people who have had a lot to say to each other at one time or another, and Ava wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. For the first time, she felt very much on the outside looking in.
Lillian flashed that catalog smile at the Sharzis. “Well, all the best ideas are inspired by the desire to help people. Of course, we know we owe it to our investors—”
Jackson rose from the table and pointed at Ava. “Actually, I owe it all to her,” he said. “And no one else.”
Lillian paused for just one second. “Oh, are you an artist?” she said, finally looking directly at Ava.
Ava shook her head. “Not anymore,” she said quickly. That was personal.
There was a polite silence.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse us,” Jackson said, staring at Ava. “We just got here, and need to settle ourselves in.”
He took Ava’s hand. It wasn’t a request. They were leaving.
Bewildered, Ava followed him out of the dining room, moving at a brisk trot to keep up with his long strides. For once she didn’t care about what the people she’d just met thought of her, or if she’d made the desired impression, or about what the social undercurrents she’d perceived actually meant in context. Ava was thinking about only one thing.
What does Jackson Reed think he owes me?
chapter 11
Jackson seethed. The halls of the Bedford Volare estate had never seemed so long and serpentine before this, but then he’d never wanted to get away quite like this, either. He’d had to sit there and watch Ava close up when confronted with other people, with the business of his outside life, with Lillian. Perhaps most of all with Lillian. Ava had been open to him just barely, slowly, letting him in inch by inch, and then…
GodDAMN it.
He’d seen her reassemble her armor lightning quick, retreating into herself to watch and observe, the way she used to around people she didn’t trust. Retreating away from him.
Ava was never one to be comfortable baring herself in public. He remembered the first time she’d shown him some of her private paintings, how different they’d been, how clear it had been to him that the things she did in the studio were deliberately for public consumption, and a poor representation of the beauty she was capable of.
He’d seen her face when Lillian had touched his shoulder, too. That hadn’t been good. Too late, Jackson had remembered that the relationship Ava almost never talked about, the one that had hurt her so much that she had transferred in her senior year and cut herself off from her former life, had involved some kind of infidelity. Only he wasn’t sure how, or who, or what. Christ, he wished he’d been smart enough or wise enough or just good enough to just listen when she’d tried to open up back then.
When he thought back on that time, Jackson always remembered, most of all, the sensation of moving forward. Both he and Ava had been characterized by a kind of relentless forward momentum, a need to leave the past behind without so much as a backwards glance. That was the thing that had drawn them together, besides their inherent affinity for each other.
The thing was, it seemed like Ava’s forward momentum had tripped up since then. Like she’d made a wrong turn somewhere, or had gotten stuck in the wrong gear, or had stalled out. He was more and more certain now, the more time they spent together, that something just hadn’t come together for her. And he had to face the fact that he, Jackson Reed, might be partially responsible for that.
Especially because Jackson had been all jammed up, too, ten years ago, and Ava Barnett had been the person to set him right. Even though she’d run away, Ava had left him with something real, something tangible, to guide him through the last ten years. That picture she’d painted for him had become without a doubt his most prized possession. Now it was hidden behind his shirts in the back of his closet, lest Ava see it and get kind of spooked.
Lillian flashed that catalog smile at the Sharzis. “Well, all the best ideas are inspired by the desire to help people. Of course, we know we owe it to our investors—”
Jackson rose from the table and pointed at Ava. “Actually, I owe it all to her,” he said. “And no one else.”
Lillian paused for just one second. “Oh, are you an artist?” she said, finally looking directly at Ava.
Ava shook her head. “Not anymore,” she said quickly. That was personal.
There was a polite silence.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse us,” Jackson said, staring at Ava. “We just got here, and need to settle ourselves in.”
He took Ava’s hand. It wasn’t a request. They were leaving.
Bewildered, Ava followed him out of the dining room, moving at a brisk trot to keep up with his long strides. For once she didn’t care about what the people she’d just met thought of her, or if she’d made the desired impression, or about what the social undercurrents she’d perceived actually meant in context. Ava was thinking about only one thing.
What does Jackson Reed think he owes me?
chapter 11
Jackson seethed. The halls of the Bedford Volare estate had never seemed so long and serpentine before this, but then he’d never wanted to get away quite like this, either. He’d had to sit there and watch Ava close up when confronted with other people, with the business of his outside life, with Lillian. Perhaps most of all with Lillian. Ava had been open to him just barely, slowly, letting him in inch by inch, and then…
GodDAMN it.
He’d seen her reassemble her armor lightning quick, retreating into herself to watch and observe, the way she used to around people she didn’t trust. Retreating away from him.
Ava was never one to be comfortable baring herself in public. He remembered the first time she’d shown him some of her private paintings, how different they’d been, how clear it had been to him that the things she did in the studio were deliberately for public consumption, and a poor representation of the beauty she was capable of.
He’d seen her face when Lillian had touched his shoulder, too. That hadn’t been good. Too late, Jackson had remembered that the relationship Ava almost never talked about, the one that had hurt her so much that she had transferred in her senior year and cut herself off from her former life, had involved some kind of infidelity. Only he wasn’t sure how, or who, or what. Christ, he wished he’d been smart enough or wise enough or just good enough to just listen when she’d tried to open up back then.
When he thought back on that time, Jackson always remembered, most of all, the sensation of moving forward. Both he and Ava had been characterized by a kind of relentless forward momentum, a need to leave the past behind without so much as a backwards glance. That was the thing that had drawn them together, besides their inherent affinity for each other.
The thing was, it seemed like Ava’s forward momentum had tripped up since then. Like she’d made a wrong turn somewhere, or had gotten stuck in the wrong gear, or had stalled out. He was more and more certain now, the more time they spent together, that something just hadn’t come together for her. And he had to face the fact that he, Jackson Reed, might be partially responsible for that.
Especially because Jackson had been all jammed up, too, ten years ago, and Ava Barnett had been the person to set him right. Even though she’d run away, Ava had left him with something real, something tangible, to guide him through the last ten years. That picture she’d painted for him had become without a doubt his most prized possession. Now it was hidden behind his shirts in the back of his closet, lest Ava see it and get kind of spooked.