“Our life-form shares the planet with millions of other life-forms,” he said. “And then all of us go back to dust to feed the Earth.”

“I don’ know if that’s beautiful or terrifyin’,” Bijou said.

“Of course it’s beautiful. Our life-form is beautiful, but not always those that inhabit the form are. You happen to be very rare, Bijou.” He looked around the crowded room, the people in dozens of conversations, sipping on expensive wine and champagne and eating from the hors d’oeuvres trays the waiters passed around. “I think you’ve found a few friends who seem to be very much like you.”

He paused, forced a smile and waved at several people greeting him. Bijou immediately took over for him, making the conversation, easing him into it occasionally. She tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm, a small way of using code between them. When Arnaud needed a little space from the crowd grouped around them, he pressed his palm tightly over her hand and she would find an excuse to graciously move on, giving him breathing space.

The next two hours were spent talking to couples, groups and individual fans of Arnaud’s work, all eager to purchase one of his famous sculptures or a smaller item from his rare jewelry section. They worked the room together, Bijou making certain that no one felt slighted. They were all potential customers, and many were repeat buyers, millionaires and even two billionaires perusing the art. Not only did they get to talk to Arnaud, but they were more than delighted to chat with the celebrity on his arm.

The music turned dreamy and the small dance floor became crowded. Men in tuxedos and women in long, glittering gowns moved together to sway and twirl. Bijou caught sight of Saria and Drake dancing, steps perfectly matching.

“Is Drake your bodyguard?” Arnaud asked as they distanced themselves from the latest crowd of admirers.

“No, why?”

“He carries himself like a bodyguard, and he’s very aware of everyone in the room and where you are. He isn’t the only one either,” Arnaud added.

Bijou had forgotten just how much Arnaud, as an artist, took in. He was very observant, even if he really wasn’t all that social. She inclined her head, respecting him too much to lie to him. “Remy’s worried that someone is tryin’ to hurt me. And you know I’ve always had to have bodyguards. I’m tryin’ to make it so that won’t be necessary, but I’m not quite there yet.”

“You’ll get there,” he assured. “Although, I like the idea that someone’s looking out for you. Is this thing with Remy serious?”