I need a distraction from this dilemma, so I meet Paige for drinks at a swanky rooftop bar that looks out over the Tower Bridge. It’s gorgeous, but my mood is about as bright as a black hole. It only takes a few minutes for Paige to notice.
“What’s wrong?” she says, looking concerned.
“I’m sorry I’m being so lame tonight,” I say, trying to will myself to be better company.
“Did Mr. Perfect finally crack his shiny shell and reveal that he has flaws like the rest of us?” she teases.
I look down at my cocktail. “Something like that.”
Her demeanor immediately shifts. “Aw, I’m sorry, love. What happened?”
I shake my head and sip my fruity booze. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Except I do. I’m longing to spill all the details, but I can’t. I pause, and try to think of a way to ask Paige’s advice without telling her everything. “What do you do if you find out someone isn’t who you thought they were? But you still feel the same? Or think you do…”
I take another drink to cover the wobble in my voice. Paige considers my words, sipping her own martini. “Look. Everybody’s hiding something,” she says. “I think you just have to decide if whatever you’ve discovered is a deal breaker or if you can live with the flaw.”
Would she think criminal mastermind is a deal breaker? I wish I could ask her.
“Nobody is ever perfect,” she adds. “Believe me. But if the good outweighs the bad, then maybe it’s still worth a shot.”
“You are a wise woman, my friend.” It’s good advice, but I don’t know what to do—I’m not sure I want the same future that St. Clair wants. How could it ever be stable? Or legal.
She shrugs. “Fat lot of good it does me.”
She sounds upset, too, and I feel bad for being so selfish lately. Time to be a good friend. “Not a lot of hot prospects in the man department these days?” I ask.
“Nobody told your hot guy delivery service that I need one, too,” she says with a smile. “It’s just hard, you know? Trying to find someone when I’m so focused on work all the time.”
“Guys are always checking you out,” I say. “Case in point at the table to your left.”
We both look over – in time to see the guy’s girlfriend arrive.
“Maybe not,” I sigh. “But there has to be someone in this city worth your time. British dudes are sexy, right?”
“Yours is,” Paige winks. “I mean, yes, I go on dates, but I haven’t met anyone who really makes me feel. These days, I get more excited chasing down fraudsters at work than going out with a guy.”
“It’s okay to focus on your career right now, too,” I say. “No one says you need a man to be happy.”
She giggles. “Yes, Oprah!” She waves at the waiter and holds up two fingers to indicate we want two more drinks even though mine is less than half gone.
I try to convince myself that this is true, that I don’t need St. Clair. I know I’d survive without him, but I can’t keep from wanting to not have to. Since I met him, everything in my life has seemed so full of possibility, so alive, so…exciting. But the thrill doesn’t extend to committing international art crimes. And it doesn’t seem like he’s interested in stopping.
Paige says, “The problem is that right now, work is frustrating, too! That stupid Carringer’s theft is a dead-end and it’s really been dragging me down. I’m looking forward to getting something hotter and more exciting.”
I tense. “The Carringer’s case isn’t closed yet?”
“No,” she rolls her eyes. “Usually we settle after a few weeks, but the powers that be were like a dog with a bone on this one. I don’t think we’ll find the guy no matter how hard we look. I mean, I’m pretty damn good and I found no trace of the thief. We’re just going to have to take the hit, cut a check to Carringer’s, and move on. Thank God.”
I feel ashamed. The thief she’s chasing is just a few miles away – and I could deliver him to her on a silver platter. “Do you mind it, when you don’t catch them?”
“I mean, there’s a professional rivalry,” Paige shrugs. “But it’s not my stuff they stole. Some of the time, I even admire them for it,” she admits, dropping her voice and glancing around, like she’s guilty even thinking of it. “I mean, this guy is seriously skilled. To make off with a painting like that and not even leave a trace…it’s pretty impressive.”
“And illegal,” I remind her, surprised at the vehemence in my voice.
She grins. “I know. But it’s not like they’re stealing bread out of the mouths of starving orphans. If you work this gig long enough, you learn that it’s all just rich kids bickering among themselves. I bet St. Clair hasn’t lost a wink of sleep over that stolen painting.”
“You’re probably right,” I agree. He hasn’t— because he’s owned it all along.
“I’m not saying it’s a victimless crime,” she adds, “but high-end art thefts aren’t exactly leaving people ruined. Most of the time, they just shrug it off and cash the insurance check. And it’s not like my company can’t afford to be writing those checks – they have billions in assets.”
“Now where are those drinks?” Paige looks around. “And in the meantime, I guess I’ll just have to get my romance from TV like everyone else.”
“I might be joining you on the couch soon,” I tell her, frowning. She pats my hand and gives me a supportive look, and I’m so thankful to have her back in my life in person again. “I missed your face,” I tell her earnestly.
“Yours too.” She scans the room again for our waiter. “Drinks! Drinks, good sir!” she yells, and we giggle like old times.
I think about Paige’s words all the way home from the Tube station. Couples stroll arm-in-arm down these quaint streets and I wish I could have that again. It was just a week ago that St. Clair kissed me in the fountain, like it didn’t matter who was watching. He brings out a side of me I haven’t felt since my mom died, a playfulness and energy that has reminded me that life can be fun and exciting and passionate; that I need to live in order to make art, that I owe it to myself to express that creativity on and off the canvas. He’s opened me up so much that my black and white way of thinking seems to have blurred into a murky shade of gray.
I always thought there was right and wrong, but I’m beginning to at least see where St. Clair is coming from. Paige didn’t think his crimes were serious, and she doesn’t even know the reasons behind them.
Is it really so bad if nobody gets hurt?
I pass the last of the cafés with their tables pulled in for the night and walk by the flower boxes full of trailing purple blooms in front of the buildings on my street. I head up my steps and find St. Clair sitting on my stoop. I feel a rush, just to see him. He stands at the sight of me, smiling with hope and a hint of sadness. “Grace, good evening.”
He’s holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers wrapped in brown paper. Yellow roses. My favorite. How does he know these things?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to put an edge on it, but the truth is, I don’t feel angry anymore. “I told you, I’m not ready to make a decision yet.”
“I know. But I miss you.” He smooths a hand over his stubbly chin—unusual for him. “I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
He sounds sincere but I remind myself that I know better now. He’s a practiced liar. “Or are you really just worried that I’ll rat you out to Lennox now that I know the truth?”
St. Clair winces but takes a step toward me. “Everything I said about my feelings for you was real. I never lied about that.” He takes another step and my breath catches at his nearness. “I love you, Grace. And if you let me, I can show you what this all really means.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”