They were lying in bed on Sunday night, when Liam asked her casually what she was doing the next day. It was her first clue that he wasn't planning to leave on schedule. She didn't mind, as she loved being with him, but she was also aware that his continuing presence was going to become harder to explain, at the gallery, if nowhere else. They were the only ones who knew he was staying with her. He suggested they have dinner the following night with some of his friends in the Marais.

“Does that mean you'd like to stay?”

He nodded and smiled sheepishly at her. “Yes, if it's okay with you.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, weighing the risk, and then smiled at him. She loved his being there with her. And she'd come up with some explanation. “Yes, it is.”

But she was hesitant about meeting his artist friends, since some of them might know her, and then she remembered that she was busy anyway. He looked instantly disappointed and a little hurt. She kissed him and explained that she was going to a black-tie dinner, given by important clients. They had bought a Monet from her that summer, and she had accepted the invitation weeks before. Taking him with her to a formal dinner at a client's house was an experiment she was not prepared to venture yet, which he said he understood, but he looked annoyed nonetheless. All she had said to him was that she was not allowed to bring a guest.

“Then tell them you can't come,” he said, looking petulant, which she purposely ignored.

“I can't do that, Liam. They're the most important clients I have.” She was sincere about that.

“And what am I?”

“The man I love. But don't bring this to a showdown. You're talking about my work.”

“Would you have taken Arthur?” he asked bluntly. They both knew she would have. But everything about that situation was different. Arthur could have gone anywhere, and did. Liam couldn't. He didn't want to play the game. And Arthur acted like an adult. Liam didn't.

“That's not fair,” she said, looking unhappy. “We were married. He was as proper and conservative as my clients. He was a banker, for God's sake.”

“And I'm a young punk.” He had added anger to the petulance by then.

“No,” she said calmly, “you're a wacky artist, remember? That's what you told me. And you don't want to be 'controlled.' If you want to wear a dinner jacket, be proper, and act like a banker, you can come anywhere with me you want.” It was a major concession to him. But he didn't want concessions. He wanted freedom to behave any way he wanted, wherever he went, with or without her.

“They should accept me as I am. And so should you,” he said angrily.

“I do. They won't. If you want to go places like that with me, then you have to play their game. So do I. Those are the rules of the road. I can't take you with me this time, because it's too short notice. But if you're serious about this, we'll buy you a dinner jacket, and you can come with me next time, to something else. If you're willing to play by their rules. That's the deal.”

“Fuck them,” he said, suddenly very angry. “Who the hell do they think they are? I'm twice the man they are. I heard this shit from my father when I was growing up. I'm not going to play that game for anyone, Sasha, not even for you.”

“You don't have to,” Sasha said calmly. “You don't have to go to any of the stuffy things I do. But if you want to, you have to follow the rules. That's just the way it is.”

“And who makes those rules? Some pompous old asshole in a monkey suit? Why should I behave like him, and dress like him? Why can't I be me?”

“Because those pompous old assholes have all the money and power and make the rules. He who has the gold, rules. And if you want to go out in that world, then you have to be civilized, and play by their rules.”

“If you were proud of me and loved me, you'd take me anyway.” He was a child in full revolt, as she felt her heart sink. She had been afraid it would come to this, and it hadn't taken long. This was the second argument they'd had in less than a week. It confirmed her worst fears that this wasn't going to work. There were many things she loved about him, his kindness, his warm, open affection toward her, his sense of humor, his intelligence, his talent, how fabulous he was in bed. But his temper tantrums and immaturity were definitely not on that list.

“I am proud of you, and I do love you. But I'm not going to take you into that world, if you're going to make a fool of me, or yourself. If you want to behave any way you want, you will make a fool of both of us.”

“What's more important to you, Sasha? Them or me?”

“You both are. I love you. But I live in that world. That's who I am. I told you that the first time we met. This is the problem we are always going to have, unless you want to give up being a wacky artist and walk into my world like a man. If you want to continue playing wacky artist, or wild young man who can't be tamed or controlled, then you have to let me go into that world by myself. It's as simple as that. That choice is up to you.”

“I'm who I am. And I'm not going to change that or kiss anyone's ass, for you or for them.”

“You have the right to make that decision. But you don't have the right to force them to accept you, if you won't play by their rules, or mine.”

“This is really about you, isn't it? And not about them. You want me to pretend I'm Arthur. Well, I'm not. I'm me.”

“This has nothing to do with Arthur,” she said to him through clenched teeth. “Look, why don't you have dinner with your friends tomorrow? I'll go to my stuffy dinner, I'll leave early, and join you wherever you are in the Marais.”

“What, and go slumming? Lady Bountiful will leave the mansion and meet her peasant boyfriend in the slums? If I'm not good enough for you to take me with you, then I'm going back to London tomorrow.” He had originally been planning to leave then anyway. His offer to stay on had come as a surprise to her.

“That's up to you,” she said quietly. “I'm doing the best I can, Liam. Sometimes this is going to be a stretch for both of us. We knew that from the first.”

“Yeah, we did. I just didn't realize that the one we'd be stretching is me. Just how much humiliation do you expect me to take? You tell me how to behave in your gallery, what not to do to offend the clients. I have to tiptoe around, not kiss you, and not pour a drink. And if I want to go out with you anywhere that matters, I have to dress like Little Lord Fauntleroy and act like Malcolm Forbes. Well, I'm an artist, Sasha. I'm not a trained monkey or a banker, and I won't let you cut off my balls.”

“I'm not trying to cut off your balls. We live in different worlds. This was bound to happen. We are going to have to have a lot of understanding and flexibility with each other if this is going to work.” Neither of them knew yet if it even could, and it was beginning to look like it couldn't, if he was going to insist on doing his wacky artist routine and going everywhere with her. The two just didn't mesh. She had warned him of it before. And now they had hit a wall.

“I told you, I'm not going to let you cut off my balls. I'm going back to London tomorrow. When you get your priorities straight, give me a call.” Listening to him, she wanted to scream.

“This isn't about priorities, Liam,” she said, sounding desperate not to lose her temper with him. It was frustrating trying to reason with him, like an angry child. “It's about playing by the rules, and living in different worlds. Like entering a club. If you want to come into this club, you have to follow their rules.”

“I'm never going to do that, Sasha. Never. If I wanted to do that, I'd still be living in California with my father, and taking shit from him. I'm not taking shit from anyone anymore, and sure as hell not from you. If you want me in your life, then take me, but don't tell me how to behave by whose rules. If you love me, there are no rules, or shouldn't be.”

“There are always rules,” she said sadly. “I have to play by those same rules. I can't behave any way I want. I can't show up in blue jeans tomorrow, or wearing cowboy boots and a baseball cap. I have to show up looking like they do, with my hair combed and an evening gown. I have to be just as proper as they are, and fundamentally I am, because I believe in their rules. It keeps things civilized.”

“I don't want to be civilized, dammit! I want to be me. I want to be respected and accepted for who I am, however I want to behave, not for who I pretend to be, because I'm willing to kiss their asses. I'm not going to kiss anyone's ass ever again.” Their argument was obviously bringing up things from his childhood, because even she could see that his anger at her was out of measure. He was beside himself as he ranted. And nothing she said made sense to him or induced him to calm down. On the contrary, it seemed to make it worse. She felt utterly hopeless as she listened. He was out in the stratosphere somewhere, on his own.

“I'm not asking you to kiss anyone's ass, Liam. Least of all mine. You can behave any way you want. But if that's what you want, then you have to play on your side of the fence, and stay in your own world, or in our private world, which is fine with me too. But if you want to cross over to the other side of the fence, and go there with me, then you have to play by their rules.”

“Fuck their rules. And come to think of it, Sasha, fuck you. If you're not proud of me, if you're embarrassed because I'm younger than you are, if you don't respect me for who I am, then I don't want to be with you. And I don't want to be here. I'm going home tomorrow. You can call me when you make up your mind.”

“About what? What am I supposed to make my mind up about? What do you want from me?” She was feeling dazed. Some of what he was saying was so unreasonable, it just wasn't making sense. And none of it was news. He had known who she was, and what she stood for, right from the first. Those had been among her primary concerns about him, other than his age. His age was the least of it. His lack of boundaries and immature behavior was far worse. He was behaving like a five-year-old.