Park Avenue Prince(44)

She circled her fingers over the place where she’d kissed my stomach, giving me a glimpse of the tattoo under her arm.

Ultimate Bliss.

I hadn’t had much time to think about what her tattoo should be when she asked me to pick, but those two words had been the first thing to come into my brain.

Did my subconscious know something I didn’t? The words of that well-read passage tumbled through my head.

There is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of one state with another. Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of feeling ultimate bliss. It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live . . . the sum of all human wisdom will be contained in these two words: Wait and Hope.

Had she been what I’d been waiting for? What I’d been hoping for?

Was she my ultimate bliss?





Chapter Fourteen Grace





Saturday night had been special. Something had shifted between us. I had plans to spend Sunday in Connecticut with Harper and Max, so Sam had left early. When he called me on Monday and I realized he didn’t have any specific reason to, I found myself grinning like a maniac into the phone. He’d just wanted to hear my voice. Talk to me.

It felt good. More than good.

I’d offered to oversee the furniture delivery the next day. He’d suggested we go to dinner afterward. Of course I said yes. I couldn’t wait to see him again—have him look at me with that complete openness and honesty that seemed to permeate from him. He was special and I couldn’t get enough. I practically bounced through the first two days of the week at the gallery.

I waited by the elevators at 740 Park Avenue, listening for the whirs and clicks to indicate the car was at ground level. I was impatient to get up to see Sam. He’d said he’d leave work early to make sure he was here. I wanted to know how things would be between us now, after Saturday when we’d shared so much.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Sam, my mother and father standing in front of him.

“Hello, darling. We didn’t know you were coming over,” my mother said, adjusting her mink coat. “We’re just heading out.”

My eyes flicked between Sam and my parents as they all trailed out. Sam made to move past us all, as if he were leaving. Was he?

“Oh, that’s fine. I was here to see Sam, actually,” I said. He stopped and pulled out the megawatt Sam Shaw smile I’d only seen on the rarest of occasions.

“How do you do?” Sam asked, taking my mother’s hand. Oh Jesus. My mother would love manners like that.

“Sam’s bought a number of works from my gallery,” I explained as he and my father shook hands. “I’m helping him arrange them. Sam, these are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Astor.”

My mother’s gaze flitted between Sam and me. “What did you say your surname was?” She was confused by Sam. She clearly hadn’t come across him but he was wealthy enough to live in their building.

“He didn’t,” I replied.

“Shaw,” Sam said. “My name is Sam Shaw.”

My mother nodded and I could tell she was scanning through her contact list, trying to place him.

“And have you lived here long, Mr. Shaw?” she asked.

“Sylvia, we’re running behind. We’ll leave you to it,” my father said, wanting to discourage my mother’s nosiness.

“We have a few minutes,” my mother said, clearly eager to spend a little more time in Sam’s presence. I knew that feeling.

“No, darling. We’re late already.” My father wrapped his arm around my mother’s waist, guiding her toward the door. “And we’ll see Grace for her birthday next week.”

My mother’s attention shifted from Sam to me. “Yes. I’ve left you several messages about the menu, but I’ve not heard from you.”

I avoided my mother’s calls ninety percent of the time. When she wanted to discuss my birthday, I nudged that figure up to an even one hundred.

“I don’t care about the menu. It’s the Four Seasons—I’m sure it will all be good.” I hadn’t spent a birthday with my mother in a couple of years, but I’d promised my father I’d make more of an effort. I glanced at Sam, who was smiling politely at nothing in particular. He’d lost so much and here I was, acting like a princess talking about the Four Seasons to my mink-wearing mother. My birthday dinner was so inconsequential.

“I just want to make sure you have a perfect evening.” My mother’s voice wobbled, as it always did when she wanted people to feel sorry for her. It had stopped working on me a long time ago.

“I really don’t mind,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Come on, Sylvia. Let’s leave Grace to get to work,” my father said. “We’ll have a lovely time. It’s the company that counts. Will we see you there, Mr. Shaw?”

Had my father picked up on something personal between us? I kissed my dad on the cheek. “Have a great time. I have to go.” I turned back to the elevator and vigorously pushed the up button.

Luckily, Sam was polite enough to just grin in response to my father’s question. The doors opened and I dipped inside, indicating with a sharp tip of my head for Sam to follow.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Astor,” he called, following me into the elevator.