Where did all your friends go?”
“They weren’t as impressed with the art,” Christian says.“So they relocated to a bar on another floor. We can always join them, if you’d like.”
“I mean, only if you want to.”
“I’m not exactly up for a crowd tonight,” he says.
“Same, honestly,” I admit. “I only came to see you.”
Christian smiles at this. “Then what do you say we head out of here? Somewhere less crowded.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“We can go back to my place and decide from there.”
I had a feeling he would suggest this. Especially since he asked the last time we were together. I can’t possibly say no again. I really want him to like me. “Okay, sure.”
“Perfect.”
Christian takes the last sip of his drink and sets it on the table. Then he walks us to the elevator. When we go outside, a car is already waiting for us. It drops us off at the entrance of his building. A doorman tips his hat as we pass him. “Good evening, Mr. Chan.”
“Good evening, Richard.”
The elevator doors open on their own. It feels strange to be back here, especially since I snuck in last time. The hallway is longer than I remember. Christian waves a key over the knob and opens the door. The lights come on automatically as we step inside. I look around the apartment. Somehow, the place seems bigger with only the two of us here. Like a museum after closing hours. Our footsteps echo on the marble floors.
Christian steps behind his bar. “Can I make you a drink?”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
“What would you like?”
“Uh, whatever you’re having.”
I take a seat on the curved white sofa. The fabric curls like the wool of a sheep. I keep running my hand over it.
“It’s bouclé,” Christian says. “The sofa.”
“I could fall asleep on this.”
