“So why did you stop painting? I mean, it seems like a great way to record an unnaturally long life.” My head beginning to spin from all of this.

He nods. “The problem was my work was becoming very well known. I was exalted, and believe me, I exalted in my exaltedness.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I was painting like a madman, completely obsessed, uninterested in anything else. Amassing a very large collection that drew far too much attention to myself before I properly realized the risk, and then—”

I look at him, heart crashing when I see the image unfold in his head. “And then there was a fire,” I whisper, seeing violent, orange flames rise into a darkened sky.

“Everything was destroyed.” He nods. “Including, for all appearances anyway, me.”

I suck in my breath, meeting his eyes, unsure what to say.

“And before they could even extinguish the flames, I was gone. Traveling all over Europe, fleeing from place to place like a nomad, a gypsy, a vagabond, even changing my name a few times until enough time had passed and people started to forget. Finally settling in Paris, where, as you know, we first met—and, well, you know the rest. But, Ever—” He looks into my eyes, wishing he didn’t have to say it, but knowing it’s necessary to put it into words, even though I already know what comes next. “All of this is to say that at some point—not long from now—you and I will have to move.”

And the moment he says it, I can hardly believe I hadn’t thought of it before. I mean, it’s so obvious, hiding right in plain sight. And yet somehow I was able to ignore it, look the other way, pretending it would be different for me. Which just shows you what denial can do.

“You probably won’t age much past this,” he continues, hand smoothing my cheek. “And trust me, it won’t be long before our friends start to notice.”

“Please.” I smile, desperate to add a little lightness to this dark, heavy space. “May I remind you that we live in Orange County? A place where plastic surgery is practically the norm! Nobody ages here. Seriously. Nobody. Heck, we can carry on just as we are for the next hundred years!” I laugh, but when I look at Damen, see the way his eyes peer into mine, it’s clear the gravity of the situation trumps my small joke.

I head for the bench in the center of the room, plopping onto it as I bury my face in my hands. “What do I tell Sabine?” I whisper, as Damen sits beside me, slipping an arm around me and easing my fears. “I mean, it’s not like I can fake my own death. That crime-scene investigation stuff’s a little more advanced than it was in your day.”

“We’ll deal with it when the time comes,” he says. “I’m sorry, I should’ve mentioned this before.”

But when I look into his eyes, I know it wouldn’t have mattered. Wouldn’t have made the least bit of difference. Remembering the day when he first presented the whole idea of immortality to me, how careful he was to explain that I’d never cross the bridge, never be with my family again. But I went for it anyway. Pushed the thought right out of my way. Figuring I’d find some kind of loophole, discover a way to work around all of that—willing to convince myself of just about anything if it meant being with him for eternity. And it’s no different now.

And though I have no idea what I’ll say to Sabine, or how I’ll even begin to explain our sudden desertion to our friends, in the end, all I want is to be with him. It’s the only way my life feels complete.

“We’ll enjoy a good life, Ever, I promise you that. You’ll never experience any lack, and you’ll never be bored again. Not after realizing the glorious possibilities of all that exists. Though aside from you and me—all of our outside connections will be extremely short lived. There’s just no getting around it, no loophole like you think. It’s a necessity, pure and simple.”

I take a deep breath and nod, remembering when I first met him and how he said something about being bad at good-byes. But he just smiles, responding to my thoughts when he says, “I know. You’d think it’d get easier, right? But it never really does. I usually find it easier to just disappear and avoid them altogether.”

“Easier for you maybe, though I’m not so sure about those you’ve left behind.”

He nods, rising from the bench and pulling me up alongside him. “I’m a vain and selfish man, what can I say?”

“That’s not what I meant—” I shake my head. “I just—”

“Please.” He looks at me. “There’s no need to defend me. I know what I am—or at least what I used to be.”

He gets up, leading me away from the paintings he came here to see. Only I’m not ready to go. Not yet. Anyone who’s forfeited their greatest passion, just simply walked away like he has, deserves a second chance.

I let go of his hand and shut my eyes tightly, manifesting a large canvas, a wide selection of brushes, a comprehensive palette of paints, and whatever else he might need, before he can stop me.

“What’s this?” He gazes between the easel and me.

“Wow, it really has been a long time if you can’t even recognize the tools of the trade.” I smile.

He peers at me, gaze intense, unwavering, but I meet it with equal strength.

“I thought it might be nice for you to paint alongside your friends.” I shrug, watching as he grabs a brush from the table, turning it over in the palm of his hand. “You said we could do anything we want, right? That the normal rules no longer apply? Wasn’t that the point of this trip?”