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I sit and wait for the roof to fall in.

“Ah, the Ice Queen herself,” Fabien grandly announces later in the evening as he steps into the penthouse to find me curled up in a ball on the couch.

“Please,” I whimper. “Just... don’t...”

He takes in the sight of me crumbling under the pressure.

“Have you left the penthouse today?” he asks, now deadly serious.

I bury my face in the pillow.

“Nope.”

“Have you eaten?”

I shake my head.

He exhales through his nose, sharp and impatient.

“Get changed, then come with me.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“I wasn’t asking, Angel.”

That word. That nickname I both loathe and love.

“No.”

“Get off your ass and come with me, Jolie.”

* * *

“This is it,” Fabien says as we pull up outside an art gallery.

Fabien’s art gallery.

I’ve heard so much about this place, but I have never dared step inside. I was always too scared of bumping into Fabien again.

Well, that’s all gone to hell now.

It seems like everyone else in my life has wandered through those doors at some point.

It’s locked. The streets are quiet around here, despite being in the middle of New York. It’s nighttime. But Fabien opens the car door for me, offers me a guiding hand out onto the sidewalk, and unlocks his gallery.

“Are you treating me to a private tour?” I ask him as we step inside.

“Something like that.”

This is Fabien’s baby. His passion.

His home.

He flicks on the lights, and then guides me around the gallery, offering facts and information about individual artworks like I’m some visiting royalty having an intimate viewing. Spotlights pool on different paintings as our footsteps echo around the space. There’s a cool hush to the room at this time of night. It feels forbidden to be in here. Dangerous.

“I started this place by myself,” Fabien says as we pass by impressive artwork. “I built it from nothing but what little savings my parents left me, and it’s somehow become this.”

“You worked your ass off,” I tell him, “that would’ve helped. You weren’t just lucky.”