Page 24 of Worth Every Moment

“Masochist,” she says, a barely repressed smile on her lips.

“For you, yeah,” I joke.

She stops and places her hand over mine, making my heart skip a beat. “I missed you.”

My heart swells. “Missed you too.”

For a few seconds that linger too long, we stare at one another, and I sink into the present, wishing it could last forever.

Erica blinks. “But really, you shouldn’t leave your date.”

I dip my head to recalibrate. “We won’t be gone long. Harriet will be fine.”

Erica’s gaze drifts from mine. “Harriet,” she repeats quietly, which makes me frown.

We pass a few smaller exhibitions on the way to the bathrooms, and an idea strikes me.

“When was the last time you saw your Claudia Kirchwood photo shoot?” I ask.

Claudia is one of the most famous fashion photographers in the world, and the shoot she did when Erica was eighteen became iconic. Black and white images of Erica dancing in an empty ballroom. It was part of an advertising campaign for a perfume, but the photos subsumed the campaign, taking on their own legendary quality. Romantic, ethereal, with an edge ofintangible sadness. The same sadness that drew me to Erica in the first place. Even when she’s with me and she’s smiling, I can still see it in her eyes. Kind of haunted. I shake the thought off.

She muses. “I don’t know. A few months after we did it. Maybe six or seven years ago?”

I take Erica’s hand. “Come with me.”

I lead her to the lift, relishing the feel of her hand in mine, and press the button with the other. The gallery’s closed to the public tonight, and we shouldn’t be up here, but no one’s around. I know exactly where the exhibit is because I’ve followed it around the world. And right now, it’s here in London.

We enter the gallery, and I switch on the lights. The exhibit has been perfectly curated. Around the walls, the enormous prints of Erica are spotlit in golden light.

“Oh, wow,” she breathes, releasing my hand and walking slowly to the middle of the room, scanning each picture in turn. “I didn’t know these were here.”

I linger by the door, taking in the sight of her staring at the iconic images, and a heavy ache settles in my chest. Is it really awful not to come out and tell her how much I want her? Am I a total fucking arsehole for keeping it from her? I don’t want to risk it and lose everything, but wouldn’t it be better to tell her the truth?

I pace to stand beside her, my heart pounding. “Erica, there’s something I—”

“I forgot what these were like,” she murmurs dreamily, cutting me off and reminding me that I brought her here so she could have this experience. I can’t trespass across it with my own feelings. “Time is such a funny thing, isn’t it? I can remember posing for these like it was yesterday. I’d never be where I am today without this shoot. Without Arthur Knatchbull. He’s the head of the luxury goods conglomerate that paid for this shoot. Did you know that?”

Of course I fucking knew. He’s only one of the biggest businessmen in the world. “Yes. I knew that.”

“He picked me out of obscurity. It was him, choosing me from a hundred other young models, that changed everything. Before that, I was a catalogue model. High Street stuff. But after this shoot, I started earning real money. I was able to leave home. Buy my own apartment. I owe him my career. My life. Everything.” She scratches at her eyebrow. “Actually, it was my mother who took my portfolio to him in the first place. She got me the job. I have no idea how she got access to such a powerful man when I was a nobody at the time. Anyway, it was fate, I guess. And together, Mum and Arthur Knatchbull gave me my big break. I’ll be indebted to them forever.”Her mother?That’s what she told her? Erica gestures around the room, blinking as though there are tears welling. She pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs at the corners of her eyes. “Sorry, you were going to say something?”

Having Erica’s full attention on me once more sucks the air from my lungs, making me forget my annoyance that her mother is claiming credit for her success.

She assesses me, whatever contemplative sadness she was feeling seeming to disintegrate as she laughs softly. “You’re not going to ask me outagain, are you?” The joke is off-hand, as though she knows I’d never seriously ask her out so there’s no danger in the teasing. I wish I could meet her in that space where it’s funny to think I might ask her out, but I can’t laugh. All I experience is the sensation of my stomach dropping.

She sits on the huge velvet banquette. I sit beside her, trying to conceal the fact that her ridiculing tone has stirred up my insides.

I brush my hair off my forehead with one hand. “I wasn't.”

“Phew.” She gives me a pointed look. “That would be terribly poor form, considering Harriet is waiting for you downstairs.”

I'm pretty sure Harriet will have scarpered. “Actually—”

A noise outside cuts me off. Someone’s coming.

“In here,” comes a woman’s voice, and I know without a doubt they’re coming intothisgallery.

I don’t know why I do it, but a sudden impulse has me pulling Erica down off the banquette, the two of us crouching there on the floor in the semi-dark, hiding.