Under other circumstances, this would be a deal breaker. But since he said no nudity, I guess I don’t mind. And truthfully, I’m flattered.
“I don’t know why, but okay.”
His eyes turn gentle. “You don’t know why?”
“No, not really. But it’s okay. You don’t have to give me some speech about how I really am beautiful and don’t see myself clearly.”
“It seems you’re familiar with that speech.”
“Yes, and frankly it never works for anyone. It would be better if we used our time productively.”
He shakes his head and narrows his eyes like he is plotting some other way to convince me. I feel some heat return to my skin so I start babbling. “What would you like me to wear?”
His eyes sparkle, and his teeth graze his lower lip just a tiny fraction. “My shirt.”
The quintessential morning-after attire. At this rate, I’ll blush until June thirteenth. “And what else?”
“Nothing else. Just my shirt.”
I have to negotiate on this because even if it’s just Javier and me in the gallery, I need my knickers. “Will the shirt be open or buttoned?”
“Open,” he mouths.
My mouth goes dry. “Umm, that might be a problem with the no-nude rule. I’d feel more comfortable if I could keep my knickers.” Mortified, I look down at my cup of hot chocolate again.
“Okay, knickers. But I get to pick them,” he says softly.
I nod. “Thank you.”
“That’s it. Unless you want to talk price.”
I shake my head. No, that would be humiliating.
“Now, I’d like the same color and style as the rest of the paintings but before I hire Feign, I need some information from you.”
“What kind of information?”
“Are you sleeping with Feign?” His voice is even and cold again.
Whoa! That’s abrupt and kind of offensive. But I guess he is entitled to suspect it given what he knows. “No, I am not.”
“Incidentally, are you with someone else?”
“No.”
He leans back on his chair. “Then, I’ll discuss the schedule with Feign and get back to you.”
I’m confused. “Why would you not hire Feign if I were with him or someone else?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want you distracted, Miss Snow. And I certainly don’t need to invite the ire of a jealous boyfriend. It wouldn’t end well for him.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I say, but for some reason, I get the feeling his words mean something else. Oh well. Feign will throw a wrench in the works anyway, so I don’t need to worry.
Mr. Hale sips his espresso. “Do you go back to England often?” he asks abruptly.
“No.” It’s technically true.
“What about your parents? Are they in England?”
I guess I knew this was coming. I go through my routine for such questions. Take a breath, recite to carbon. “My parents have passed away, Mr. Hale.” I don’t look at him because I don’t want to see what I know I will see. Pity. I dislike it from anyone but apparently, I really despise it from him.
“I’m very sorry.” His voice is the softest I’ve heard it yet. From the corner of my eye, I see his hand extend a little toward mine and then stop as if he thought better of it. “And I’m sorry I asked. I had no idea.”
“No need to apologize. There can be no fault when the intention is kind.” I risk a look at him. His face is tender, like he is seeing something painful. And not just painful, but maybe familiar.
“Do you have siblings?” he asks in that same gentle tone.
“No.” I always wanted one but Mum couldn’t have children after me. She always felt a pang for that.
“I’m an only child myself. I sympathize.”
This voluntary disclosure feels like an olive branch. I accept it with a smile. “I went through a stage when I would draw my brother and sister. My parents had to endure the stick figures at the dinner table for several months.”
“I should have given that a try. It might have made me less selfish.” He’s joking but his stormy eyes betray some regret. For some reason, I want to vanquish it.
“Most kind people think of themselves as selfish, I’ve noticed.”
He smiles but the dimple does not pucker in his cheek.
“What about your parents?” I ask.
“They’re vacationing in Thailand for the next month. My father, Robert, is an architect; my mother, Stella, an editor.” His voice turns guarded and distant. “Why did you leave England?” He puts the spotlight on me again.
“After my parents’ car accident, I needed a fresh start. I’d always thought the States were more immigrant friendly than Europe. So, here I am.” I leave out the long, torturous journey of the last four years, the Top Ramens, the dependence on others. It would be a real downer.
“This must have been very difficult for you,” he says softly.
“I’ve had my moments. It’s better now though. I miss them still, but I have done my best to keep parts of them alive. Like the nutritional supplement that my dad was so keen on. Most days, I just feel really lucky to have had such unconditional love even for a short while.”