The gesture is a little jarring coming from a Chinese national, but then they both spent time in Europe.
Pulling back from Elizabeth, Ming Ming runs her gaze over me thoroughly, like I’m an item for sale. “Who is this hottie?”
“Dominic. Meet my best friend Ming Ming,” Elizabeth says, her voice light.
I suddenly realize her attitude is nothing like how she was with Marcella outside La Mer. Her smile is easy, and there’s the sort of genuine warmth that you reserve for the people dearest to you.
It’s the same warmth that used to brighten her eyes every time she looked at me ten years ago.
Realizing what we lost is suddenly tragic. I knew it vanished ten years ago, but accepting something intellectually and feeling it in person are two very different experiences.
“Lovely to meet you,” Ming Ming purrs.
“The pleasure’s mine.” I shake hands with her, not interested in flirting. She isn’t my type. Even if she were the most stunning woman on Earth, I still wouldn’t, not while I’m here as Elizabeth’s date.
“So how did you two meet? You look like a refined sort. Are you planning on building her a gallery?” Ming Ming says.
“Gallery?”
Elizabeth shakes her head. “Stop.”
Ming Ming ignores her. “Oh sure. Haven’t you seen Elizabeth’s drawings?”
“I have,” I say.
“I knew it!” She snaps her fingers. “Not only is she my best friend, she’s also a genius. But for some reason, she doesn’t seem to want to showcase her work…although I’m certain she still does her art secretly.” Ming Ming lowers her voice. “I thought maybe you’d be the man to force the issue. I still have a pencil sketch she did of me and my dog way back when. One day it’s going to worth a lot of money.”
Elizabeth flushes, tucking a nonexistent tendril behind her ear. She looks a little embarrassed and sad, and she lowers her lashes quickly and pastes on a practiced smile. The sight causes a slight twinge in my heart, and I have an inane urge to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. She used to dream of becoming an artist like her grandfather—or so she told me. It wasn’t just talk, either. She had tons of sketches and paintings, many of them experiments with different techniques.
Yet here she is…Ms. Corporate, leading the Pryce Family Foundation. The work is far from meaningless…and she’s done an admirable job. Everyone agrees on that point, praising her for making the world better her lifelong aspiration…
Then it suddenly hits me. No matter what people say and no matter how dedicated she is to the foundation, that was never her dream.
Then why is she leading it? She doesn’t have to be in charge. If she feels guilty about pursuing art, she could take on a purely supervisory role to make sure everything’s fine.
“I want her to do my nude portrait when I turn thirty,” Ming Ming says. “Is that too much to ask?”
Elizabeth’s gaze darts around, then suddenly she perks up. “Oh look, there’s your uncle!”
Ming Ming turns, her smile wide. “Uncle Zhao!”
A slightly balding Asian man in his early fif
ties comes over, his loose Hawaiian shirt doing nothing to hide a body that hasn’t seen exercise in a while. Water drips from the hem of his black trunks down a pair of thick, hairy calves and sandy bare feet. He seems familiar, but I can’t quite place him.
He hugs Ming Ming tightly.
Finally I recognize him. This is Zhao Xia, one of the high-ranking officials in the Chinese government I need to have on my side for my ventures. It’s been impossible to arrange a meeting with the man. He’s always busy and elusive. The joke is that not even his wife can see him more than once a month.
I can open certain doors for you.
I look at Elizabeth. She smiles.
He finally lets go of Ming Ming and turns to Elizabeth. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming,” he says in slightly accented English.
“How can I not, Uncle Zhao? It’s Ming Ming’s birthday.” Her eyes sparkle. “It’s so good to see you again. How have you been?”
“Very well. You?”