Chapter 27

J azz squinted between a flickering parking garage light, and Liam, sitting with eyes closed in the passenger seat of her car, wondering if she'd made a mistake bringing him here. Or, at the very least, surprising him. She'd considered blindfolding him, but they were already running later than planned (her fault) and she knew that bringing a blindfold into the mix would only delay them further.

"You can open your eyes."

Liam's emerald eyes fluttered open, his gaze falling to her face first, a soft smile on his lips. He must have recognized the parking garage in his peripheral vision, because his eyes immediately widened. Jazz drew her teeth between her lips.

"We're going to the museum?" Liam asked, and Jazz couldn't tell if he seemed happy or horrified by the date she'd planned. She swallowed.

"You said you missed it and I thought maybe if you didn't have advance notice to stress about coming back, it would be better. But if you don't want to?—"

"I want to. This is perfect. Thank you," Liam said, and Jazz let out a relieved breath.

"In that case…" She leaned down to rummage in her purse, in the footwell by Liam's shoes. Confusion filled his eyes when she withdrew a crumpled old Washington State University ball cap and placed it on his head. "It's your disguise," she explained. "You know, in case you run into any of your old colleagues you don't want to talk to. I know mustaches are the traditional disguise, but I didn't think that would work."

Liam chuckled, tugging on the brim until his face was hidden in shadows. "What's the verdict?"

She looked him over, her fingers aching to reach out and grasp his face. How did he always look this good? "God damn it," she answered with a sigh.

"Let me guess— fucking Michaelsons ?" His mouth quivered on the edge of a smirk.

"Something like that," she grumbled. "Come on. Let's go in before we do something illegal in a parking garage."

Liam trailed her to the elevator, wrapping his arms around her from behind as the doors slid closed, and resting his chin on her head. "I'm glad we're doing this."

"The museum?"

"The date," he replied, tilting his face to kiss the top of her head. "But the museum too."

Jazz swallowed, unable to ignore the contentment in his voice. Liam had been taking care of her for weeks, making her feel safe and comfortable and cared for, and he seemed to do it all with ease. It shouldn't have taken her so long to do something for him.

A wall of noise assaulted them when the elevator doors slid open, chattering families and squealing children running around the entrance hall. The line at the ticket desk was almost to the door, and Jazz was grateful she'd had the foresight, for once, to buy their tickets online.

"Is it always this busy on Sundays?" she asked Liam, flashing the QR codes on her phone to the ticket attendant. He scanned them and waved them through.

"Yeah, but it's really just the family exhibits that are busy. The rest is usually quiet."

Jazz nodded, staring up at the grand staircase in awe. Sunlight streamed through a wall of windows, illuminating a stunning arched ceiling, smooth stone sculptures, and steps leading to the third floor.

"Pretty impressive, right?" Liam asked, correctly interpreting her wowed silence.

"It's gorgeous."

"What do you want to see first?"

She smiled up at him, certain she was already looking at the most impressive work of art in the place. "I want to see your favorite piece."

Liam scrunched his brow like he was thinking hard. "There's probably a mirror around her somewhere so you can see yourself—hey!" Jazz whacked him with her purse, but she could see him fighting a laugh. "Too praise-y? "

"I suppose not," she admitted with an exaggerated sigh.

Liam cupped her chin and dropped a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. "Come on. My favorite painting's on the fourth floor."

He led her up the stairs and through several corridors, pointing out various sculptures and paintings as they passed and telling her all about them and how they came to be in Seattle. Jazz had never been an art person, but she could spend days listening to Liam talk about it. She clung to every word, interested in the facts behind the art, but mostly in his feelings. She filed away his likes and dislikes, and the whys behind them, adding building blocks to the picture of the man that was quickly becoming a permanent fixture in her brain.

"My favorite's just over there," Liam said as they entered a hushed gallery room. He hadn't been kidding when he said the rest of the museum would be quiet—without the families, it was perfectly peaceful.

Jazz spun around to face him before they reached the painting, and he raised a questioning brow. "I want to see it like you do—experience it like an art person. How do I do that?"

Surprise lit Liam's eyes, like he was happy she was interested. "Close your eyes." She did so, and he grasped her shoulders, spinning her around and walking her slowly forward. "When you open your eyes," he said, holding her still, "just say the first thing that comes to mind when you see the painting."

"I can do that. "

Liam squeezed her shoulders, and she opened her eyes, stepping back into his chest as she realized how close to the wall they were. She took in the painting with a small gasp. It wasn't what she'd expected. Dreamy pink and blue clouds surrounded the bones of a house consumed by blue flames, a couple embracing on an ash-covered bed at the centre while it burned down around them. The gleaming brass plaque below read:

Nothing Lasts Forever, 1889

Oil on canvas

She didn't recognize the artist's name.

"It's sad." She didn't mean to whisper, but there was something about the painting that demanded the hush. "No—beautiful. Tragic? All of the above." This was Liam's favorite; she wanted to get it right.

"This isn't school, darling. There's no right answer," Liam said, reaching for her hand and threading their fingers together. "But that's how I see it too. Beautiful but tragic."

"Is there a story behind it?"

"It's a weird one. The artist isn't well known—he only painted a half dozen paintings before he died, and there's no record of the stories behind them. But art people love to speculate, so we have theories. All six paintings feature the woman on the bed. The first two were painted in the shades of blue and pink you see in the sky, and they gradually got darker. Until this one. This was the last painting. They found it in his studio in Toulouse after he died. The theory is that he loved the woman, but she was promised to another, and this painting shows he would rather he and his lover burn together than be apart. They say he died of a broken heart."

"Wow. That's so…"

"Romantic?" Liam suggested and Jazz snorted, turning to look at him.

"I was going to say dramatic. But yeah, it's pretty romantic too. I understand why you love it so much. It's the perfect balance of light and dark, peace, and chaos."

His face lit up with excitement, as if she'd interpreted the painting like he did. "Exactly. I knew you'd?—"

"Liam? Is that you?"

Liam's whole body tensed, and Jazz knew who the voice belonged to even before she looked up over his shoulder and into the icy blue eyes of his ex-girlfriend.

Liam turned to face India, threading his arm around Jazz's waist, and she pasted a wide smile on her face. "Hi. It's good to see you again. How are you?"

India dragged her gaze over Jazz. It didn't feel like a judgmental glare, like the kind Jazz's mom had perfected, but more of an appraisal. When her eyes returned to Jazz's face, they were hesitant. "I'm good. How are you guys?"

"We're great," Jazz said, looking up at Liam. He wasn't even looking at India; his perfect dimply smile was trained on Jazz. And, when Jazz turned back to look at India, she knew it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"That's nice. Liam, I called a couple of times. I left some messages. Did you get them?"

"I did," Liam confirmed, finally looking at India.

She waited expectantly, but Liam didn't elaborate. India swallowed, standing a little straighter. "I was hoping to talk to you."

"Alright."

Jazz bit her lip, trying not to laugh as India looked between the two of them.

"I was hoping to talk to you alone ."

Liam tucked Jazz closer to his side. "Jazz and I are a package deal."

India's face fell, a perfect curl of blond hair slipping from her ponytail as she dipped her head, staring at the polished floor. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, looking up again. "I made a mistake. Obviously, but I mean…" She toyed with the silver pendant hanging around her throat. "I love Bart. I've always loved Bart. You know how it was with the three of us. But it's not what I thought it would be. He's not you, Liam. It's always been you."

Jazz's stomach twisted as India pleaded. It's always been you . How many times had she heard those exact words in the audiobooks she'd listened to since Liam had started recommending them? The people saying it in the books always got back together. How the hell was she supposed to compete with that?

"I need to know," India continued, "if there's any chance we?—"

"No."

Jazz started as Liam interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind.

"There's no chance. You gave up that chance when you slept with my best friend." India winced. "But even if you hadn't, we were on borrowed time. It was never going to work out between us. I hadn't met Jazz yet, and once I did…" He turned to face Jazz, looking at her like India wasn't even in the room.

Holy shit . There was no need for him to finish that sentence. The implication was clear enough: India wasn't Jazz.

Liam might have forgotten India was standing before them, but Jazz hadn't. She resisted the urge to give the woman who'd broken Liam's heart an I win! smirk—she was petty, not an asshole—and India mustered a weak smile for her.

"You've got a good one. Don't do what I did and mess it up."

"I would never do what you did," Jazz said instantly. So maybe she was a little bit of an asshole. India gave Liam one last longing look and spun on her heel, fleeing the gallery room.

Jazz blew out a breath. "Are you okay?" she asked Liam.

"I'm fine. At least you're not wondering what she wanted when she called now." He slipped his hand over her ass and squeezed. Well, then. He really did seem fine. How was he so unfazed? "Are you okay?"

Jazz nodded. "I think she bought it."

Liam raised a brow at her. "Bought what?" He had a pleased little smirk on his face when he turned back to look at the painting, because he knew exactly what she meant. I hadn't met Jazz yet, and once I did…

And she knew exactly what he was implying: it wasn't an act. He'd made his feelings pretty damn clear. She just didn't know what to do with them.

And maybe India interrupting them by calling at dinner, and again at the museum, was a sign from the universe that Jazz had no business going on dates with a man like Liam. But she was nothing if not spiteful, and, frankly, the universe could go fuck itself.