Page 198

“If you’re there, would you let me see you?”

Blaire studies me before answering.

“You’re already planning for after London?”

“I am.”

Her gaze drifts back toward the painting.

I give her a moment before asking, “Would you let me come to California and see you?”

The reaction is immediate. Her shoulders tighten, and the ease in her expression disappears.

“There’s really no reason for you to come to California,” she says.

The answer comes too quickly to be casual.

“Why not?” I ask.

Blaire looks at me again.

“Because you have your life here, and in New York and Geneva. I have mine there.”

“I own a plane.”

“I know you do,” she says.

Something about the subject has changed her completely, and I recognize the same tension I’ve seen before whenever I get too close to asking about the life she has outside London.

I could press her, but I don’t. Instead, I shift the conversation.

“Come to the Cotswolds with me next weekend,” I say.

Her brows lift. “Where did that come from?”

“Sebastian mentioning Tuscany earlier reminded me that I haven’t been out to the London countryside since I got back.”

Blaire considers that.

“For how long?” she asks.

“A weekend, a day, an afternoon, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“And if I say no?” she asks.

“I’ll accept no,” I reply. “I may ask again another time.”

She gives me a look that is more amused than irritated.

“You really are committed to this.”

“Yes.”

Blaire lowers her glass and studies me for another moment.

“I’ll think about it,” she says.

I nod. “That’s all I’m asking.”