Opening night.
Just thinking the words set little wings fluttering in her belly as she picked up her purse and moved to the door. Because it made her think of Hux and his belief in her vision. His voice had been in her head all morning, while she brushed her teeth, while she stirred cream into her coffee, while driving over. And she heard it again as she locked the door behind her.
Dreams are like waves, babe. You have to wait for the right one to come along, the one that has your name on it. And then when it does, you have to get up and ride it.
Her mother was already on the terrace when she arrived. She glanced up from her issue of Town & Country as Rory approached, her penciled brows lifting a notch.
“Aurora. You’re nearly on time.”
Rory offered the barest of nods. “Good morning to you too.”
“I just meant I haven’t brought the food out because I didn’t expect you yet. I have a spinach and tomato strata warming in the oven. And those little zucchini muffins you like.” She laid down her magazine and stood. “Go ahead and open the Veuve, and I’ll bring out the food.”
Rory went to work on the champagne cork, hoping her news might sit better after a little lubrication. She’d spent the drive over rehearsing what she was going to say, only to conclude that it didn’t matter. There was simply no good way to break this news.
Moments later, Camilla returned carrying a pitcher of orange juice. “I think we’re ready to sit.”
Rory started guiltily, nearly overturning one of the champagne flutes. Camilla eyed her curiously. “Are you all right? You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine. Let’s eat.”
A silence fell as they filled their plates. Finally, Camilla lifted her glass. “To sunny Sunday mornings!”
Rory raised her glass obediently, going through the motions. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her, assessing, inquisitive. Finally, Camilla lowered her knife. “Are you certain you’re all right, Aurora? You don’t seem to be yourself.”
“I’m fine.” She reached for her glass, took another sip. “Any progress on the holiday event?”
Camilla blinked at her, clearly surprised. “Well, yes, actually. I’ve been toying with a Gatsby theme. You know, Roaring Twenties costumes, a nice jazz band. Lots of feathers and sequins for decorations. Black and gold and cream. Very elegant, of course.”
“Of course. Will you go as a flapper?”
Camilla’s laugh echoed across the terrace, light and almost girlish. “Certainly not. No one wants to see that. I was thinking of a pinstripe suit and spats, maybe a wide fedora. What do you think? I could go as a mobster, and you could be my moll. Lots of fringe and a boa. And those bright-red cupid lips.”
“Sounds fun. But you could still pull off the flapper. You’ve certainly got the legs for it.”
Camilla rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m long past the age for flashing one’s knees.” She paused, scooping up several bright-red berries. “And what about you? Did you manage to get your classes lined up for the fall?”
And here it was. The moment of truth. Rory reached for her glass, finishing it off in one go. “Not exactly, no.”
“But, honey, you promised—”
“I’m not going back in the fall,” she blurted. So much for a tactful opening line. “I’ve decided to go ahead with my plans for the gallery instead.”
Camilla lowered her spoon, sending several berries skittering across the tablecloth. “The gallery? I thought—”
“I know. I did too. Then I saw this building, an old row house on the corner of Newbury and Fairfield, and I knew it was what I was supposed to do.”
Camilla let out a sigh. “Aurora, we’ve talked about this. You have no business experience. And no real experience in the art world yet. You need to finish school before you jump into something like this. Bulk up your credentials so you’ll have something to fall back on.”
“In case I fail, you mean.”
“Well, yes. And don’t look at me like that. Have you any idea how many galleries fail in their first year?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“I don’t want you to become a statistic, Aurora. And you will if you pursue this.” She shook her head, as if bewildered. “You didn’t say a word about this the last time you were here. Now, just like that, you’re thinking of quitting school?”
Rory lifted her chin. “I don’t need your permission.”