Page 54 of Every Rose

“Good. And can I ask you not to mention anything to James? I know you guys hang out, but I’d appreciate us keeping this . . . whatever it is, to ourselves.”

“Complete secrecy. Got it.”

He turned his head and she was shocked at how wintry his gaze seemed suddenly. “And are we open to other . . . offers?”

She felt confused. “Open to other offers?” What was this, a real estate transaction?

“Other people.”

“Oh.” She paused. Thinking. And not liking the cold stone that lodged in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Matt sleeping with anyone else. “I’d prefer to be exclusive.” Her throat felt suddenly dry so she swallowed. “Purely for health reasons.”

“Okay.” He sounded like it didn’t much matter either way.

She felt they’d taken a wrong turn somehow and she didn’t know exactly how it had happened. It was practical to be clear about the ground rules of this relationship. Since she imagined Matt would be extremely relieved to discover she was no more interested in a messy relationship with any kind of implied commitment than he was, she didn’t understand why the mood between them had changed.

“I’m guessing your last relationship was similar?”

His eyes closed briefly and then opened again. “It was exactly like that.”

“Tell me about her, the last woman you were, um, involved with.”

He looked at her as though she might have been in the sun too long even though they were inside her apartment. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. I want to put you in some kind of context, I guess.”

“She and I were exactly what you want you and me to be. No strings. Not a lot in common. I was not required to commit to boring events I had no interest in with people I didn’t know. I didn’t give her a hard time when she went away, and she traveled a lot on business. She didn’t bust my balls for working long hours. We liked each other, the sex was good. That’s it.”

She nodded. Yep, this was exactly the relationship she was proposing to him. And one day she imagined he’d describe her in similar terms. Like a cellphone plan you’d once had that was convenient and didn’t drop too many calls, but when a better plan came along with a different provider, he wasn’t bound by any loyalty. He’d move on.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked him.

There was a pause so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Once.”

He sounded so sad, she asked, “What happened?”

He turned to her. “Aren’t you breaking your own rules here? That’s the kind of stuff people talk about when they care about each other.”

“Well, I do. I mean, I don’t not care.”

“How about you? You ever been in love?”

Okay, she’d started this topic. She’d been the one insane enough to bring love into a conversation that was all about casual. What was wrong with her? “I thought I was. Peter Buckingham. I met him in San Francisco at a fundraiser. Some branch of his family had immigrated and brought over a priceless collection of paintings, they built a mansion specifically designed around the art. The place was getting kind of derelict and too expensive for the last of the American Buckinghams to keep up, so, when she died, she left the home and the collection to the people of San Francisco. Which was very generous, except that you need a lot of money to get a derelict mansion back in shape, plus, obviously, there was a lot of security and so on to worry about. Anyway, there was a big fundraising campaign and Peter came over, representing the family, to help raise money. He gave a lot of lectures, appeared at countless fundraisers, even sold himself at a bachelor auction.” She grinned in memory. “He was ‘bought’ by three older ladies who took him to tea and asked him about the queen. I met him pretty early on, and for the next two years, I saw him whenever he was in the states.”

“This is the Buckingham Collection you’re talking about.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen it. I’ve never seen so many Rembrandts in one place.” He shifted, so he was on one elbow looking down at her. “Wasn’t there some story where he auctioned one of the paintings off to get the money for the repairs?”

“Yes. And it was bought by a rich philanthropist who then donated it back to the collection, with a discreet plaque of course, crediting them with the donation.”

“Yeah, I remember that. Wow, and you dated that guy. Isn’t he a prince or something?”

“A baronet. I even flew to London to meet his family. But, I don’t know, when he went back to England for good, the relationship kind of fizzled out. It’s a long way to go for a weekend.”

“Or you didn’t want it enough.”

“Maybe we didn’t love each other enough to try.”

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