He broke off and stood still for several seconds, drawing deep breaths. When he finally spoke, he was calm. "There is more going on than you know."

"Ha! Yes, James, that's one of the problems. You've kept too much hidden from me."

He ran his hands through his blackened hair. "I haven't just been hiding from you. I-"

I reached down from the low bed and picked up the phone where it was lying amid the strayed pearls. "I've been texting you, you know. Why didn't you shut this phone off?"

"I don't know." He didn't meet my eyes.

"Who has the matching one now? Stefan?"

He nodded.

I pulled up the log of texts. "You want to know how loyal I've tried to be? I texted you every time I told a lie."

He looked up and swallowed, his expression both hopeful and taken aback. I thrust the phone at him.

I got called a slut and a whore for reporting sexual harassment at the hands of my thesis advisor. Yet when I rode naked in the back of a limousine and screamed from orgasm as we drove through the streets, I was cherished and praised. I know which world I'd rather live in.

He handed it back after reading the last text I had sent, his hands shaking a little. "What about Damon?"

"What about him?" I shook my head.

"Have you seen the painting?" His voice was bitter with venom.

"No, I haven't," I said. "I wanted nothing to do with Damon and his painting. He delivered it earlier today when I was busy getting ready to perform. For you."

He put his hand over his eyes. "You were amazing," he whispered.

I stood and pulled on the bathrobe Paulina had given me. It was Turkish, she had said, "fit for a pasha." I belted it and held my head high. "What is amazing is that everything I've done to try to stay true to you means nothing."

"That's not true," he said.

"It is. If you don't believe me, then none of it means anything." I felt my eyes prickle hotly again, but I drew a deep breath and did not cry. "Let's go ask Damon what he thinks, hmm?"

James scrubbed his face with his hands. "You know there are people downstairs waiting for us."

"You're not going to hide from them?" I chided.

He winced as if stung. "I have my reasons for hiding when I do."

"That line is getting old."

This time he bristled. "All right. Let's go back to the party. It'll be down to friends and family now, all people who know I'm the artist. Are you up to it, though, Karina? Can you put on a public face for appearances?"

"They've already seen everything there is to see of me," I said angrily as I slipped the phone into my robe pocket. "I will be fine. After all, I only have to be one person."

I marched ahead of him, down the stairs, my mind whirling. A voice in the back of my head was pleading with me not to scare him off again, but that voice was tiny compared to how angry I was at him. But maybe it was time to be angry. Maybe if we were going to start fresh, it was necessary to get it all out now.

I wasn't sure. What I was sure of was that he stuck right behind me, never letting me get too far ahead, and he was at my elbow as we entered the gallery again, to sudden applause.

Fifteen.

I'll Place the Moon Within Your Heart

In the gallery, the coffee and wine were flowing freely. Fifty or sixty people remained out of the crowd that Michel said was close to two hundred at the peak. "Packed to the rafters!" he enthused, "and then you brought the place down! Karina, that was amazing!"

As we moved through the crowd, James stayed right at my side. I watched him, sharing a smile or a handshake with this or that person, accepting their congratulations and listening to their praise. He was used to this, I realized, this sailing through the public eye while churning with angst underneath.

Well, if he could do it, so could I. And I admit, it was very nice to hear the compliments from people who had enjoyed my dancing. A friend of Michel's gave me his card and said he could introduce me to Richard Alston, a choreographer of high repute. As James had said, Damon was there. He was standing beside his canvas, talking animatedly to a few onlookers and yet with only a hint of his usual cocky edge. Vanette was hanging back from the group, watching him. James and I stood just beyond her, where I could get a look at the painting and hear what Damon was saying.

"I would be paralyzed for days, looking at the great works. Then I'd walk up to the canvas with a brush in my hand and freeze, thinking I can't do this. It's not even worth trying. I'll never be that good."

The painting, though, was grand. It wasn't quite Burne-Jones, but it was luminously done. Damon had chosen one of the side camera angles, and one of the poses where my legs were together, my head back, and his expression of longing was almost one of helplessness. My skin seemed to glow in the sunset light, which suffused the dark rock and the shine of his leather armor with warmth. The way James had reacted, I thought for sure Damon must have picked one of the pornographic poses. If anything, it was the emotional content that was too raw and naked in the painting, not my skin.

The man Damon was talking to was a skinny fellow with a patchy beard wearing a red "patron" ribbon, meaning he had donated more than a thousand pounds to the ArtiWorks. "And you go through this every time you paint?"

"Well, truth be told, every time I've tried to paint for the past ten years, and I've never broken through it. Until now. And I thought I would be rusty, but no, once I started putting paint to canvas, I felt as if I had been working on my craft all those years! All those canvases I had worked on endlessly in my mind, it was as if I had trained myself with them. I can't explain it."

"You must be very pleased with the result."

"I am."

"How much for the painting, then?"

"Aheh. I'm not sure yet if I'll offer it for sale. I hadn't thought beyond getting it finished by today."

Michel and Martindale accosted us then. "James and Karina are brilliant together, aren't they?" Michel was saying.

"Certainly," Martindale answered. "It was already a very powerful piece! But it took Karina to bring it to life. I'll never be able to look at this sculpture without imagining her there."

"Was it that obvious it was made for her?" James asked.

"Far from it," Martindale said. "I don't know that any of us would have wrung your intended interpretation from it, as we're on this side of the looking glass. But Karina saw it from the inside, from your side. Karina, you are brilliant."

"I agree," Michel said. "And the brilliance of the piece is that it lends itself to so many interpretations, and yet all of them lend themselves to a facet of the vision her performance crystallized."

"Oho, crystallized. Was that a pun?" Martindale said.

"Perhaps!" Michel said and poured more wine into Martindale's glass. "Karina, cherie, have some wine." He handed me a glass from the tray by the wall.

"Thank you." Martindale clinked his glass against mine. "Oh, by the way, Karina, I have a message for you from Tristan."

"Oh?" I swallowed the wine quickly. "Er, he told me he was going to bring his mother tonight."

"I believe that he did. He told me to tell you thank you for a fantastic performance and, I don't quite understand the message, but he said his went swimmingly as well?"

I laughed. "Long story. But all's well that ends well. I can't thank you enough, Mr. Martindale. You've been really awesome to me all summer. I wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for you."

He smiled and blushed a little. "Art is my call of duty," he said. "And look what's come of it." He gestured around. "We'll be sorry to see you go. I was going to suggest that this week you ought to hand back all the tour duties and do some sightseeing." He raised an eyebrow at James, as if hinting at who should be playing tour guide for me. James merely raised his glass with a small smile.

Another well-wisher took James's attention at that moment, and I took the opportunity to finally sample one of Paulina's mini-eclairs from the tray on the sideboard. Delicious. Paulina hadn't skimped on the chocolate at all, and she'd made the custard intensely vanilla.

I was just licking the chocolate from my fingers when I got a hug from Helen, who called the performance "Brilliant!" and then motioned at me to turn and look at something.

Peter and Linae Simpson were locked in a movie-pose kiss, with her bent back, one toe pointed and one hand keeping the hat on her head. He had a bandage on his cheek and one on the hand I could see, but neither one seemed to be hampering him. When the two came up for air, they began saying their good nights.

"What's the story with them, really?" I asked Helen as they waved good-bye on the way out the door.

"They're mad, I tell you. You know how he gets so jealous? But if he doesn't get jealous, it's like the spark goes out of their relationship. It's why she and I go out. We don't even talk to men, but the fact that Peter thinks we do, that's what gets him all hot and bothered." Helen grinned. "I'm not sure which of the blokes here talked to Linae and set him off, but there you go. They're on their way back to the bed-and-breakfast to make mad, passionate love. I best wait a while before I head back myself or I won't get any peace."

"When are you going back to York?" I asked.

"If I can manage it, I think I'll stay until Monday. I met the nicest boy here tonight. You must know him, says he works at the Tate, too."

I smiled. "I'm sure I do."

"Yeah, his mother and I got to chatting about York while he was in the loo, and then when he came back we were talking art, you know, like you do, and I ended up talking him into showing me around the sights. His mum seemed all right with it, so that's out of the way, and he's such a cute fellow. I'll give him the time of day and see what happens, you know?"

"Yeah. You can only try and see."

"Cute though. Very cute. That helps." She giggled.

"That it does. Come on. Let's get more eclairs before they're gone."

I put a few onto a small plate and carried one over to James. I wondered if I could see the real James under his public veneer.

I held up the pastry without saying anything. He took it gently with his teeth and licked my finger as he pulled back, chewing it thoughtfully.

"Hmm, that's twice," he said, licking his lips.

"What's twice?"

"Twice we've had eclairs after you had a public art performance involving glass."

"Involving my ass, you mean."

That made him break character. He made a silent laugh and shook his head. "I've missed you." He glanced toward the others as if wondering if it was safe to say more.

I looked around the room. The crowd was beginning to thin a little. Over by his painting, Damon was listening attentively to Vanette. She was wearing an almost military-style jacket, which may have added to how severe she looked.

Then Damon got down on his knees and kissed the pointed toe of her well-polished boots. I stared. I couldn't help myself. James turned to see what I was staring at and then looked away quickly, pretending he hadn't seen.

"What do you suppose is going on there?" I asked.

He had an impeccable public mask, but I couldn't miss that he blushed. "I'm sure I can't guess." He looked at me instead of at them, his expression darkening.

"Let's go find out," I said.

"Karina-"

I marched up to them. Vanette smiled when she saw me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "That was an inspiring performance," she told me. Her eyes flicked back and forth between me and James.

"Thank you," I said. "And thanks for your help. I was wondering if I could ask Damon a few questions, though."

She snapped her fingers and Damon got to his feet, his hands folded in front of him and his head slightly bowed. "Actually, I have a few questions for you, too," she said. "Can we go somewhere private to speak? All four of us?"

There were still too many people in the gallery to do it here. James cleared his throat. "Stefan is driving one of the larger cars tonight."

"Excellent. That would do perfectly," Vanette said coolly.

James took a phone out of one of the many pockets in the coveralls and texted a message. A car in front of the gallery flashed its headlights. "Ah, he's there already."

Stefan tried hard to contain his excitement and happiness at seeing me, keeping his stoic and professional demeanor as he opened the back door for us. But his eyes were alight and his eyebrows twitched at me. I couldn't help but give him a little smile back, squeezing him on the arm as I climbed into the car.

He closed the door behind James and then stayed on the curb, as if keeping watch. I suppose he was.

James and I sat on one side of the spacious limo. Vanette sat across from us with Damon on the floor at her feet. Other than earlier, I had never seen him dressed so casually. He was in worn-looking black jeans and a plain white T-shirt. His hair was tousled and glossy, as if he'd gotten out of the shower with it wet and it still hadn't dried. His eyes were on the floor.

Vanette looked back and forth between the two men like a dog trainer trying to figure out which puppy had peed on the carpet. "I think there's been enough miscommunication between the three of you to fill a couple of plays of Shakespeare and a Russian saga." She crossed her arms. "Frankly, I've had enough of it. Karina, what did you wish to ask him?"

"I wanted him to explain some things to James."

Damon looked up.

"Like first of all, my dictum."

Vanette smiled. "Go on, Damon."

"Penile penetration," Damon said in a low voice, like a schoolboy being chastised by a teacher.

"Louder, please."

"Penile penetration," he said with a huff, looking up and meeting James's eyes.