The Keeper of Happy Endings(18)

Moments later, Camilla returned carrying a pitcher of orange juice. “I think we’re ready to sit.”

Rory started guiltily, nearly overturning one of the champagne flutes. Camilla eyed her curiously. “Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine. Let’s eat.”

A silence fell as they filled their plates. Finally, Camilla lifted her glass. “To sunny Sunday mornings!”

Rory raised her glass obediently, going through the motions. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her, assessing, inquisitive. Finally, Camilla lowered her knife. “Are you certain you’re all right, Aurora? You don’t seem to be yourself.”

“I’m fine.” She reached for her glass, took another sip. “Any progress on the holiday event?”

Camilla blinked at her, clearly surprised. “Well, yes, actually. I’ve been toying with a Gatsby theme. You know, Roaring Twenties costumes, a nice jazz band. Lots of feathers and sequins for decorations. Black and gold and cream. Very elegant, of course.”

“Of course. Will you go as a flapper?”

Camilla’s laugh echoed across the terrace, light and almost girlish. “Certainly not. No one wants to see that. I was thinking of a pinstripe suit and spats, maybe a wide fedora. What do you think? I could go as a mobster, and you could be my moll. Lots of fringe and a boa. And those bright-red cupid lips.”

“Sounds fun. But you could still pull off the flapper. You’ve certainly got the legs for it.”

Camilla rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m long past the age for flashing one’s knees.” She paused, scooping up several bright-red berries. “And what about you? Did you manage to get your classes lined up for the fall?”

And here it was. The moment of truth. Rory reached for her glass, finishing it off in one go. “Not exactly, no.”

“But, honey, you promised—”

“I’m not going back in the fall,” she blurted. So much for a tactful opening line. “I’ve decided to go ahead with my plans for the gallery instead.”

Camilla lowered her spoon, sending several berries skittering across the tablecloth. “The gallery? I thought—”

“I know. I did too. Then I saw this building, an old row house on the corner of Newbury and Fairfield, and I knew it was what I was supposed to do.”

Camilla let out a sigh. “Aurora, we’ve talked about this. You have no business experience. And no real experience in the art world yet. You need to finish school before you jump into something like this. Bulk up your credentials so you’ll have something to fall back on.”

“In case I fail, you mean.”

“Well, yes. And don’t look at me like that. Have you any idea how many galleries fail in their first year?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“I don’t want you to become a statistic, Aurora. And you will if you pursue this.” She shook her head, as if bewildered. “You didn’t say a word about this the last time you were here. Now, just like that, you’re thinking of quitting school?”

Rory lifted her chin. “I don’t need your permission.”

Camilla was clearly taken aback but kept her voice even. “No. You’re over eighteen, and you have your own money. Your father made sure of that. But I’m asking you to slow down and do your homework and to finish your schooling while you’re doing it. A master’s degree is a real accomplishment, something you can be proud of no matter what you decide to do down the road. And Paris. You’ve always wanted to go, and it’s the kind of thing that looks good on a résumé. Who knows what the future holds for you? Maybe it is this gallery of yours. Or maybe it isn’t. Just wait a little, that’s all I’m saying.”

Rory wet her lips, once, twice. “I signed the lease last night.”

Camilla’s face went blank. “Oh, Aurora. Tell me you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to go back to school. Or go to Paris. I want to do this, to follow my dream.”

“Your dream.” Camilla shook her head dismissively. “Until a year ago, I never heard you utter the word gallery. And then it was only because Matthew put the idea in your head. He thinks because you have a trust fund, it doesn’t matter if you fail. He doesn’t know a thing about the art world, but he’s filled your head with this silly notion—a gallery for artists no one has ever heard of. You gave it up once. Now you’re running back to it because you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

“That isn’t true. But even if it were, why does it matter? Why can’t I just want what I want? Why does everything I do have to pass some kind of test with you?”

“This isn’t about me, Aurora. It isn’t even about you. It’s about Matthew. You’re trying to prove something to someone who isn’t even here, because you’re miserable and afraid. You don’t know the first thing about running a gallery—or what happens when you step out on a limb and fall. But I do. You’re nowhere near ready to take on something like this, and if you’d slow down for a minute, you’d see that.”

The words rankled more than Rory cared to admit. It had all happened so fast, and with no due diligence to speak of. What if her mother was right? What if she had jumped into the deep end of the pool because of something Hux said once, because she couldn’t bear the thought that she might never see him again?