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"About what?"

"You know what."

She takes a sip of champagne.

"I haven't seen you smile like that in a very long time."

I look across the room. Blaire is speaking with a collector from Melbourne now, one hand around the stem of her glass as she listens.

"I'm fine," I say.

Eleanor's mouth curves.

"I didn't say you weren't."

I look back at her. She doesn't push. She never has to.

A few minutes later, Blaire joins me near the entrance to the next gallery.

"Your mother is exactly the same," she says.

"She'll consider that a compliment."

"It was one."

I glance at her earrings. The diamonds catch the light when she turns her head — the pair I sent her yesterday. I say nothing about them. I don't need to.

Blaire notices where I'm looking and gives me a warning glance.

"Don't," she says.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was going to say they suit you."

Her expression softens despite herself.

"Thank you," she says.

That's enough for tonight. I look around the room, then back at her. Sebastian and Jane would normally have been here, but they're in Tuscany for Jane's birthday after Sebastian finished several days of meetings in Milan. For once, the evening has given me more time with Blaire than I expected. I intend to use it carefully.

The reception begins to thin as the final presentation downstairs draws more of the crowd away from the side galleries. Blaire and I remain near one of the larger abstract works, far enough from the main room that the noise has softened around us.

She takes a sip of champagne and looks at me.

“You’ve been very restrained tonight,” Blaire says.

“I’ve been trying,” I reply.

Her mouth curves slightly. “I noticed.”

For a moment, the conversation settles into something easier than it has been all week.

Then I ask, “Do you get to New York much anymore?”

“Sometimes,” she replies. “Usually for clients.”