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with an idea. She hadn't made a decision yet. It was something she had planned with Arthur. And now it made even more sense to her than before. She wanted to go home. Being in New York without him was too hard for her.

September sped by with an opening for a new artist, which she curated, and another solo show. She curated all their shows, choosing which work to hang, and where to hang it, seeking contrasts and combinations that would set each painting off to its best advantage. She had an instinctive knack for it and always loved it. She also met with several old, familiar clients, sat on her museum boards, and was planning a memorial service for Arthur, to mark the first year since his death. Xavier had promised to fly in for it. The service was, predictably, a somber moment for all of them. All of his partners were there, her children, and their close friends. Their friends were saddened to see how serious and unhappy she looked. As they left the church, it was hard to believe it had been a year.

Tatianna told her that night, after the memorial, that she had quit her job, and was going to travel in India for several months with friends. She wanted to take photographs, and when she got back, she was going to look for a job on a magazine. She promised to be back by Christmas. She was twenty-three years old, and said she needed to spread her wings, which worried Sasha a little, but Sasha knew she had no choice but to set her free. And then she shared her own plans with them. She had decided to move back to Paris, run the gallery there, and reverse the commute she had been doing for thirteen years. Ever since Arthur's death, all she wanted was to go back to her roots. And with Tatianna gone, at least in Paris she would be closer to Xavier. Tatianna was startled by her decision, but Xavier was pleased.

“I think that will be good for you,” he said kindly. He had worried about her all year. In the past, she had always seemed happier to him in Paris, and maybe now she would be. She had been so utterly miserable for the past year.

“Are you selling the apartment?” Tatianna asked, looking worried. She rarely stayed there anymore, but she liked knowing it was there. She didn't know of her father's plans to retire, and their conversations about selling the apartment and buying a pied-à-terre.

“Not yet. I'll use it when I'm here.” Tatianna looked relieved. In fact, moving to Paris would change little for Sasha. She would be in Paris for three weeks a month now, instead of one or two, and in New York for a week, or more if she needed to. She had her feet firmly planted in both cities, and had already lived that way for thirteen years. Her managers in both places were perfectly trained to do what she wanted, and were in constant communication with her, whenever she was away. It was going to be an easy adjustment for her.

Sasha waited till November to move to Paris. October was always a busy month in the art world in New York. She had board meetings to go to, shows to organize, and before she shifted the bulk of her time to Paris, she wanted to see some friends in New York. She hadn't seen most of them for nearly a year. She gave a small dinner party for Alana, who had just become engaged and looked enormously relieved. She was marrying the man she had introduced to Sasha the previous June, and they both seemed pleased. And as usual, Alana couldn't resist asking her if she was ready to date. She asked Sasha that every time they spoke. It was a mantra Sasha had come to hate.

“Not yet.” Sasha smiled pleasantly, and drifted away. Not ever, she told herself. She spent a last weekend in the Hamptons before she left, and celebrated Thanksgiving with friends. Xavier was back in London, and Tatianna was in India, traveling with her friends. It was easier for Sasha to be at someone else's house for Thanksgiving. It seemed more impersonal, and less painful that way. At her own home, the year before, Arthur's absence had been too fresh and too acute for all of them. This year was better. And she was surprised to run into an old friend