He’d run out onto the street, but not seen her anywhere. He had a Lexus he rarely used, kept in the parking garage beneath his building, and so he took the car to try to catch up with her. He hoped Anya was all right. She’d been pretty upset when she’d left. He hoped she’d have money for a cab, and wouldn’t be attempting to walk home. It was already getting dark, and she shouldn’t be walking the streets when she was so upset, and with her clothes torn. She would be asking for trouble. Their fight had his stomach in knots. Could he have an exhibition without her blessing, or bring himself to cancel and keep his work to himself? Either option didn’t seem like an option at all. How was this going to be reconcilable? He felt mad at her for not telling him about her parents, but at the same time he was glad she hadn’t. If she’d told him, they would never have created the images they had, and he couldn’t go back on his work. Ever. But a voice in his head spoke up. Even if it means losing her?
