“No, this is perfect. Shabby but colorful.” Jeremy scurried over to the small mirror hanging near the front door and tossed the length of the scarf back and forth and over his head. “I love the sparkly beads.”
“Take it,” Robin insisted. “Consider it an even trade for the cookies. Besides, I’ll never wear it. My mother is insane to think I would.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy cried, and clapped his hands. “I want you both to be there. It’s two weeks from tomorrow. Write it in your calendar.”
“I love the Castro Street Fair,” Robin said. “I go every year.”
I got up and found a pencil, then wrote the event in my office calendar. In one of the cabinet drawers I found a clean white cotton cloth, and as I wrapped the Kama Sutra up to protect it, I asked, “Would you guys like a glass of wine?”
The men exchanged a look; then Jeremy waved his hand with indifference. “Only if you insist.”
“I’ll get the wine,” Robin said, laughing. “You show them your sexy new book.”
“You have a sexy book?” Sergio said, moving closer to the worktable. He was fascinated with my bookbinding work. I unwrapped the cloth and pushed the book his way.
“Is this it?” He touched the spine of the Kama Sutra.
“Yes, and wait till you see it,” I said, excited all over again. I opened the book and turned to the page Robin and I had been peeking at earlier.
Jeremy began to squeal and slapped my arm. “You naughty girl.”
“This is fantastic,” Sergio said in awe, as he carefully ran a finger over the outer edges of the page.
“I know. I can’t wait to take it apart.”
“Ooh, that does sound exciting. Maybe I should sign up for that bookbinding class you teach after all.”
Later that night, I read the letter of authorization from Shiva’s friend Rajiv Mizra. In the same envelope, he’d included the original sale document from the Mumbai bookseller who sold him the Kama Sutra. The document indicated that the book, though undated, was thought to have been made in France between 1840 and 1880. That would be easy enough to verify once I’d examined the ink and paper and gilding style. Rajiv had paid 1,801,200 rupees back in 1997. I had no idea how much that was in U.S. dollars. I would calculate it in the morning, but I had no doubt the book would be worth much more in today’s market.
In his friendly note, Rajiv gave me full authority to do whatever it took to increase the book’s value. He also included his e-mail address in case I had any questions.
I smiled as I tucked the letter and documentation back into the envelope. The only question I had at this point was, How soon could I get my hands on that incredible book?
The following night, Derek returned from his Kuala Lumpur trip. Ever since he moved in, I’d been experimenting with cooking, so I made pasta with a creamy tomato vodka sauce, and we drank an Etude pinot noir I’d been saving for a special occasion. Our relationship was new enough that Derek’s coming home after a short trip definitely qualified as a special occasion.
I guess he felt the same way, because he’d thought to bring me a gift from his travels. It was a stack of beautiful Asian fabric samples for me to use as book cloth in my bookbinding work. It was the loveliest and most thoughtful gift a bookbinder could dream of receiving.
After dinner, we snuggled on the couch. In my wildest imagination, I never would’ve used the word snuggle in regard to the ruggedly masculine Derek Stone. But there we were, snuggled. And I felt completely satisfied with life.
Naturally, I couldn’t allow that blissful feeling to just exist. My mind rushed to scrutinize and worry over it. Call it human nature, but if I was this happy with a man, I had to wonder why. After all, I’d made mistakes with men before. I wasn’t always the best judge of character. So now I forced myself to ponder some key questions: Was he the right man for me? Why were we together? How did it happen so fast? And there were follow-up questions: Where would we go wrong? How would I screw things up?
The fact was, I’d never dated an ex-spy from another country. Were there issues I should be aware of? Was he a bad risk? Had he done things in his past that would come back to haunt him and, therefore, me? He seemed remarkably well-adjusted, and his level of self-esteem was the healthiest I’d ever encountered. But had he done things in the past that would someday cause him to hate himself? Would he have flashbacks? Would they develop into full-blown post-traumatic stress disorder?
And speaking of his former lifestyle, what exactly had he done? I imagined he must’ve played many roles during his time in British intelligence, but he rarely spoke of them. He still worked in that world peripherally. Did his current job of providing security to his wealthy clients ever entail role-playing? Suppose a rich young widow required someone to play her lover in order to uncover a blackmailing scam. Would Derek play that role or would he send an associate? Did I have the right to ask? Should I trust him to be faithful? Was I being ridiculously naive?