blue eyes search mine and he looks at me for a long moment. ‘You’re never going to get rid of me.’
n Li>
‘Well now, there’s a coincidence . . .’ Reaching up, I pull him down towards me. ‘You’re never going to get rid of me either.’
Chapter Twelve
The rest of the week slips away in a dreamy montage of romantic dinner dates in some of the finest restaurants in New York, a horse-drawn carriage ride in Central Park, an amazing bouquet of fresh white lilies delivered to work . . .
It’s everything a girl could ever dream of and more. What’s even more amazing is this time it’s not happening to someone else. To some random celebrity I read about in a magazine on the subway, or a friend of a friend I hear about over drinks with my single girlfriends, but me. Me. Lucy Hemmingway.
I mean, who would have thought that only a few days ago I was trundling along in my normal life, doing normal things, like moaning about my cellulite to Robyn and doing my hand-washing, and then – boom – I bumped into Nate again and everything changed. Not that my life was terrible before, it wasn’t at all. It’s just . . .Well, put it this way, I’m not thinking about cellulite or hand-washing any more.
Now I’m too busy smiling as yet another slushy text beeps up from my phone, or lying giggling in his arms after we’ve had sex for about the millionth time.
As for my cellulite . . . the funny thing is, I don’t think Nate’s even noticed it!
Cocooned in our own little world called Nate ’n’ Luce: Population 2, it’s like no one and nothing else exists. In fact, it’s all I can do each morning to drag myself away from his penthouse and catch the subway downtown to work. I want to be like John and Yoko and just lounge around in bed for a week, though my reasons are slightly less honourable. Well, ten years is a lot of lost time to make up for.
Saying that, as soon as I enter the gallery, I automatically switch into work mode. Wafting around in a heady, romantic state might be wonderful, but it’s all-consuming and you can’t get anything done, and there’s loads to do, as this Friday is the opening at the gallery. Falling in love and having your first New York gallery opening to organise all in the same week is a bit intense, but I rise to the challenge. Switching back and forth between loved-up Lucy and work-mode Lucy, like Superman, only without the cape.
Until by Friday everything on my list has been ticked off with my brand-new highlighter pen. My sister, Kate, has always been a fan of highlighter pens. She carries one in every colour in her handbag – unlike me, who can never find a pen and usually ends up digging around until I find an old brout Id ater cy,…ken bit of charcoal I used to sketch with. This time, though, I’m determined to be more organised.
Compile guest list: tick. Send out invitations: tick. Write promotional material: tick. Book caterer: tick. Hire waitressing staff: tick. Hang paintings ready to exhibit: tick. Now all we need is for it to be a success, I tell myself, feeling a bundle of nerves as the first guests start arriving.
‘Welcome to Number Thirty-Eight,’ I smile, crossing their names off my list. ‘Please feel free to wander around and enjoy the artwork, and if you have any questions, my name’s Lucy and I’d be delighted to help you.’
Panic: tick.
Twenty minutes later and the gallery is buzzing. It’s a hot, muggy evening in New York and the doors have been thrown wide open. People are milling around inside and spilling outside on to the pavement.
It’s a diverse crowd. Magda has put together an eclectic guest list, from sombre-looking artists dressed in Birkenstocks and Elvis Costello glasses to some of New York’s glitterati, including several pubescent-looking models, the odd actor and lots of older men with impossibly white teeth and impossibly skinny wives who are dripping in diamonds and designer handbags. And who all look suspiciously like they bought their face at the same place as Magda, I notice, watching them air-kissing with their strangely swollen lips.
‘Wow, you clever girl, this is amazing!’
I glance up to see Robyn bounding towards me, her hair flying loose, a large smile sweeping across her face. I’ve barely seen her all week, as I’ve been at