“That’s why I need to do this.”
He walked to the wall, right up to her painting, and Casey’s stomach filled with butterflies. He’d realize now; he must see that this work was so similar to the one at the gallery, almost a twin. He knew so much about art. What would he say about it?
She felt dizzy with anticipation and anxiety, and bit her knuckle hard enough to leave marks. Would he understand the reference to the metamorphosis from yesterday? Because her picture here was also a rebirth, a fiery, sprawling masterpiece of color and transition from dark to light.
When he removed her painting, she was puzzled. What—was he bringing it to her? To talk about it? But then he went to retrieve the bulky package from the doorway and opened a case, a tall, thin case with padding and locks and—he wasn’t going to, he couldn’t possibly—but what he put up in place of her painting made her gasp and put her hand to her chest.
Le Rêve. He put Le Rêve on her wall.
She stuck her hand behind her, found a chair, sat, all the while staring at the painting, feeling of panic and elation swirling through her body. “Hunter?”
“Yes.”
“Why—what are you doing? Are you giving that… to me?”
“Yes. I am.”
“You can’t do that.” Alarmed, she twisted to look at his face. “It’s worth so much money. A fortune! I mean, I can’t keep it here. It won’t be safe. I don’t have the means to even take care of this properly.” Her gaze swung around the room, back to him. “Hunter.” She put her hand over her mouth. “No.”
“Keep it here for the day, then I’ll have it put back in my house. But it will still be—yours. For when you want it, Casey. When you’re ready, when you have a place that can hold it, it will be yours to take. I’ll write up a legal contract saying it’s yours while I store it.”
“This is worth more than I’ll ever be worth in my life. God.”
“Don’t say a thing like that, ever,” he snapped, then softened his voice. “It’s just a painting. You liked it. We bonded over it. I want you to have it, as a token of what you mean to me, and my willingness to start again.”
“You can’t—you can’t make this kind of gesture. It’s not fair.” She shot her arms out. “I can’t reciprocate, never. It’s too big, too much. Don’t you see that?” She muttered under her breath, “Not to mention luxury taxes. That would be more than my entire life savings.”
He came and took her hands, and his eyes were pleading. “What I see is a woman who’s amazing, and who I pushed away in my own fit of selfish angst. I see a woman who’s beautiful enough to make this painting look dull. I see someone who knows so much about art, who loves it so much, that she deserves something like this on her wall to enjoy. Something as rare and precious as she is.”
“We barely know each other. This is too immense.” She pulled her hand away, clutched it with her other.
“I know you well enough to know that I want you to have this. And I want you back in my life, in my bed. My submissive.” His green eyes burned into hers.
“I don’t know what to say.” She shook her head, and then another voice came from her open doorway.
“Casey?”
She flew around. “Max! What are you doing here?”
He held a small paper bag. “I came to check on you, because I haven’t seen you in a long time. I found something for you in Chinatown.” His eyes darted to Hunter, then to the wall. “Is that the Picasso?” His voice was hard with disbelief. “Hunter, what the fuck?”
“This is between me and Casey.” Hunter’s voice was cold.
“Casey concerns me, so this is my business too.” Max’s voice was just as icy. He shook his head, gestured. “Casey—seriously?”
She bit her lip. “I’m as surprised as you are, Max.”
Hunter crossed his arms and glared. “It was your advice, in fact.”
“To apologize. Not to give her the fucking art from your walls. Does your insurance company know this is here?”
“Do you think she doesn’t deserve this?” Hunter’s voice was combative.
“What she doesn’t deserve is to be manipulated by an overly generous gift, Hunter.” The men glared at each other.
“He’s not manipulating me.” Casey’s voice was full of frustration. “Nobody is manipulating me, Max. Just—please, give us a few minutes. I love this picture, and we talked about it the first time we—” She flushed. “It has meaning to us, okay? I appreciate your concern, and everything you do for me. But this is something I need to do on my own.” She gave him a pleading look.
“You want time? Fine.” He dropped his bag onto her table with a clink. “That’s fine.” He started to walk for the hall, and Casey followed him out the door, stopping him in the hallway with her hand.
“Max, wait. Please. I didn’t know he was coming, or doing this. He came to my gallery the other day and we—”
“He came to your gallery?” Max’s voice was quiet.
“Yes. To apologize. We talked. We also, well—”
Max put up a hand. “Don’t tell me.” He shook his head. “Casey, listen, I just want to be sure you’re okay with where this is going.”
“I’m not sure about anything.” She felt her eyes fill with tears. “What I feel for him is complicated and exotic.”
Max put his hands into his pockets, his back still and straight. “He’s a good man, Casey, and I’m not going to tell you not to be with him. He’s difficult, sure. He’s slow to trust, maybe slow to forgive. But he’s loyal and caring and the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. He’ll be hard on you, because he needs to take domination and submission to a place that many people don’t go. But if that’s what you want? He’ll take good care of you.”
“And you?” Her voice fluttered.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I love you. And I would do my best to make your life amazing. But I’m not going to make this into a competition. I just want you to be happy, Casey. And if Hunter makes you happy, then I wish you and him all the best.” He turned away. “I’m going to get out of town for a few weeks. I have business in New York so I’ll make that my base for a while.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Be happy, Casey. And for what it’s worth?” He pointed back into her apartment. “Your painting is much better.” And then he was gone.
* * *
The people downstairs were having a party. Periodic screams travelled up the heating pipes, high happy screeches that contained flirtation and exuberance and youth, young yowls from people whose throats had never screamed in agony and whose biggest problem, Casey figured, was whether to fuck the guy with the cute hair or to smoke a joint with friends, because after all, he had that odd tic and that laugh that was a bit too manic, and when he stood close, one could see that the very edge of his top left incisor had a dark spot. And who wanted to kiss someone whose tooth was rotting in front of them? It would take more weed and drinks to even get close to the point where that spot wasn’t as big as the sun.
She let her thoughts wander down these meandering pathways in her brain, tripping random circuits, skipping like a drunk chess piece, to avoid thinking about her own issues. She tapped her fingernail over and over on the ceramic mug. Tink, tink.
Echo emerged from her room, face serious. “Is that mug from Max?”
Casey nodded. “Yup.”
“We are explore,” Echo picked it up and read, enunciating each word. “Far extend earth to everywhere. Take star in our hand.” She tilted her head. “The hamster is a nice touch. Or is that an exploding tennis ball?”
Casey smiled and touched the mug. “It’s hard to say for sure.”
“This is a weird gift, but after that—” Echo pointed to the wall, “—I suppose one just learns to adjust. Are we millionaires now? I mean, if that’s yours, you could technically sell it, right? And buy a small island in the Caribbean, and a private jet. And a really good bottle of wine.”
“Technically. But it’s not mine. I can’t keep it
. Jesus, I can’t even keep it in here. I’m terrified that water will drip on it or the toxic mold in the closet will leach out and engulf it by morning. Fuck me.”
“Yeah, I think that’s pretty much what he wants.”
“Echo!” Casey’s voice was hard. “Stop. I don’t want to joke anymore. I don’t want this to be funny. I don’t know what to do.” She started crying.
“What do you want to do?” Echo sat down on the couch and pulled Casey into her arms. “Forget the painting, forget the money. Forget all of that. Does Hunter make you happy, just him, being with him?”
“He’s exciting and sexy and alluring and dangerous.” Casey rested her head on Echo’s shoulder, bony but soft.
“Is that the same as happy?”
“Isn’t it?” Casey shrugged.
“Well, I don’t know. But you don’t look happy. For a person who just got what amounts to a declaration of love from the man she’s been crying over for weeks, you look surprisingly miserable.”
“I have to give it back. He knows I have to give it back. It doesn’t belong here.”
“Well, it belongs wherever it’s put, Case. That’s how art works. If you want it, I guess it does belong here.”
“I don’t want it.” Her voice was low, then it gained strength. “I don’t.”
“But it’s so much money. So valuable.” Echo’s voice was wistful. “I wish someone loved me enough to give me something that grand.”
“He doesn’t love me. We only just met, barely. It’s infatuation.” She ran over him in her mind, imagining his green eyes, his thick hair, his sexy face with all the lines and planes. “Like I felt for him. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever met, better than Beckham and Gandy and all of my favorite models. He’s perfect, you know? His voice is amazing. His laugh! The way he looks at me. His body. So perfect. No fat, all muscle, tall, lean. The way he moves. He’s the prince in all the Disney movies, but sexualized. He’s the man of my dreams, ever since I started thinking about boys. He’s the perfect image to all of my mental fantasies.”
But the images in her mind were slowly supplanted by another man, whose muscles were a little bulkier, whose jaw was scruffier, whose eyes—not the green she’d dreamed of forever—were cerulean blue.
“So why did you send him home alone, then, if he’s so perfect?”
A tear rolled down Casey’s face. “Because he’s not perfect. He looked like my dream man. He matched that portrait in my head. But I want something that goes deeper than the surface. Because if I’m honest with myself, if I cut through all the glitz and excitement, I don’t think Hunter is really offering me what I want.” She touched the mug. “Hunter took my painting off the wall, Echo. Did you see that? He took it down, and put Le Rêve up in its place. I don’t want Le Rêve. I want my own dreams up there.”
“He has a private jet and dozens of homes. I Googled him.”
“I know. But maybe I just want, you know, to have dinner with someone who makes me laugh, and who can take me home and make me scream. Maybe I don’t really need all the rest of it.” She picked up the mug. “Take star in our hand.” She thought about declarations of love, real ones.
“I don’t understand this gift, either.” Echo took the mug, turned it over. “Does it mean something to you?”
“Yeah, it does.” Casey took a deep breath. “Echo, I need to get to New York.”
* * *
“Is this your first time in a private jet?” Hunter’s voice was pleasant, neutral. He sat beside her, both of them embraced by plush, comfortable seats.
Casey stared out the window, then around at the leather seats, the luxurious interior, bright and airy. “I’ve never even flown first class, Hunter. This is like Alice in Wonderland for me, on steroids.”
“Mariana will get you anything you want to drink, once we’re in the air. We follow standard commercial protocol for seatbelts and safety, but once we’re up, you can explore.”
His hand clenched, and she took it into hers on an impulse. “Hunter, thank you for doing this. I’m sure it’s not easy.”
“It’s the least I can do to make up for things.”
“I appreciate it.”
He looked away, but relaxed his fingers. “I’m—I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable with the painting.”
Casey shook her head. “It’s back in your home, safe?”
He nodded. “It is. I just—look, I don’t want to make things even more awkward. I wasn’t trying to be a psycho stalker, Casey. I just suddenly thought that maybe you were everything I wanted, and I went all out. Big gesture. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that was one big gesture,” she said, her voice wry. “I’m not mocking you, Hunter—just, still overwhelmed. I can’t even comprehend how you could have wanted to give me something like that.”
He shrugged. “You liked it, and I liked you. It struck me that if were right for each other, then we’d end up sharing everything eventually, everything I ever had or will have, and why not start right away? But—it was, and I know this, overboard. And I know now that you don’t feel the same way.”
“For a little bit, I thought I did,” she admitted. “I was infatuated with you when we first met. I can’t explain it but I was drawn to you. It’s just that, I’m sorry, but it sort of… faded.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“Someday?” Casey touched his arm. “Someday when you meet the right woman? That kind of gesture won’t be out of place. It will be exactly right. I love that idea of knowing from the start that you’re meant to be together, so why have any barriers. I’m sure that you’ll have that. You will.”
He nodded. “Not with you.” There was a question in his tone.
“No.” Her voice was firm. “I’ll always think you’re handsome. And sexy. And so smart. And you gave me my first spanking. I’m sure that will have a place in my heart forever.”
“Or your ass.” He smiled, and she laughed.
“There too.”
“But it’s not enough.”
“I’m sorry, but no. Max—” She snuck a glance at his face. “Thank you for taking me to him.”
“We’re best friends.” A muscle in his face clenched. “Stands to reason we have the same good taste in women. I want his happiness, and yours. If it’s not me with, then that’s just something I’ll work through.”
“Hunter, you doing this? It will make you even more amazing for Miss Right, when she comes along. She’ll melt when she hears about you, doing this. It makes you into a hero. Seriously.”
He smiled but his eyes were sad. “I hope that’s true.”
“You don’t love me.” She held her breath.
He met her eyes. “I thought you were everything I wanted, for a while. Isn’t that the same thing?” He sounded unsure, though.
“It’s not,” she said, touching his arm. “I was confused, too. You were so close to what I wanted that I let myself get fooled. But I don’t think we’re the right match. We have so many things in common, but not the one thing that matters most.”
“And what’s that?”
She shrugged. “It’s the thing I feel with Max. The magic connection that doesn’t break even when we’re apart. The fact that he makes me laugh and holds me when I’m sad. He gets my jokes. He thinks sort of the same way I do. I mean, sexually, you’re fantastic. Not better than Max, just different. But with him, it’s something more.”
“I never made you laugh?”
“You made me cry.” Her voice was soft.
“I’m so sorry.” He sounded tortured.
“It’s all right. I cried it all out, Hunter, and when I was empty, I realized what I needed to take the place of all my anger and sadness. You helped me find my way, strange as it sounds. And I’m grateful to you.” She squeezed his hand. “I really am. You cleared my path for what was next.”
He sighed and squeezed her back, then let go. “Glad to help.” His voice was low.
“I know you’re not. But you will
be, someday. You and Max are a lot alike.”
“You just explained how different we are.”
“Yes, different in a way that matters to my heart. But you’re both smart, and strong, and caring, and successful. And you both seek beauty in life, just in a different way. I can see why you’re friends. I think you’re a good man. I’d like to be your friend, too, if you let me.”
He nodded. “You’ll need to give me time. But I don’t want to lose Max as my friend. And I don’t want to lose you, either. Even if I never had you for very long.”
“Good.” She smiled.
“Look, I’m going to let you rest. I’ll be over in the other section, doing some work. Let me know if you need anything.”
She nodded and watched him make his way to a table, and knew he probably wasn’t going to get much work done. Her heart broke in sympathy, and part of her still wasn’t sure this was the right choice. Hunter was incredibly sexy and appealing, and she could see herself spending not just one night with him, but many nights, months, years. He was so nearly almost perfect in some ways, and utterly right in others, that it would be so very easy to just say yes.
But the thing with almost perfect was that it started to wear away at you like soft sand-paper, without your slightest notice, and then one day you woke up to find a gaping wound in your soul. She couldn’t bear to settle now and deal with that gash later, and need to start all over. Better to feel the pain now, her and Hunter both, leaving them open and ready for the person who made the almost disappear and turn into always.
* * *
“This is it.” Hunter gestured out the window of the limo. “Marco, stop here, please. I’ll call you when I need to leave. Thanks.”
He slid out, held the door for Casey. She peered up at the skyscrapers. “So this is the business district.”
“This way.” Hunter took her elbow, businesslike, and she could see his professional persona now, the one who commanded companies and fortunes. She thought then, that it wasn’t just for work, either; it was his entire personality, the way he treated all of life—with such intensity that most people would be scared away. It was in the way he scanned the street, the way he walked, his air of confident ownership mixed with some kind of drive that kept every footfall brisk, every motion spare, everything in his body leaning forward into the future, even when he stood still.
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