New York Billionaires Series

I open it. Two familiar rings lie at the bottom.

The message couldn’t be clearer. For tonight.

I hold them in the palm of my hand, the heavy gold ring and the peculiar design of the engagement ring. It’s gorgeous, the solitaire diamond reflecting under the kitchen lights, the ring of emeralds sparkling. It’s not something I thought he would have picked out.

I slide them on and close my fist around them. He wants us to go tonight as a married couple. Him as the investor; me as the supportive friend.

Does this have anything to do with the careless comment I made last night about Nadine’s friend Jake? The one she’s so sure I’d hit it off with?

I smile down at the rings. Pretty they may be, but they’re an illusion, and that’s what Victor’s keen to protect. Nothing more and nothing less.

And if he thinks he’s the only one allowed to have his fun, I’ll give him my opinion tonight, too. Because the contract goes both ways. I can date, as long as I’m discreet. Perhaps it’s time to remind him of that.

A few hours later, and he’s late and Nadine is busy, but I couldn’t be happier. I’m surrounded by my best friend’s art. It’s professionally displayed on the walls and sets the sterile gallery ablaze with color, the abstract pieces flowing from one frame to the next.

The series with the seven virtues is my favorite. She’d been working on it for a year. Sometimes she’d worried whether it was old-fashioned to have the virtues represented. But we’d both agreed the world could use more of them, and she’d infused that into the paintings, with abstract concepts and colors matching each one.

I sip my glass of champagne and ogle Nadine without shame. She looks drop-dead gorgeous tonight, like she could take the stage and give an impromptu performance at any time. We’d been at her place yesterday to test out looks, and the fitted auburn jumpsuit she chose makes her look tall and graceful. The eccentric artiste and the polished young woman, rolled into one.

Ready to sell you a painting for a few thousand dollars right before she returns to her Brooklyn studio to paint her heart out.

She’s wearing the gold hoop earrings I got her for her twenty-fifth birthday, and they catch the light as she talks to a visitor, her hands moving in a pattern that is so uniquely her.

If this is how parents feel when their children graduate, then I can understand why so many of them cry. I’m so proud, watching her own this space and this role. Nadine-at-sixteen would be overjoyed at this, having her biggest dream come true. I feel as proud for Nadine-at-sixteen as I do for Nadine-at-twenty-eight, standing there across the space.

“Gorgeous, right?” a voice says by my right.

I answer without taking my eyes off her. “Yes, she really is.”

The man’s laughter is deep and surprised. “Well, I was actually talking about the painting behind her. Justice . There’s anger in it, too, can you see that?”

I chuckle and turn to the man beside me. He’s a head taller than me, in a navy linen shirt and with a beard that looks artfully unkempt. “There is, yes. Perhaps justice is often accompanied by anger. Anger at the things that aren’t so.”

“Perhaps,” he says. “The fantastic thing is that she managed to capture it in an abstract. I haven’t met a painter quite like her, ever, I think.”

“Nadine has always been talented at that. Making you feel things with her art.”

He smiles, then, and his dark brown eyes are warm. “So you’re the best friend. I suspected you were, but you also looked like you were contemplating a painting, and I didn’t know if you were a prospective buyer.”

“Best friend,” I say and stick out my hand. “And prospective buyer.”

He shakes it. “Supportive. I like that. I’m Jake.”NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

“Cecilia,” I say, my smile widening. So this is the messy closet-owner. “I heard you were instrumental in getting this gallery showing off the ground?”

He gives a half-smile. “I was there when Nadine pitched her art, yes. But I didn’t do any heavy lifting, believe me. My colleagues were almost as enamored by the portfolio she showed us as I was.”

My smile widens, watching as his eyes return to Nadine. There’s true appreciation in them. I wonder if it’s more than just for her art. Who should really organize his closet?

“She’s always evolving, too.” Pride laces my voice. “For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been experimenting with different mediums and expressions.”

“You two have been friends for a long while, right?”

“Yes. I think it’s… fourteen years now. Yes. Fourteen years exactly next month. We were neighbors, once upon a time.”

His smile widens. “Nothing like old friends.”

“No, and you can’t make new old friends,” I say.

“An unfortunate truth.” His gaze catches on something behind me. “Oh, someone’s coming our way. I wonder if management sent someone new?”

I know who it is before I turn, based on that comment alone. And yes. There he is, striding through the gallery, dark suit tailored to his tall, strong form.

“He’s with me,” I say.

Victor puts his arm around me and presses a kiss to my temple. The simple, brief touch stuns me. He extends a hand toward Jake and speaks in clipped tones.

“Victor St. Clair. Cecilia’s husband.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jake says, shaking his hand. His gaze travels between us and then he takes a step back. “It was lovely talking to you, Cecilia.”

“Likewise,” I say. “I’m happy you were there that day when Nadine pitched her art.”

His smile deepens. “So was I. I’ll catch you later.”

The moment he’s out of earshot, I round on Victor. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he asks, his face a study in bored professionalism.

“You introduced yourself as my husband.”

“Isn’t that what I am?” He strolls toward one of the giant abstracts on the wall, one I’m familiar with. It’s Charity .

“Yes, but not in that sense of the word.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

If my gaze could kill, that’s what it would do. Have him drop dead right then and there in the art gallery. As it stands, it doesn’t seem to harm a hair on his head. He just watches the blue swirls of Charity with his hands behind his back.

“Is this about last night? What I told you about the man Nadine wants to set me up with?”

“I think I’ll put in an offer for this one,” he says. “It would go well with the colors in the gym.”

“Your home gym has no color.”

“Exactly.” He turns and strides on, and I’m forced to catch up with him. Still angry, because he might pretend otherwise, but we both know exactly why he’d come on as strong as he had.

He’d kissed me.