"Trafalgar Square?" Posing it as a question, Reine stated the obvious as they left the underground station and emerged below the column holding Lord Nelson's statue. Ignoring the observation, Noor continued to remain tight lipped as they navigated amongst the tourists in the plaza before reaching the steps of the National Gallery of Art.

"You like?" she playfully asked once they entered the museum.

"Of course I like! I could live here," Reine enthused, still unsure about the nature of this visit. As they headed up to the second level, followed the signs pointing toward the "Sainsbury Wing," and rounded the corner into room 51, she finally figured it out.

Although most of the paintings were from the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries, there was one work, which stood out from the rest. Made at the turn of the Sixteenth Century, it was a preparatory drawing in chalk that was never turned into a painting at all. Displayed behind a protective glass case in its own light-controlled nook, its importance not just to this collection, but Western religious art in general was undeniable.

Stepping inside the closet-like structure, Reine felt goose bumps form on her skin.

"Leonardo DaVinci's Virgin and Child with St. Anne and John the Baptist. It's one of your favorites, isn't it?" Noor chirped, oblivious to the work's effect on her friend.

"It is. I'm impressed you know that." Reine's response was much more subdued in the venerated space.

The girl crossed her arms. "I'm not your best friend for nothing, Rennie," she said.

Noor was right. Reine wrinkled her nose, feeling terrible for continuing to underestimate her. "No, you're not. I shouldn't say things like that. But did you know this was damaged in the Eighties? Someone protesting something fired a shotgun at it from a body-length away."

"Which Eighties?" Noor raised an inquisitive brow.

Reine rolled her eyes. "I'm speaking in your frame of reference, smarty pants. The Nineteen Eighties. The gallery did an amazing job restoring it, though. You can't even tell where it was damaged unless you're looking for it." She leaned closer to examine the Virgin's robe before stepping back again. "I'm sorry. You probably didn't bring me here for a thorough analysis of the sketch. I wasn't even studying art at the time yet, but the fact that it had happened to a Leonardo caught my attention."

"No, it's okay," Noor said, putting a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "I love how smart you are. I bet you're really glad you remember everything now."

"It's good . . . and it's bad. Of course, it's very helpful to know what I've seen and done over the last five hundred years, who all I've met and have come to love." She put an arm around Noor's waist and gave her a small squeeze. "I also remember my family for the first time since . . . the first time." Reine couldn't say the words: drowning in Venice. For some reason, the idea of death and dying had weighed on her more and more lately.

"I bet that's nice though," Noor said as she tried to cheer her up.

Reine sighed. "Yes, but it makes me miss them more. I've known about them in general just from talking to other Florentines years later, but those weren't my memories. Now I can even recall the sound of my mother's laugh, if you can believe it. Or how my brothers would practice their sword play in our courtyard each afternoon."

Noor didn't press further, and Reine was glad for it. Any more talk of her family would make her burst into tears, and she didn't want to seem like an emotional mess. When a familiar ping sounded from her pocket, she grabbed the phone, checked the incoming text, and quickly put the device away again.

"Your interview at the British Museum's confirmed for Thursday at three. I can help you prepare for it, if you want," she said without enthusiasm.

"That's not the message you were expecting, was it? You were hoping it was from Max." Noor frowned, seeing right through her. "Rennie, I know you two have a history, but please don't think of him as Mr. Right. At most, all he could be is Mr. Right Now, and you deserve more than that."

Reine bit her lip to avoid snapping at her friend; she hated having to defend her feelings for Max. "I seem to remember that you didn't like Gabe much at first, either."

"He had you fooled in the beginning, too." Noor played with the corner of her scarf, rubbing the silken fabric between her fingers.

Reine looked away, focusing on the dimly lit drawing. "Things were different after he left Max."

"Which means I was right." Noor grabbed Reine's shoulders and turned the young woman towards her. "When will you realize that everything bad leads back to him?"

"Because he's all I have left!" Reine burst out, and the suppressed tears finally began to flow down her cheeks. Her friend didn't take pity, but continued to be relentless.

"No, he's not! You have me and Mal. There's also Morgan, Kenzie . . . even Mikey. And of course now you have this baby." She gently touched Reine's bump. "Look at the drawing again. You think you know it inside and out, but you've never seen it with the eyes you have right now. That mother will be you in a few months, and that'll be your child." Noor pointed to the figures on the left of the canvas.

"And who's St. Anne supposed to represent? You, I suppose?" Reine joked as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. "With a little mini-Mal toddling at your feet?"

"Heavens no! I'm happy with being fun auntie Noor." The girl laughed. "Seriously though. Please forget Max, Rennie. You're better off without him."