“Either you take me into that world with you, just as I am, and don't try to leave me at home like some hooker you've hired for the night, or I'm out of here for good. I'm not going to be left at home, like some piece of garbage. And I'm not going to be told how to behave.” He stormed at her, as she fought back tears. She wanted him to be better than this. She wanted it to work, and it never would like this.

“Then figure it out for yourself,” she said, suddenly as angry as he was. “Stop acting like such a baby, saying you won't take a bath or put your suit on, and you can throw your dinner on the floor anytime you want to. If you want to come downstairs and eat with the grown-ups, then be one. That's all it takes, for chrissake. You can't play wacky artist forever, unless you want to hang out with other children who are as badly behaved as you are. If you want to do that, then don't whine because I can't take you out. I'd like to, for chrissake, I'd like that very much, but I'm not going to embarrass myself while you show off and try to prove how outrageous you can be. If you love me so much, Liam, then grow up and learn to behave. I'm not taking a badly behaved spoiled child out with me. You think about it, and you make up your mind. I already did. I'm here with you. Now you live up to your end of the deal, or forever hold your peace. It takes more than just love and being good in bed to get on in the world. At some point, like it or not, we all have to grow up. Maybe it's right about that time for you. You figure it out. Go back to London if you want to, and when you decide to grow up, give me a call.”

They never said another word to each other that night. For the first time since he had been there, they each stayed on their side of the bed, with a vast chasm between them. Liam was deeply wounded by what he viewed as her disloyalty, and everything she'd said. And she was furious at the tantrum he had thrown. He was acting like a very badly behaved child. They each got up in the morning silently. He showered, shaved, and dressed. And before she left for the office, he packed his bag and stood looking at her in the front hall.

“I love you, Sasha. But I'm not going to let you control me, or tell me what to do. I respect myself too much for that.”

“I love and respect you too. I really do,” she said honestly, “both as an artist and a man.” Although she was a little unsure about how respect-worthy he was as a father, she didn't know him well enough to judge that yet, and she had never seen him with his kids. But there were so many things she liked about him, and she was falling more in love with him each day. But not enough to give up her whole life for him. She was too old for that. And she liked her life, just as it was. “This isn't about control. It's about mutual respect. If you respect me, then come into my world, play by their rules, and act like a gentleman. If you don't want to do that, which is your right, then don't complain if I visit people in my world alone. You can't have both. You can't do your 'I'll do whatever I want' routine in the polite world, Liam. You're too old for that. Even children can't behave that way.”

“I'm never going to be anyone different than I am. And if you love me, you have to accept that, and be willing to take me anywhere, just as I am.”

“I can't. I can't do that to myself, or my kids, or the reputation I've built for all these years. I can't let you make a fool of me in public, Liam.” And she knew he would. She had heard too many of his exploits from Xavier, although she had never seen him act out herself. The scene of him walking in on her meeting at the gallery was enough for her. And a tantrum like today. She had serious concerns. “It's bad enough that I'm almost ten years older than you. I know that's not a lot, but it feels like it to me, given your behavior and ideas. That's hard enough, and will raise enough eyebrows as it is. Don't ask me to usher you into all the loftiest places, and then reserve the right to play outrageous wacky artist, just so you can prove a point. That's not loving or respectful of me, and who I am. You knew who I was, and how I live. You said you could do this, and do it right. I believed you. Now you don't want to deliver. You want to do whatever you want in my world, and you can't. Neither can I. No one can. We all have to behave and toe the line. I hope you come to your senses, because I love you, and I want to be with you. And what you're doing is not fair to me.” The fact that it was even a conversation or an argument was frightening her. Who was this man? And why was total freedom so vital to him, at her expense?

“I'm the one who's getting screwed here, and being disrespected,” he said, almost pouting. “You want to call all the shots.”

“The only shot I'm calling is that I'm asking you to grow up. Either be civilized, or let me do what I have to do, while you play with your friends. You can be as outrageous as you want, but if that's what you want, then don't expect me to take you out and show you off. If you want to be outrageous, then stay home with me and do it privately, not in public.”

“I'm not going to be your dirty little secret, Sasha. If that's what you want, then find another man. Either take me out and show me off, just as I am, or all bets are off.”

“Then I guess they are, for now anyway. Think about it, Liam. I hope you come to your senses when you go back to London. If this starts to make sense to you, then give me a call.” He looked at her, nodded, never stopped to kiss her, picked up his bag, brushed past her, and slammed out the door.

After he left, she sat down and thought about everything that had happened. She loved him, but not enough to turn her life upside down for him, and give up who she was. It was too late in the day for her to do that for anyone. Not even Liam. She knew she was in love with him. But maybe not enough.





Chapter 9




The days after Liam left seemed to drag at first. In the short time he was there, she had grown used to being with him, talking to him, eating with him, making love with him. Even Bernard commented when he left, and asked if he was still around. Sasha said he had gone back to London.

“He's a sweet boy, but it must have been hard on you to have him around for that long.”

He had stayed with her for ten days, and she had loved everything about it, until the last few days when they began to argue. It also struck her that Bernard called him a “boy.” That was the essence of the problem she was having with Liam. He was a boy, not a man, and acted like one. At times he was age appropriate, at others he was an unruly teenager. She expected more of him at nearly forty. He really was Peter Pan. She thought Bernard was being sarcastic with his comments at first, and curious about their relationship. And then she realized he was sincere in what he'd said about her houseguest. He thought Sasha had been an incredibly good sport to let him stay there for so long. Apparently, their secret was still safe. It would never have occurred to Bernard that Sasha was involved with Liam. And in any case, it looked like the relationship was over. She sat and waited for the phone to ring at night, once Liam went back to London. It never did. He never called, nor did she. They had come to an impasse over his ridiculous demands and childish behavior. She hadn't expected their affair to last forever, but she had expected it to last longer than it had. There was no point calling him, since he had made his terms clear to her. Either she would take him out in public in the circles that she moved in, no matter how proper, and no matter how he behaved, or the deal was off.

The conditions he had set were impossible for her, whether or not she loved him. She had no compromise to offer him, other than what she had said to him before he left Paris. At the end of the month, she stopped waiting for the phone to ring. She knew he was gone. And as he sat waiting to hear from her in London, he knew the same. It had taken weeks, instead of years, but they had parted ways. She had been right from the day they met. It was impossible. She reminded herself that it was better to face it sooner than later. But as she waited for the call that never came, she was sad anyway. As childish as he was at times, there was an appealing side of him, and she truly missed him.

It took two months for Sasha to make her peace with it, and even then she was still sad about his disappearance from her life. But there was no one to tell. No one had ever known about them, so there was no one to turn to for advice or comfort. She couldn't mourn him with others, or speak to anyone about him. She just had to accept the fact that he was gone. She knew it would never have worked anyway. He was too immature, too difficult, too unreasonable, too determined not to grow up. He had proven all that to her when he had a tantrum and vanished.

Sasha went to New York in February and March, and both times ran into a blizzard. Tatianna loved her new job. And the gallery was doing well. She was planning to visit Xavier in London in April, and she braced herself, knowing that Liam would be somewhere near. She just hoped she didn't run into him with Xavier. And she couldn't say anything to Xavier about avoiding him, or it would expose their secret.

Shortly before Sasha left for London in April, Eugénie told her they'd had an e-mail from Liam. He had finished several new pieces of work, and thought Sasha should come to see them. He had volunteered to send transparencies, but wanted his dealer to see the work in the flesh. He said in the e-mail that it was the best work he'd ever done.

“Oh,” Eugénie remembered, as she reported on the e-mail to Sasha at the end of a long day, “he said to send you his best, and hopes you're okay.” Sasha was in fact okay. After more than two months of silence from him, she was a lot better than she had been in February, but she was still annoyed at him. And it sounded stupid to her to send her his “best.” His best what? She had already seen his best and his worst. Although she had believed herself to be in love with him for about a minute, he had put her off forever with the way he'd behaved. He had pulled an incredibly childish move on her. She was tired of self-indulgent artists, who were not so young, but pretended to be, and still behaved like teenagers well into middle age. At thirty-nine, in her opinion, he was far too old to act the way he had when he left Paris. Still, she was hurt that she had never heard from him again. She had far too much pride to call him.