I carried him up to our bedroom while he cradled the kitten. We passed by painting after painting, my conversation with Anna echoing in my mind. The Netherlands. The Hague. Vincent, a celebrated genius in his own land.

“This new path feels right,” I told my son. “I only wish I’d thought of it sooner.”

Holst had to have the right connections. He would champion Vincent. Why would he not, his own countryman?

I smiled and kissed Wil’s head. “I think we might be on the brink of success.”

As soon as I settled my son down, I went back downstairs and wrote Holst a heartfelt letter. I ran down the street to give it to the postman.

And then I waited for the response, holding my breath.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Emsley

Trey hadn’t come back. The second time the doorbell rang after my investor presentation, it was food delivery.

Our Russian feast included salad olivier, borscht, pelmeni (the Russian version of tortellini), blini (crepe with smoked salmon), beef stroganoff, pirogi, golubtsy (stuffed cabbage), and plov (a rice and meat dish). Sergei had been right—spectacular. Dear Russian food, where have you been all my life?

“When you’re at the point where you need legal advice for your agency, let me know,” Bram told Monique next to him. “I have a couple of friends who might be able to help.” He handed over a card.

“Thanks.”

Sergei looked at me across the table. “Would you and Trey own the LA and New York offices jointly?”

“No. Think of the two companies as two restaurants in the same franchise. But I’m taking the client list. And initially I might borrow some employees. I need the IT staff to set me up here. I’ll negotiate that into the contract.”

That brought more questions, and some excellent suggestions. I was having dinner with my new investors. Except, it felt as if I were having dinner with new friends, even if the conversation mostly revolved around business.

Monique had to leave first, had another modeling gig early in the morning. Then Strena said goodbye. And then Sergei drove Bram Sr. home because he had to pick up some antique books from Bram Sr.’s apartment.

“I’ll help you clean up.” Bram collected the empty containers for the garbage.

I stashed the leftovers in the fridge in the kitchenette.

Lai Fa refused cleanup duty point-blank. She supervised from her kitchen nest, an old cookie tin lined with a towel.

“How did you meet Trey?” Bram asked.