Danielle Steel - 44 Charles Street

“Stop worrying. He’ll be thrilled to have his own playroom. I’m going to get him a big TV so he can watch movies. And we’ll just be up one flight of stairs.” They were both excited about finally sharing a bedroom. It was becoming a real life, not just a romance.

They had a lot to think about and to talk about, and Francesca reminded him that the following weekend they were going to Miami for Art Basel. It was one of the finest art fairs in the world, second only to the one held in Basel, Switzerland, in June. And there were a dozen other smaller art fairs being held in Miami that weekend too. Francesca could hardly wait, and Chris was coming with her. She was still shaken by Marya moving to Paris, and especially so soon, but they had a lot to look forward to, and their life together was just beginning.

He wanted her to come to Boston to be with his family for Christmas. Francesca had said she would, and Ian wanted her to, but the thought of it scared her to death. What if they hated her or thought she wasn’t good enough for him? She was just a little art dealer in the West Village, and the daughter of a famous artist. His family was chock full of important people.

“They’re going to love you. I promise,” Chris reassured her. She decided to postpone worrying about it till after Miami. Between Marya leaving, switching the house around when she left, Christmas with his family, and the art fair in Miami in less than a week, December was going to be busy.

MARYA AND CHARLES-Edouard had agreed to baby-sit for Ian, when Chris and Francesca left for Miami for the weekend. She could hardly wait to see the different art fairs. There was Scope and Red Dot, and fourteen others, along with Art Basel, which was the finest in the world. The work that was exhibited there would sell for a fortune. Her father’s dealer had a booth, her father and Avery went every year, and she had promised to call them. Francesca and Chris were staying at the Delano, and when Chris saw it, he loved it. Each of the elevators was lit up in a different color, and the rooms had been designed by Philippe Starck. The weather was balmy and warm when they arrived, and Chris was dying to spend some time at the pool. Francesca wanted to go straight to the fair and get started. They’d be seeing more art in the next few days than most people saw in years.

Art Basel was at the Convention Center in Miami Beach in an enormous hall, and the others were at the Ice Palace and scattered around the city in different locations. Some of the smaller fairs had taken over hotels, and each room was rented by a different dealer. And there were parties in a dozen locations, in discos and hotels and restaurants. Francesca had received a stack of invitations. It was Chris’s introduction into the serious art world, by total immersion. He was excited about sharing it with her, and willingly put himself in her hands. But he stopped her before they left the room, and they wound up in bed for half an hour. It was a nice way to start the trip. They showered, changed, and went out.

They caught a cab at the hotel, and went to the Convention Center. There was a separate building for younger artists and more avant-garde work. Francesca’s dream was to show at one of the smaller fairs in Miami one day. She was planning to apply to Red Dot the following year, but didn’t feel she was ready for it yet. And she expected to spend several years on the waiting list. Getting into art fairs was extremely political, and often depended on who you knew. She had a great in through her father, but she hadn’t traded on it yet. She would if she absolutely had to.

“I’m never afraid to grovel for my artists,” she said to Chris, and he laughed as they got out of the cab at the huge hall. She had a pass from her father’s dealer to get in, and a few minutes later they were walking down the aisles, stopping at each booth to check out the art. Chris was amazed at what they saw. There were an infinite number of traditional dealers, selling important paintings. He saw three Picassos in less than five minutes, at astronomical prices. He saw a Matisse, a Chagall, two de Koonings, a Pollock, and two of her father’s paintings were exhibited by his dealer. One had a red dot next to it, which meant it was already sold. The other had a white dot, which meant it was on hold for a client. You had to have a big budget to buy there.

“Where does all this stuff come from?” Chris said in amazement. He had never seen so much art in his life, and the high caliber of the artists shown there was impressive.

“Europe, the States, Hong Kong.” Dealers from all over the world were showing there, and had flown in from everywhere. There were also a vast number of avant-garde galleries that were showing art that was intended to shock. There were video installations, conceptual art, and in one booth a huge mound of sand on the floor. It was selling for a hundred thousand dollars, and installed by the artist, who was well known.

Chris made comments as they walked along, and Francesca told him who some of the artists were. She loved being there with him, and they stayed until nearly eight o’clock, and after that they took a cab to a party she’d been invited to at a restaurant called Bed, where people sat and lay on mattresses and ate dinner. Every conversation they heard around them was about art and artists, the quality of the show, the expensive pieces that had already sold. Francesca ran into a lot of people she knew and introduced them to Chris. She was having a ball and loved every minute of it, and he was enjoying himself too. This was her world, and it fascinated him. Everyone seemed to know her.

They didn’t get back to the hotel until two A.M., after stopping at another party hosted by a dealer at a disco. They danced for a little while and then went home, and fell into bed in their stark white room at the Delano. They were dead to the world when Ian woke them up the next morning. He had just bought a Christmas tree with Marya, and they were making decorations. They were going to bake some of them to hang on the tree, and he sounded excited. Chris smiled at Francesca proudly after they hung up. Ian promised to call them back later.

“He’s such a great kid, isn’t he?” Chris said, cuddling up to her in bed.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed, “and so are you.” She kissed him, and they got up a few minutes later. And an hour after that they were back at the fair. They stayed there all day until Chris begged for mercy, and said he couldn’t look at another piece of art. They had almost finished with Art Basel by then, and she still wanted to see Red Dot and Scope, but she agreed to take a break, and spend an hour with him at the pool. He lay gratefully next to her, and looked ecstatic, as he held a beer.

“Jesus, they’re not kidding when they say this is the biggest art fair in the world.” She laughed at his look of exhaustion. There was still a lot she wanted to see, although she didn’t think they’d get to all the fairs. She had five on her list for the next day. They weren’t going back to New York till the afternoon, on Monday, and that still didn’t give them time to see it all.

By Sunday, Chris said he was on art overload, and she laughed and said he looked just like Ian. He wanted to go back to the hotel and watch football. So she agreed to meet up with him later that afternoon.

They had dinner at a trendy restaurant in South Beach that night, with her father and Avery and his dealer, who was a fascinating man. Chris had an interesting conversation with him about Italian art in the Middle Ages, which he had studied in school, and enjoyed a lengthy conversation with Francesca’s father about his work. The two men seemed to get along famously, and Avery winked at Francesca from across the table, while she listened to their conversation with one ear. So far so good. She could tell from her father’s expansiveness with Chris that he liked him, and she was pleased. “I really like your guy,” Avery commented to her in a whisper as they left the restaurant. “And I can tell your dad does too.” It would have been hard not to. Chris was intelligent, interesting, solid, nice to be with, and loved what he was learning about her world.

It was a nonstop art bath all weekend, and by Sunday night even Francesca was tired and happy to go back to the hotel. There were only three more shows she wanted to see the next day, and Chris flatly refused and said he was going to lie by the pool. She didn’t mind his doing that. There was so much to see, and so many people she knew, that she was fine being on her own. And she and Avery went to two of the smaller art fairs together, set up in small hotels, on Monday morning.

“I really like Chris,” Avery said casually as they strolled through the booths. “And so does your father. He’s intelligent and fun to talk to, and crazy about you. I like that a lot for you,” Avery said, smiling at her.

“I’m crazy about him too. I’m not renting to any more roommates when Marya leaves, by the way. Chris and I are going to split it.” Avery was relieved, and started chatting with a friend from a gallery in Cleveland, when Francesca heard her cell phone ring in her purse. It was Chris, and he sounded panicked.

“Where are you? How fast can you get back here?”

“I’m at one of the smaller fairs at some hotel near the beach. Why? What happened?” There was a lot of noise from people talking around her, and poor cell service in the hotel. She stepped into a hallway to try and hear him better. She had no idea what he was talking about, but she had never heard him sound so frightened.

“Kim grabbed Ian. From school. She’s got him.” He was in tears.

“Oh my God. How did that happen?” Francesca was panicked for Chris and Ian. Especially Ian. They knew that she had gotten out of jail two weeks before, and was at a fancy rehab in New Jersey. She was due to stay there till Christmas, but she could walk out of it anytime she wanted to, and Chris had been sure she would. He had told Marya to be careful. They had hardly gone out all weekend, except to buy the tree. She had kept Ian busy making decorations and baking cookies.