Brilliant by Marne Davis Kellogg Page A

and it was as though I felt his hand on my cheek.

E  I  G  H  T  E  E  N
     
    The silence sat heavily on both of us. This was the sort of moment that in the movies, people can’t take the pressure anymore and rip each other’s clothes off, and go after each other like dogs.
    What on earth am I saying?
    We waited.
    “Cool ceiling,” Owen said. He was lying on my pillows, arms crossed behind his head. He was like a schoolboy, a child, trying to get a reaction.
    “Thank you.”
    My bed (I bought the mattress from the Four Seasons Hotel), has six especially soft down pillows and makes me feel like a princess. I wasn’t at all pleased to see a fornicating barbarian enjoying them, but I decided to respond with tried-and-true wartime tactics regarding how invadees successfully neutralize invaders: Don’t let them see what’s important. My face was blank.
    “Are you almost done in here, Owen?” It was a schoolteacher’s voice.
    “Nice carpet.”
    “It’s a rug.” A faded Aubusson I’d grabbed for the reserve price from the estate of a Lady covered my bedroom floor.
    If anyone were looking, the only out-of-the-ordinary thing they might notice about my bedroom is that there are no family photos, for reasons I’ve already explained.
    Except for one picture, I took it a couple of years ago in St. Rémy at the Café des Alpilles. There was a young man, an American, who looked to be in his early thirties. Happy, well-adjusted, with a young woman who loved him. He was loved. He looked like what my son would look like. If I had a son. That afternoon, I posted myself on all the Internet adoption sites, just in case he or she might need me for some reason, some medical emergency or something. I’ve never heard anything from anyone.
    “Who’s this?” Owen picked up the picture.
    “My godson.”
    “Huh.” He got to his feet, leaving a deep indentation in my silk satin puff and breaking the spell. “Well, I’m on my way. Thanks for the break. We’ve got a lot to do starting Monday.”
    “I know. Again, congratulations. This was an unbelievable coup— obviously meant to be. Sir Benjamin never could have pulled it off.”
    “Coming from you, that’s high praise. It’s just the first step, but it was an important one. Now the real work begins.” Owen stopped at the front door. “What are you doing this weekend?”
    “Going to visit friends in Scotland.”
    “Really? Where?”
    “Outside of Edinburgh.”
    “Have a good one. See you Monday.”
    I was so glad he was gone, I thought I was going to faint. I’d had a close call of some sort, but I wasn’t quite sure what.
    Before I went to bed, I removed the diamond from Lady Melody’s engagement ring, dropped its platinum setting into the smelter, where it melted, and returned the stone to the safe. I picked up the bracelet and ran it across my arm one last time. I could feel its history seep into my blood, intoxicating me. I’d never possessed a piece of such importance. I ran it along my cheek, across my lips and down my neck, and across my breasts. I’d never felt such pleasure, or love. The bracelet was mine. From now on, I would call it the Queen’s Pet.
    The next morning, I checked my e-mail, as I did every Saturday morning, to see if there had been any inquiry from the adoption sites. And, while I waited for the line to connect, my heartbeat stepped up and I held my breath, knowing there would be no message but hoping all the while that I would be wrong. Maybe today would be the day.
    It wasn’t. I took a breath and signed off. It’s okay. I don’t know what I’d do if I did hear, and it made me happy to know that my son or daughter was all right. Didn’t need to find me. Had no emergencies that needed one of my kidneys or a piece of my liver, or a lung, or my heart. The fact is, I would give any or all of them just for a message. Sometimes I wondered if my child had a child, but I tried not to think about it too much. Not to think