Impossible Page 0,77
always gravitated toward youth and within minutes had met every young person in the place. He was most comfortable with people in their twenties and thirties, she preferred people her own age, or older, which created a gap of many decades between the people they wanted to meet and spend time with. It was a difference between them that they both had to learn to respect and tolerate, which was not always easy to do. It bored her to hang out with traveling students, and even young artists. She felt she had nothing to say to them, and wasn't interested in their juvenile ideas. Liam felt there was much to learn from the young, and he identified with them to an unusual degree, for a man his age. Watching him with them, Sasha felt like he was one of them. Liam seemed to feel that way too. And he also said that talking to the people who interested her put him to sleep. It was definitely a stumbling block between them. But traveling on their own, isolated from their familiar lives, they were both somewhat more willing to investigate and explore new worlds.
“What are you doing with someone as old as I am?” she asked him one day, as they left a beautiful fourteenth-century church, and stopped to buy gelati by the side of the road. He looked like a big kid as he ate his, as it dripped everywhere, and she was holding hers in a lace handkerchief she had bought at Hermès. She felt like his mother, or worse, his grandmother, sometimes. “You're going to get tired of being with an older woman one day.”
It was one of her worst fears, and she always noticed him checking out young women. But so far, to the best of her knowledge, he had never acted on it. He just liked to look. She kept a close eye on him, and was more jealous than she was willing to admit. No matter how fit and attractive she was, young bodies were undeniably more appealing than hers.
“I like looking at young women sometimes, all women in fact,” he admitted readily, “but I love talking to you and being with you. You turn me on more than any woman I've ever known. I don't give a damn how old you are.”
She smiled at him, tossing the last of the gelato away. He was still licking the stick, and then wiped his hands on his jeans, which made an even bigger mess. She sat looking at him with a rueful grin. It was his childlike style that made her feel old sometimes, not her age.
“I love you, Sash. You're a beautiful woman. And yeah, okay, so you're not twenty-two. Who cares? Twenty-two-year-olds don't get it, don't interest me, and don't understand me. You do.” She didn't tell him that at times she wasn't sure she did either, but she knew what he meant and what he expected of her: tolerance, nurturing, and understanding above all else. He was very needy sometimes, and self-centered, as children are, and he liked the way she nurtured him. Sometimes, when she treated him like a child, it worked best. At other times, he wanted respect, and made a lot of sense when he expressed himself. They seemed equal at times, and not at others. In truth, they were not equal. She was older, more successful, more powerful in the art world than he was, she was respected and important, she had more money. But he was just as talented and smart. He could hold his own, even in her world, if she let him. So far they had not ventured into her world together. And when they did, he would still be viewed as a young artist, and she was one of the most respected art dealers in the world. It was a huge difference between them. People paid more attention to her than to him, which she knew would annoy him. Liam liked being the center of attention, which he always was with young girls. People her age expected more of him than great paintings, good looks, and blond hair. They expected him to be a serious person, and at times he wasn't. But with him, she wasn't always serious either, and she liked that about the time they spent together. She loved being playful with him. Sometimes they laughed so hard at each other's stories, or their own, that tears ran down their cheeks. No one