Page 128 of Caught Between Two Billionaires
“But if you mix those complementary colors together, they create the darkest shadows.”
She scrunches her nose. “Please tell me this analogy isn’t about sex.”
“Of course it’s about sex. Art is always about sex. That’s the second thing I learned as an artist.”
“Only the second thing? Didn’t you get into an exclusive summer program at the Harvard Art School when you were in middle school?”
“And I had this crush on Mr. Mendocino that gave me quite an education. The important thing is that complementary colors don’t want to mix together. They want to be next to each other.”
“You’re saying that Gabriel is pulling back because we’re getting too close?”
“No, Avery. I’m saying you are. You’re determined to find something wrong, and I think it’s because you’re scared. Of what, I have no idea. He’s a dangerous bastard, sure, but you knew that when he bid on your virginity, and you still fell in love with him.”
Her eyes go bright with tears. “I do love him.”
“I know,” I say softly because I know she would do anything for the man standing outside. And he would do anything for her, including drive her to the hospital at five a.m. in the morning after leaving only a few hours before that. “What are you afraid of, Avery?”
“My dissertation is finished.”
“Oh. That’s good, right?”
“It’s been finished. I told everyone I was taking the semester away from school to work on it, but it was done before I left. It was one thing to do the long-distance, constant-travel thing while I was in school, but Gabriel has a condo in Hong Kong and a building in Dubai, in addition to his mansion in Tanglewood. There are a million places he needs to be, but none of them are in a sleepy, snooty college town.”
“Why would you be in a college town—Oh. You want to teach?”
“I don’t have official offers right now, of course, but my advisor at Smith College is already begging me to stay. And I advised on this grant about Feminism and Families in the Trojan War at Berkley, and I would love to work with them.”
“Oh, Avery. Do you think Gabriel wouldn’t follow you there?”
“He would.”
“Then what’s the problem.”
“That’s just it. He would follow me someplace that isn’t good for him, that wouldn’t make him happy. And how do I know that? Because he isn’t happy now, and he isn’t telling me. What kind of future is that? Him getting quieter and quieter while I traipse around academia, doing whatever I want?”
“Honestly I love that you can call writing ten thousand pages on mythological ovaries traipsing, but I think you really need to talk to Gabriel. What if it’s actually his greatest dream to live in a snooty college town, wearing a black turtleneck and sipping espresso with his pinky finger up?” At her dubious look, I say, “Okay, probably not. But I still think you should talk to him.”
“I’ll think about it,” she says, but that probably means she’s going to stare at him and sigh over him and then sacrifice what she loves so she can be with him. It’s almost enough to make me mad, but the truth is, I don’t know the answer. What if two people love each other but they want different things? What if love is nothing but an endless wheel of compromise?
What if they mix and mix and mix until both of them are shadows of their former selves?
I grab the chart at the foot of the hospital bed and flip to an empty page, scribbling down some notes. “Can you go home and get this stuff from the house? I need a change of clothes.”
There’s more than clothes on the list. A portable speaker. The latest copy of Mom’s meditation magazine. All of it might actually get used in the next few hours, but that isn’t the only reason I’m sending her. I need the steady beep-beep-beep as much as I despise it. I’m going insane in this room, a fast and efficient one-way trip to despair, and I don’t need company for the ride. At least not in the form of a sweet, steady friend.
I wait until she’s gone before I pull out my cell phone.
Christopher does not answer his phone.
“It’s me,” I say to a thousand volts of mindless electricity. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here. How does it feel like my heart is being burned right here in my chest, on fire, but I’m not doing anything but sitting here? I need you to… God, Christopher. I just need you. Where are you? Why won’t you come?”
There’s a commotion in the hallway, and I close my eyes to shut it out. It doesn’t go away, though; it gets louder. Voices filter through the fog in my head like rays of too-bright sun.
