Christmas Ever After (Puffin Island 3) - Page 127
She smiled. “There is nothing you can do. I have to accept that I’m no longer the first person they’re going to call when there’s a problem.” She paused. “And that they won’t necessarily be available to listen
when I have a problem. It doesn’t mean that we’re not still close, just that things are different.”
“I’m available and I’m listening. Tell me the problem.” He was surprised by how much he wanted her to confide in him.
He wondered why she wouldn’t.
And then suddenly he knew.
He was the problem. She wanted to talk to her friends about him. And that was the reason she couldn’t talk to him.
She shook her head. “That isn’t what our relationship is about.”
His mouth felt dry. “Is there a definition for our relationship?”
“Yes. It’s physically based. Fun. No emotional ties. Angst-free. We are the diet version of a relationship. Relationship-lite. Nonfat. Call it what you like.”
He had no idea what to call it.
No idea what to do in this situation.
All he knew was that he didn’t want to make her unhappy, but it seemed he was managing to do that without trying.
“How about friendship?” he said softly. “Can we call it that?” He saw her swallow and look away.
“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible. “We can call it that.” LATER, AFTER A meal they’d thrown together and eaten in the kitchen, they lay on the rug watching the snow drift past the windows.
Sky leaned her head on Alec’s chest, feeling his arms tighten. “I need to go and tidy your garden room.”
“Why?”
“My mess is strewn everywhere.”
“It isn’t mess, it’s your work.”
The only light came from the flickering fire and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree.
“You’re very patient.”
He laughed. “You’re the only one who thinks so. You’re a talented artist. Ever thought about doing more of that and less jewelry?”
“I like mixing it up. I like variety. Next time I’m in London I’m going to go to the National Gallery and see the Turner you talked about.”
“You live in New York. You have plenty of your own galleries. Do you ever go to the Met?”
“Of course. All the time.”
“Favorite painting?”
She smiled. “That’s easy. Portrait of Madame X.”
He nodded. “John Singer Sargent. He thought it was possibly his best work.”
“You know it?” Yet again, he surprised her. “There were already nudes, but that painting created a huge scandal.” She lifted herself onto her elbow so that she could look at him. “It was the dress and the way she held herself, she was sexy. I love that painting.”
“I confess I’ve only ever seen it in pictures.”
She opened her mouth to say that she’d take him and then realized that an invitation like that was out of place in their relationship so she lay back down and snuggled close. “This is perfect. I wouldn’t care if we were snowed in for a month.”
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