“Apparently, they’re a hit,” I quipped back.

“Sarah Parsons,” he said, turning his attention to the man standing beside him. “Marcus Aurelius.”

Marcus, Valentina’s husband, was another handsome silver fox, but I doubted his name was really Marcus Aurelius. “Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.

He ignored it and kissed me on the cheek—my cheeks were getting quite the attention that night. “Likewise,” Marcus said with a crisp London accent that reminded me of Hugh Grant.

Valentina and James both beamed at Marcus, and it was clear there was a lot of love between them. Then, for a moment, no one said anything, so I did what I usually did in those situations—I filled the silence. “So, Aurelius?” All three of them laughed, and I felt a little put out that I didn’t get the joke.

“It’s a nickname Marcus earned during a mini-break the three of us took to Rome—an aeon ago,” said James, filling me in. “It’s a juicy story, but perhaps one for another time,” he added, almost conspiratorially, and I felt like I was back in the fold.

“So, Sarah. Have you been to this gallery before?” asked Marcus.

“No, I haven’t. Actually, I don’t even know which gallery we’re at.”

James raised a hand. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I don’t think I ever told you. Sorry.” He leant his head against mine as though we were already a couple who shared in-jokes. “It’s called ‘Laz Inc.’ and it’s the brainchild of that man over there, Steve Lazarides.” He nodded towards a bald man, with strong features, who looked about forty.

“Is he a friend?” I asked.

“A colleague, of sorts.” I searched James’s face for more information, but it didn’t seem like he was going to reveal anything more. “Did you want to have a look through the exhibit?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Sure,” I smiled brightly at him.

“We’ll come and find you later,” he said to Marcus and Valentina before taking my hand and leading me into the next room.

To be honest, I was less interested in the art than I was in James. He was dressed in a casual grey suit with a pale blue shirt opened to the third button. God, he was gorgeous. He also looked so at ease—in his clothes, in that environment with all those people—that I envied him a little. In contrast, I felt like the great pretender.

We stopped in front of a large square painting, which I regarded with a tilted head. It was frighteningly ugly and I found myself frowning at it as I took in the rough texture of the paint and the various shades of grey and brown.

“That dress is quite something, Sarah.” His voice was low and deep in my ear, and his breath tickled my neck.

The image of a grinning Josh popped into my mind, but I dismissed it as fast as it came. “I got it in Greece,” I said, omitting the most important part of that story. When I looked up at James, he nodded approvingly.