Page 116 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

“Why did he have to show up now when I’m finally getting my life back together?”

“Okay, first of all, youhavegotten your life together.” Annika looked me up and down. I was wearing a tank top and hand-painted Carhartt work pants. My daily uniform. “You look amazing, and you have this whole fabulous career. You’re doing better than ever.” She wagged her finger at me. “So don’t you dare let him derail all your hard work.”

“No, I know. But I walked out on him.” I didn’t just walk out, I ran.

“So what? He broke your heart. You were devastated. I was there, remember? That man put you through hell. He’s the one who left,” she reminded me. “You were there for him but where was he when you needed him?”

I could argue that he couldn’t show up for me when he wasn’t even showing up for himself. I could argue that the circumstances were out of the ordinary and that none of it was his fault. But he seemed to be doing just fine now, so what was his excuse for being MIA for so long?

“You’re absolutely right,” I said, rallying again. My actions were completely justified. “I didn’t even expect him to care.”

“Exactly. If he wants you back, let him work for it. He needs to prove he deserves you, not the other way around. But who knows? You might fall in love all over again.” She sighed, her hand going to her heart. “How romantic would that be?”

Turncoat.

For as much as I’d loved Gabriel, madly and truly and deeply, after he left, I had to find a way to love myself more. That had been my entire focus for the past few years. Falling in love with myself and my one precious life all over again.

Had I met other men? Sure. I’d even kissed a few. An Australian filmmaker I met in Bali. A French journalist in Paris. And a British artist on New Year’s Eve as fireworks cascaded over the River Thames, heralding the new millennium.

But for the most part, men had been a distraction I hadn’t wanted or needed so I’d stayed in the shallow end and never ventured beyond the initial attraction and the giddy high of kissing someone new.

I didn’t have the time or energy or interest in pursuing anything more. Once I’d made the decision to step away from fashion design and pursue art, I went all in.

If you’re not taking risks with your art, what’s the point?

So I did the thing that scared me most and put my art, and by extension myself, out into the world. Installations in public spaces. Group and solo exhibitions in London, Paris, Basel. An open invitation for critics and collectors and dealers to judge, laud, revile or praise.

I was one of the lucky few who earned my living as an artist and now, thanks to Greer, I’d landed another commission.

Jack was waiting for me outside the former textile factory on a cobbled street in SoHo. He was leaning against the brick wall basking in the sunshine dressed in faded denim and a spotless white T-shirt with aviators shielding his eyes.

No matter what he wore, he always looked as if he’d just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot.

Jack Wells was golden. Golden skin. Tousled brown hair sun-streaked with blond. Golden-green eyes and a Hollywood smile.

Golden, golden, golden.

When Greer introduced us a few years ago, I’d pegged him as a wealthy playboy. Too rich. Too charming. Too good-looking. Too much of everything.

Not my type at all.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He gave me one of his charming smiles and kissed me on the cheek then brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth and sucked on it. “Mmm. You taste so sweet.”

I ran my tongue over my lips to catch the frosting I’d missed. “I ate a dozen cupcakes for breakfast.”

“Living on the edge. I like your style, Babs.”

I hated that nickname but what could you expect from a guy that everyone called Wellsy.

“Safety first.” He plunked a hard hat on my head then put on his own and led me inside. “It’s still a construction zone but you’ll get the general idea.”

“Will it be ready by September?” I asked as we side-stepped slabs of marble stacked on the floor in front of the concierge desk in the lobby.

“Fingers crossed. We’ve already booked most of the rooms,” he said as we climbed a sweeping bottle-green staircase that looked as if it was made of crushed glass, which Jack confirmed it was.

“This is going to be the main lounge and bar.” Jack swept his arm around the light and airy space, but we hung back, staying out of the way of the construction crew repointing the exposed brick and plastering the soaring ceilings from scaffolding towers while another crew was installing an oak bar with a hammered copper bar top.

A wall of arched windows overlooked a terrace where they were putting up a striped awning.