Q sighed. “If this is about your mother and the choices she has made, Lennon, don’t let her knack for choosing rogues frighten you off.”
“Mother chooses rogues because she lives for that rush of lust. She’s a junkie. As soon as the thrill wears off and her fantasy man starts to look real, she’s gone.”
Gazing into her great-aunt’s face, Lennon frowned when she saw worry there. “I enjoy the rush of lust, too, Auntie. You know that. I may not have had a romance in a while, but I’ve had some wonderful ones. I’m not frightened of passion, just rational about it. I want a real marriage, not some up-and-down roller-coaster ride. I know what my needs are, and I choose to fulfill them.”
“Love shouldn’t make you rational. It should make you crazy, even a bit foolish. It should make you feel alive.”
“That’s fine for an affair. I want stability in marriage.”
“Why can’t you have both? Look at your great-uncle and me. We endured fifty-five years of the most wonderful relationship.”
“You and Great-uncle Joshua lived a fifty-five-year love affair.” Lennon couldn’t bring herself to point out the obvious: Auntie Q had been Great-uncle Joshua’s mistress. “You once told me that you felt lucky because you shared your life with the man you loved. Living the legend, you said, because your namesake, the real Guinevere, hadn’t been so lucky. I always thought that was so romantic, but—”
“But we didn’t have a real marriage,” Auntie Q said. “No, dear, we didn’t, but we shared our lives and never once regretted the difficult choices we were forced to make.”
“I know.”
What her great-aunt and -uncle had shared had been special, even more so because their love had endured though they hadn’t met until years after he’d committed to an arranged marriage. At the time, a man didn’t divorce simply because he’d found a more suitable partner—even if his wife had decided she wanted a marriage in name only after providing an heir.
Though Auntie Q and Great-uncle Joshua had made the best of the hand life had dealt them, and had fun in the process, Lennon didn’t envision a future for herself even remotely similar.
She wanted home and hearth and babies. Lots of babies. Little girls to share tea parties with and little boys to help catch bugs in glass jars. She would work her writing schedule around her family’s needs and revel in the joys of being a wife and mom.
Auntie Q must have recognized her resolve, because she said, “Your mind’s made up.” It was a statement.
“It is. I’ve given my future a great deal of thought. Mr. Right for a marriage is what’s right for me. I don’t want a husband I’m head-over-heels in lust with. I want a husband I like, love and respect. I want a life companion.”
“A life companion?” Auntie Q rolled her gaze heavenward. “Old people have companions. I’m not even old enough for one and I’m eighty-two.”
Lennon didn’t point out that her assistant, Olaf, who cared for her in myriad capacities, could be considered a companion. She gently squeezed her great-aunt’s hands instead. “Trust me, Auntie. I know what I want. And with the bachelor auction, you’ve provided me the perfect place to find him.”
“You need grand passion.”
Lennon peered back into the entrance hall at her great-uncle’s portrait. Maybe it was the night lighting or staying up long past her bedtime, but Lennon recognized the underlying excitement in his green eyes, the zest for living that had been so much a part of the man she’d known. And admired.
Great-uncle Joshua had been the only steady male presence in her life while Lennon was growing up. A kind, fun and very noble man, he’d had the ability to make her great-aunt feel like the most important person in his world. And Lennon, too.
He’d been a part of every important step in her life, from dance recitals and graduations to helping her cope with her flighty mother. She’d always considered her great-uncle family-by-love. He may not have been officially related, but he’d always encouraged and supported her, and she still thought of him as her ideal, a man she modeled her romance heroes after.
“You had grand passion, Auntie,” she said, guessing that if Great-uncle Joshua had been free to marry, Auntie Q would probably have considered life perfect. “Maybe if there was another man as wonderful I might consider a different sort of marriage. But Great-uncle Joshua was one of a kind.”
Auntie Q regarded her from beneath a wrinkled brow. “I really wish you’d reconsider.”
“I know what I want, and it’s not a life full of emotional upheaval. I want to marry a man who’ll help me create a stable, normal family. I wouldn’t change a moment of my life with you, but we’re not exactly normal, are we?” She smiled lightly, hoping to ease her great-aunt’s concern. “Besides, I’ve had my share of affairs and romances. I’ll settle down with a man I can love, and keep passion for my romance novels.”
She kissed her great-aunt’s cheek. “Now will you go to your office and try to catch a few hours of sleep? The museum directors will be here at the crack of dawn and we won’t have a chance to slow down before the reception. I still don’t know when we’ll find time to check into the hotel.”
“We’ll manage, dear.” Auntie Q squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you come, too? A few hours wouldn’t hurt you, either. You’ll want to look fresh for the bachelors.”
Lennon couldn’t tell if this remark meant Auntie Q had accepted the game plan or not. Her bright eyes and easy smile didn’t reveal a thing. Too late and too tired for more debate when she still had so much to do, Lennon let the matter drop and focused on settling Auntie Q in her office, before she herself returned to the entrance hall to tackle The Promise.
Smoothing the black velvet drape over the display, she maneuvered the pieces around like men on a chessboard. The penis at a forty-five degree angle from the mouth. No. Too far apart, the pieces didn’t appear like part of any yin-yang whole. She moved them closer and thought the penis looked as if it stood sentinel over the mouth.
The Promise was the first piece of artwork the guests would see after Great-uncle Joshua’s portrait. Possibly the first, if their gazes didn’t follow the lines of the room to the portrait. The arrangement had to be right.
One hundred eighty degrees southeast? Ninety degrees northwest? The penis lying on its side, its huge marble head touching the open mouth?
No, no, no. With a disgusted groan, Lennon snatched the penis off the base and dropped it into her lap. There, no penis at all. Worked for her. And displayed alone, the mouth looked sort of like a huge white rose. Rather attractive, really.
Laying an arm on the display base, she wearily rested her head on the crook of her elbow and decided Auntie Q was probably right. She just didn’t like the sculpture because she hadn’t seen the real thing in a while.
2
IF JOSH EASTMAN HADN’T known better, he’d have thought he’d walked into a storybook illustration of Sleeping Beauty. Security lights washed the new gallery’s entrance hall with a pale gleam, illuminating the beauty asleep at the foot of his grandfather’s portrait. This woman was a late-night fantasy, all long, long legs and sleek blond hair.
