Page 19

Interlude

Weston

“They’re suspicious of us. We must be more careful, darling.” Weston glances up at Sadie from his desk, his pen stilling on the sheet of paper. It is autumn of 1883 in Paris, and the chestnut trees have turned deep gold. “Perhaps some time apart is in order.”

“Time apart? How long?”

“A week. Perhaps two. Besides, I’m on a deadline. I must finish this novel, and you must learn to be more discreet. Lock yourself in your room before you come to me so you aren’t traipsing about the place in a state of undress.”

“I ... I don’t think I can go that long without seeing you.” Sadie’s voice wavers. Her emotions are rawer these days. More mercurial. Weston’s presence is the only thing that soothes her.

He stands, goes to where she sits on the sofa, cups her jaw tenderly in his hand. “Oh, pet. Don’t worry. I’ll be ever more attentive when I’m not distracted by work.”

“Can I see what you’re working on?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Why not?” Sadie asks.

“Because it’s not finished. I don’t show anyone my work until it’s finished.”

“You showed Claire. I remember.” Sadie’s words lash the air.

“Don’t be jealous.”

“Did you show Sybil your work, too?”

“Sybil? No.” Weston skims Sadie’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You’ll see it. Eventually. Don’t be petty. It’s unbecoming.”

Sadie bites his thumb, scraping his skin with her teeth, teasing him with her eyes.

He smirks. “You’re such a naughty thing. You modern girls ... shameless.”

Sadie rolls onto her belly, arching her back. “You like my shamelessness.”

“Yes. I do. But for your sake, and mine, we must put aside our play for now.” He slides his hand up Sadie’s bare thigh. “Let’s make our parting a sweet one, shall we?”

After they make love, Weston returns to his work with a stubborn single-mindedness, barely glancing up as Sadie fades from view, as she falls back into another life—one that feels less like reality with each passing day.