Connor turned to her. “I’m not even kidding, Raff. Fuck. It’s astounding.” He gave her the same once-over he’d just given the painting. “It’s like you’ve taken things up another notch after your… hiatus.”

  “I’m quite pleased with it,” Raffo said.

  Connor grinned. “Being an expert at Raffo-speak, I know what that really means and I’m thrilled.” The familiar teasing felt like a lifeline thrown across the divide between them.

  Connor was right. Raffo was more than just pleased with that painting of Dylan. The process of painting it had offered her a much-needed escape from the reality of her messy life while also giving her immense creative fulfillment. The canvas held everything she couldn’t say aloud: desire, fear, the strange peace she’d found in Dylan’s arms.

  She didn’t know how many more portraits of Dylan she’d have to make to get over her, but Raffo did know that, for her, it would probably be the only way to get Dylan out of her system. She was lucky that art was her job as well as the therapy that had always worked best for her—except after Mia. Maybe finally giving in to the urge to paint Dylan—to paint what she really wanted—was exactly what she needed to put her desire as well as her botched relationship behind her.

  “I can totally see this as the center piece at your Chicago show,” Connor said.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” Connor drew in a sharp breath. “Intellectually, I know that’s my mom. Naked. But I’m choosing to see past that. What matters is its impact—the obvious beauty and this new... quality it has. I’m really floored by it, to be honest. As long as we don’t mention the M-word.”

  Denial was one way to go about it, Raffo guessed, even though it caused quite the conflict inside her. She had needed to paint Dylan like this. It had poured from her heart and soul out of pure necessity. That’s probably why Connor noticed a different, perhaps more profound layer to it. But that she was now unable to discuss this with him, her best friend and gallerist—the most loyal admirer of her work—was complicated to say the least. Connor could pretend that wasn’t Dylan in that painting all he wanted, but the fact that it was Dylan was the whole point for Raffo. And then there was another matter.

  “I’m not sure this should be a commercial work,” Raffo said.

  “Oh.” The single syllable carried volumes of unspoken tension.

  “We have to ask her permission.” Christ. Raffo couldn’t bring herself to say ‘your mom’—how ridiculous was that?

  “That won’t be a problem.” His voice had taken on that brittle quality it got when he was trying to maintain control.

  “How do you know? She hasn’t even seen the painting. She doesn’t know it exists.” This was still Raffo’s work, an intimate portrait of what burned inside her heart, and Connor couldn’t just come in and take over.

  “Out of guilt. She owes me,” Connor had the audacity to say.

  “She’s your mom, Con. Have a little respect.”

  “Respect? Like she respected me when she kissed you in my living room?”

  Raffo shook her head. “It’s my decision, and that painting’s not going anywhere until I’ve shown it to Dylan.”

  Connor was visibly taken aback by the sharpness in Raffo’s tone.

  “Of course,” Connor said, his tone equally biting. “As long as I don’t have to be there for that special moment.”

  “We are trying, Con. We are only doing our best, for you, even though, frankly, what happened between me and Dylan had fuck all to do with you.” Raffo surprised herself. She hadn’t been herself since Dylan had come back to kiss her—to make her climax against Connor’s wall like that. Then again, she hadn’t been herself for months. Not since Mia had dumped her. Not in Big Bear—not for the most part, anyway. And certainly not since she’d returned to Los Angeles. Even when she was painting—really painting and not fruitlessly noodling around with a work she couldn’t put her heart into—something was different with her, hence the finished work on that easel over there. Being with Dylan had changed her.

  “What do you want me to say?” Connor exploded. “I’m sorry for being my mother’s son? I’m sorry for standing in the way of whatever it is you want to do with each other?”

  “I have feelings for her.” Raffo glanced at the painting—it couldn’t be more obvious to her now. “Genuine feelings. And I don’t know how to deal with them. I have no clue.”

  “For crying out loud.” Connor was obviously not ready to be understanding about this. “We’ve all been there. We’ve all had feelings for someone we shouldn’t have feelings for. It’s not as uncommon or special as you’d like to believe. We’ve all had to make an effort to get over things like that. If you can’t do that for me, your best friend, I’m not sure this is even still a friendship.”

  “Oh, please.” Raffo rolled her eyes. What was Connor even talking about? Who was he referring to that he’d had to get over in his own life? “Don’t be so dramatic. It drives me up the wall.”

  “And I can’t stomach the idea of you in bed with my mom, so there you go.”

  When he reduced it to two selfish people consumed by desire, blind to everyone else, it sounded indefensible. But what she and Dylan shared had evolved far beyond that after their first night together.

  It’s not just sex, Raffo wanted to scream. If it was, she wouldn’t still be pining for Dylan so many weeks later. She wouldn’t have painted that image of Dylan. But she didn’t want to incense Connor further by using the word sex in relation to his mother. Clearly—and she completely understood this—he couldn’t see past that.

  “Maybe we should press pause,” she said instead. “Take a little breather from each other.”

  “A breather? What does that even mean?” He huffed out some air. “We work together, Raffo. Your show in Chicago isn’t that far away. We have to select works. We have that thing with⁠—”

  “Con,” Raffo said. “Look at that painting you were just admiring. That’s what I want. It’s all I want. If I can’t paint like that, I’d rather not paint at all.”

  “What are you talking about? You can paint whatever you want. I just literally told you so.”

  “I can’t be judged for it. Not by you.”

  “I’m not judging you. I’m separating the two for the sake of our friendship.” At least he still considered them friends—for now.

  “The fuck you are, Con.”

  “But she’s my mom.” He shook his head. “I just… can’t.”

  “I know.” Raffo was so done with this conversation. She walked into the hallway, hoping Connor would follow so she could show him out.

  “I’m calling you tomorrow.” Connor stood very close to her. “Please don’t make me the bad guy in this. I love you both.” He planted a quick kiss on her cheek and walked out the door.

  Connor was right. Of course he wasn’t the bad guy and none of this was even remotely his fault. If only that could be the end of it, but the problem was that it couldn’t.

  Raffo shuffled back to her painting. She took a picture of it and sent it to Dylan, who had the right to see it, no matter the circumstances. Raffo just typed ‘You’ in the message. After she’d sent it, and the message showed as ‘Read’ on her screen, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from her phone. At first, for a few agonizing moments, there were the three dreaded dots as Dylan typed a message back. Then, for the rest of the night, until Raffo could no longer keep her eyes open, there was nothing.

  Chapter 35

  Dylan stared blankly at Raffo’s message, at a loss for an appropriate response. She typed and deleted, typed and deleted, until she drove herself crazy, and put her phone away.

  She couldn’t look at that painting of herself any longer, either. It was much more explicit and much more recognizably her than the one Raffo had made in Big Bear. She could only hope Connor hadn’t seen it. He and Murray were finally coming to dinner, so she would soon find out.

  When they arrived, Murray’s hug was noticeably warmer than Connor’s. Dylan could immediately tell Connor was in a mood. She felt sorry for him, because she was probably responsible for it.

  “He and Raffo had a fight,” Murray said, not wasting any time. Maybe because he had a plane to catch later tonight and he didn’t want to leave Connor in this state.

  “For the millionth time, it was not a fight,” Connor said.

  “I’m sorry, darling.” Dylan couldn’t help herself. She put an arm around her son.

  “In case you’re wondering, it was about you,” Connor said, contradicting himself.

  Dylan didn’t know how many more times she could apologize. She had just about run out of I’m-sorries when it came to this—also because it was very difficult to actually regret her time with Raffo. If only she regretted it more, that would make everything so much easier.

  “She painted you and…” Connor didn’t sound very angry, more despondent and a little sad. “Ugh, the work was so good. So exceptional. So Raffo on absolute steroids but it was you, Mom.” He scoffed. “All of you. Naked.”

  “It’s art,” Murray said. “I went to see Raffo earlier to say goodbye and she showed me. It’s beautiful, Dylan. You need to see it.” Murray sounded so casual about all this.

  “I have seen it. Raffo texted me a picture.”

  Connor’s eyes went wide. “You’ve seen it?”

  Dylan nodded.

  Connor bit his lip, as though trying to stop himself from saying something vile.

  “My flight’s in three hours and I would like to say something before my taxi gets here.” Murray had that air about him that made you want to listen when he spoke—or maybe Dylan was just really curious about what he wanted to share. “Con, babe, I love you and I understand why you feel the way you feel about this.”

  “But?” Connor’s voice couldn’t sound more sarcastic.

  Murray pinned his gaze on Dylan. “You don’t give up on something potentially great just because it’s difficult,” he said.

  Both Connor and Dylan protested at the same time.

  “Stop.” Murray held up his hands. “Please, let me finish.” He looked at them as though he was the principal who’d called two wayward teens into his office for one last chance before expulsion. “You can’t see any of this clearly because you’re in it. You’re too involved. Dylan, you’re smitten with Raffo and that, too, I totally get. And Con, Dylan’s your mom so of course you’re freaking out about it. It’s normal. But⁠—”

  Connor started to say something, and Dylan was infinitely impressed with Murray’s power to stop her son from talking simply by holding up a finger.

  “The fact that I don’t live here gives me more of a bird’s eye view on all this than either of you. From this vantage point I’m telling you that love, just as life, is precious. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Someone you love can die. I don’t mean to be grim, but it’s true.” He paused. “Ask Raffo.”

  “That’s a little unfair,” Connor said. “And quite emotionally manipulative.”

  “It’s not,” Murray said. “If only you could see that.”

  Dylan stood there, witnessing this bizarrely intense conversation between her son and his boyfriend, of which she was the subject. She and Raffo. Raffo would be mortified by all of this—or would she? The truth was that Dylan didn’t know. She hadn’t even replied to her text. She hadn’t even complimented her on that magnificent painting she’d made. This work of art that conveyed, without words, exactly how Raffo felt about Dylan. And wasn’t that what art was for? To say the things that couldn’t be put into words?

  “Mom gets why I can’t accept her having an affair with my best friend,” Connor said. “Don’t you, Mom?”

  “I do,” Dylan confirmed. It was hardly a matter of not getting it.

  “That’s not the point.” Murray put his hand over Connor’s. “You know that rainbow heart that Raffo’s being paid a massive amount of money for,” he said. “I think you have forgotten what that stands for, babe.”

  “No, I haven’t. It’s not because they’re two women⁠—”

  Murray cut Connor off. “It stands for all the love, Con. That includes the love between your mom and Raffo.”

  “Love? They slept together a couple of times in Big Bear.” Connor spat out the words. He pointed a finger at Dylan. “Where you weren’t even supposed to be, by the way. In case we all forgot that my dear mother, aside from sleeping with my best friend, also lied to me about a bad investment and where she was spending her summer. And what? Now it’s all on me? Now I’m the one standing in the way of their ‘love’?” He curled his fingers into air quotes. “Give me a fucking break.”

  “Okay,” Dylan said. “That’s enough.” She started to walk out of the kitchen, but turned around. “You two, make nice before Murray leaves. Make sure there are no hard feelings before saying goodbye. I’m done with this conversation.” Contrary to what she’d just said, Dylan walked back into the kitchen and planted a quick kiss on the side of Murray’s head. “Thank you for what you said. I really appreciate it. Have a good trip back to New York.” She headed over to her son and mussed his hair about, knowing full well how much he hated that. Still, Dylan couldn’t help herself—it was the story of her life lately. “I love you, Con,” she said, before going up to her bedroom, where she stopped in front of Raffo’s first painting of her.

  You don’t give up on something potentially great just because it’s difficult.

  Murray’s words swirled in her head. There might be some truth to what he said, but Dylan not giving up on Raffo could equal losing her son, so that battle was already over before it had even begun. There were some risks Dylan would never take.

  Still, Dylan fished her phone out of her pocket and—finally—texted Raffo back.

  It’s insanely beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because it’s a picture of me.

  Chapter 36

  Raffo’s palms sweated. She couldn’t bring herself to use the key to her own house, which was ridiculous, but what hadn’t been utterly ludicrous about her life the past couple of months? Since it had all started falling apart? She rang the bell and, as though she’d been waiting on the other side, Mia opened the door instantly.

  She had the courtesy to not try to hug, or worse, kiss her. Mia kept a respectable distance as she led the way into their house. Raffo’s knees went a little soft as her gaze drifted along the quirky wallpaper in the hallway and the second-hand table she’d painted in two complementary colors, the dividing line just off-center so it made everyone wonder if there was something wrong with their eyesight. As much as she loved that table, she didn’t know if she could just transport it to her new home. It had too many memories of good times in this house—and with Mia—attached to it.

  “Congrats on the new house,” Mia said, her collarbones sharp beneath her shirt. She’d always been slim, but now her face held shadows Raffo had never seen before.

  “Thanks, um, are you okay? Physically? You don’t look so hot.”

  “I’m fine.” Mia poured them each a glass of water and just pushed Raffo’s toward her across the kitchen island. “My appetite has plummeted since…” She didn’t finish her sentence, as though it should be obvious to Raffo.

  “Is this a good time to talk about all this?” Raffo asked.

  “Is this a good time to ask if you will ever forgive me?” Mia countered with a swiftness her fragile looks didn’t suggest she had in her.

  “No.” Raffo said. “That’s not why I’m here. We need to deal with this house. With our stuff.” What was Mia playing at now?

  “I’d love to buy you out,” Mia said with a weary sigh, “but I don’t think I can afford it.”

  “For real? You’d want to stay here?” They’d decorated the house together, but Raffo’s style dominated every room. “Does it not remind you too much of, um, us?”

  “Maybe that’s exactly why I want to stay.”

  “Mia, come on. Don’t be like that. It’s not fair.”

  “It is unfair, Raff. I know that. And I apologize, but I can’t help how I feel.”

  “You caused how you feel. You are the reason I don’t live here anymore.” Raffo shook her head. “I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so convinced that you didn’t stop loving me and destroyed our relationship because of it.”

  “I did not stop loving you.” Mia sounded as though she genuinely believed what she was saying.

  Raffo could only scoff. “I’m not having this conversation. I’m serious. That’s not why I’m here.” Raffo needed some chairs to sit on in her new house and some clothes from her closet, but most of all, already, she felt as though she needed to get out of there. She’d buy new chairs. She didn’t know why she’d been postponing the simple purchase of a couple of chairs. Was it because she’d been subconsciously waiting for this moment? For some sort of cathartic event between her and her ex? If this was it, it was highly inefficient and anti-climactic.

  “I do still love you,” Mia said. “I made a lot of mistakes and I didn’t treat you right and I’m so sorry, Raff. You have no idea.” Tears dripped onto the marble of the kitchen island.

  Raffo’s heart shrank. She wished she didn’t care. She wished she could face Mia’s tears with nothing but indifference. Raffo took a breath and closed her eyes. What she saw on the back of her eyelids was her latest painting of Dylan. Dylan who had given her so much comfort in Big Bear, who had listened to Raffo’s sad tales of Mia and how much she’d hurt her, who’d let her cry on her shoulder—and so much more.

  “I hope you understand where I’m coming from when I say that I can never trust anything you say or do again,” Raffo said, her voice barely a whisper—because this was a hard thing to say to a crying woman she’d once loved with all her heart. Once. Not anymore. Because there was no room for two people in Raffo’s heart to love, to be involved with amorously. And Raffo was in love with Dylan.

  Unlike Mia, Raffo had the decency to not tell her that she’d fallen head over heels for someone else. She didn’t want to rip Mia’s heart to shreds like that. But she did do the only other possible thing she could.

 

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