For 100 Nights (100 2)

“Why the hell not? Did Nick say you couldn’t?”

“No, of course not. But there’s no space—”

Her brows rise. “Don’t tell me you can’t find one little corner for yourself in an apartment that spans two floors and more than eight-thousand square feet.”

“No, that’s not the problem either. It’s Nick. Really, the problem is me.” I blow out a sigh. “I’m not ready for him to see my new work. I want it to be good first.”

“Because he told you that it wasn’t.”

“He was right,” I admit, surprised at how the sting of Nick’s critique of my art has lessened over time. “He said I was holding back and that it showed on my canvas. He says he believes I have talent, that I have it inside me to be great.”

He said a lot more than that, truths I’m only beginning to understand since we’ve been together. Nick said my art was self-conscious, afraid . . . like me.

But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to let him in.

I can’t. Not all the way.

Not when there are things I can’t allow him to see.

Tasha puts her hand on my wrist, her eyes soft with sympathy, as if I’ve just spoken all of my fears aloud. “You need to paint, Avery. I’ve seen how much it means to you. It’s part of you.”

“I know.” I nod, grateful for her understanding. “I’ll find a way.”

“What about renting a little studio somewhere?”

“I don’t have the money for that.”

“You made five grand from house-sitting for Claire Prentice four months ago.”

“Yes, and after paying back rent on my old apartment in Brooklyn, then renting a car to go see my mom two weeks ago, plus dozens of other little expenses, I’ve got less than half of it left.”

“Maybe I can help.” Before I can ask what she means, she pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket and calls her husband, Antonio. “Hey, babe. Does Aunt Rosa have any friends who might have a small, unfurnished space to rent here in the city? I’m talking dirt cheap, but not dangerous cheap.” She pauses and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, because we don’t already have a perfectly good bedroom for that. I’m talking about a place for Avery to use as a studio for a while.”

“What?” I shake my head in protest, but there’s no stopping her.

“Okay, great. No, just have her call Avery if she finds something. I’ll text you her number in a minute. Yep, love you, too, babe.”

“Tasha—”

“Don’t even start,” she says, already slipping her phone back into her pocket. “You’ve done so much for me, this is the least I can do for you.” As she speaks, someone calls out from the back office, alerting her to a delivery that needs a signature. “Listen, I gotta go take care of a few more things before we open.”

“All right,” I relent, as she pulls me into a brief hug.

“Come back and see me later this week, if you can manage to drag yourself away from your other favorite creative pursuit,” she says with a wink. “We can chat about him over a glass of Carménère.”

Chapter 3

The warm summer weather is so nice when I leave Vendange, I decide to walk instead of hailing a taxi or riding the subway back to the Upper East Side. Hundreds of other people apparently have the same idea. Rather than fall in line with the corporate types and other Manhattanites who rush past me on Madison Avenue, I take my time, strolling along the broad sidewalk with the crowds of meandering tourists and window shoppers.

Up and down this bustling stretch of asphalt, concrete, and towering steel, exclusive boutiques stand side-by-side with national brands of all kinds, as well as upscale designer stores, and financial institutions. I’m not in the market for anything specific, but as I approach a luxe lingerie shop, I can’t help myself from pausing at the brass-framed windows to admire all of the lacy, satiny things secreted inside.

It isn’t hard to imagine how hot Nick’s gaze would smolder if he saw me in one of those sexy undergarments . . . or how quickly his strong hands would work to peel it off me in his need to get inside me.

My nipples tighten at the thought. A flush of heat races through me, warmth I feel most intensely between my bare thighs, which now tremble a bit beneath my light linen skirt.

Curiosity, and the desire to drive Nick even a fraction as crazy as he makes me, finally gets the better of me. With a smile curving my lips, I open the glass doors and step inside.

Soft classical music and delicate perfume drift on the comfortably cool air of the boutique. I nod in gre