Page 98 of Tangled Up In You

He ignored her attempt to joke. “Give me twenty minutes to clean up and I’ll join you, yeah?”

“Sure.”

It wasn’t unusual for them to—platonically—spend time together. Over the years, they had developed a genuine friendship based on mutual interests like art and literature. They were familiar and easy with one another, so Sophie was glad for his offer of company.

Conor still spent a lot of his energy chasing after women and making a paparazzi spectacle out of himself when his girlfriend du jour was a well-known model or actress, but a long-term relationship never seemed to stick. He also continued to flirt shamelessly with Sophie when they were alone, but they had gotten to the point where it was almost like a harmless inside joke.

There had only been one incident that made Sophie question the real depth of Conor’s feelings, and it wasn’t even anything that he had done. Rather, it was the mild “scandal” of a photograph widely circulated in the tabloids along with the speculation that the way Conor was looking at Sophie in it was suggestive of a previously well-hidden love for her. Gavin had dismissed it out of hand, Conor had laughed it off, but Sophie wasn’t so quick.

In the photo, they were at an after-party and Sophie was leaning against the end of a sofa, a smile on her face as she looked at something that had been cropped out of the shot. Conor was seated not far in the background, surrounded by several women vying for his attention. But his eyes were firmly fixed on Sophie with an expression of such naked longing and adoration it was impossible to deny. She’d realized she was all too familiar with that look. Whereas once he had been charmed by her, he had for quite a while looked at her with something more. She chose, however, to push this understanding to the back of her mind rather than address it.

Now they wandered the museum, examining the Renoir, Chagall, van Gogh, and Modigliani pieces in companionable silence.

That is, until Conor leaned close to Sophie and asked in a hushed tone, “Where are all the nudes?”

Sophie slapped his arm and he laughed. “Speaking of nudes,” she started.

“You’ve got my attention.”

She sat on one of the benches in front of Modigliani’s less-than-flattering portrait of Diego Rivera, and he joined her. This could have been her alternative life, studying art like this. But her modeling career was so successful that she hadn’t seriously entertained going back to school.

“I got some news earlier,” she said.

“I’m intrigued.”

“I got the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.”

“Really?” he asked with obvious delight for her. “That’s fantastic, Sophie. And a big deal, isn’t it?”

She smiled. “Yeah, it is. It’s huge. I’ll get a look at what photo they chose tomorrow. And the magazine will be out in about a week.”

“Good for you, honey. I know you’ve been wanting this.”

“Yeah, and it feels especially good because now no one can say I got it because I’m married to Gavin. I’ve been working too hard.”

“What, people would tell you that? Give you a bad time of it?”

“Sometimes. Especially in the beginning. But not as much anymore.”

“Good,” he said protectively.

She stood and nodded toward the far exhibit hall, and they continued to walk through.

“I met a model last week. Her name was … Astrid something,” he said.

“Astrid Ekdahl?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“She’s pretty young, isn’t she?”

“Twenty-two, in fact.”

“Good in bed?”

“Not bad,” he answered automatically. After a second, he attempted a sheepish smile.

“And you don’t even know her last name,” Sophie said with a teasing tsk.

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