{"product_id":"impossible-isbn-9780440242017","title":"Impossible","description":"When a high-powered gallery owner collides with a wildly offbeat artist, it’s the  perfect recipe for disaster. But in her 63rd bestselling novel, Danielle Steel proves  that when two hopelessly mismatched people share a love for art, a passion for each  other, and a city like Paris, nothing is truly impossible…or is it?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everything Sasha  does is within the boundaries of tradition. Liam is sockless in December.  Sasha  is widowed, a woman who knows she was lucky enough to be married to the most wonderful  man in the world and thankful for every moment they had. Liam is half in and half  out of a marriage that only a “wacky” artist could manage, and that his own impossibly  impulsive behavior has helped tear apart. But while Sasha has been methodically building  her father’s Parisian art gallery into an intercontinental success story, Liam has  been growing into one of the most original and striking young painters of his time.  So while the two are utterly unalike–and a nine-year age difference stares them squarely  in the face–the miracle of art brings them crashing together. Now the question is,  can Sasha guard her reputation while juggling a secret, somewhat scandalous relationship?  And how can Liam, who lives for the moment, put up with a woman who insists on having  things her own way, in her own style, and at her own time?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For Sasha, it’s a matter  of keeping Liam hidden from her grown children and well-heeled clientele as she commutes  between New York and Paris and two thriving galleries. For Liam, it’s about creating  chaos out of order, bringing out the wild streak that Sasha barely knows she has,  of choosing pizza over foie gras, and making love when others are busy making money.   That is, until a family tragedy suddenly alters Liam’s life–and forces a choice  and a sacrifice that neither one of them could have expected.  But from the snow  falling on the Tuileries to the joy of eating ice cream by candlelight, the artist  and the art dealer have tasted perfection.  And giving up now might just be the most  impossible thing of all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With unerring insight into the hearts of men and women– and into the soul of the artist –Danielle Steel takes us into a world of glamour  and genius, priceless art and dazzling creativity. From the luxurious galleries of  Europe to the endless beaches of the Hamptons, \u003cb\u003eImPossible \u003c\/b\u003eweaves an extraordinary  tale of love and compromise, of taking chances and counting blessings.  With brilliant  color and breathtaking emotion, Danielle Steel has written her most compelling novel  to date.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Danielle Steel\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel is one of the best!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Few modern writers convey the pathos of family and material life with such heartfelt empathy.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Philadelphia Inquirer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Steel pulls out all the emotional stops. . . . She delivers!”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What counts for the reader is the ring of authenticity.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eDanielle Steel\u003c\/b\u003e has been hailed as one of the world’s most popular authors, with over 650 million copies of her novels sold. Her many international bestsellers include \u003ci\u003eCountry, Prodigal Son, Pegasus,\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eA Perfect Life, Power Play, Winners, First Sight, Until the End of Time, The Sins of the Mother, \u003c\/i\u003eand other highly acclaimed novels. She is also the author of \u003ci\u003eHis Bright Light,\u003c\/i\u003e the story of her son Nick Traina’s life and death; \u003ci\u003eA Gift of Hope, \u003c\/i\u003ea memoir of her work with the homeless; \u003ci\u003ePure Joy, \u003c\/i\u003eabout the dogs she and her family have loved; and the children’s book \u003ci\u003ePretty Minnie in Paris.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eThe Suvery Gallery in Paris was housed \u003c\/i\u003ein an impressive building, an  elegant eighteenth-century \u003ci\u003ehotel particulier\u003c\/i\u003e on the Faubourg St. Honore. Collectors  came there by appointment, through the enormous bronze doors into the courtyard.  Straight ahead was the main gallery, to the left the offices of Simon de Suvery,  the owner. And to the right was his daughter's addition to the gallery, the contemporary  wing. Behind the house was a large elegant garden filled with sculptures, mainly  Rodins. Simon de Suvery had been there for more than forty years. His father, Antoine,  had been one of the most important collectors in Europe, and Simon had been a scholar  of Renaissance paintings and Dutch masters before opening the gallery. Now he was  consulted by museums all over Europe, held in awe by private collectors, and admired  although often feared by all who knew him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Simon de Suvery was a daunting figure,  tall, powerfully built, with stern features and dark eyes that pierced through you  right to your soul. Simon had been in no hurry to get married. In his youth, he was  too busy establishing his business to waste time on romance. At forty he had married  the daughter of an important American collector. It had been a successful and happy  union. Marjorie de Suvery had never involved herself directly in the gallery, which  was well established before Simon married her. She was fascinated by it, and admired  the work he showed. She loved him profoundly and had taken a passionate interest  in everything he did. Marjorie had been an artist but never felt comfortable showing  her work. She did genteel landscapes and portraits, and often gave them as gifts  to friends. In truth, Simon had been affected but never impressed by her work. He  was ruthless in his choices, merciless in his decisions for the gallery. He had a  will of iron, a mind as sharp as a diamond, a keen business sense, and buried far,  far beneath the surface, well concealed at all times, was a kind heart. Or so Marjorie  said. Though not everyone believed her. He was fair to his employees, honest with  his clients, and relentless in his pursuit of whatever he felt the gallery should  have. Sometimes it took him years to acquire a particular painting or sculpture,  but he never rested until it was his. He had pursued his wife, before their marriage,  in much the same way. And once he had her, he kept her as a treasure--mostly to himself.  He only socialized when he felt he had to, entertaining clients in one wing of the  house.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They decided to have children late in their marriage. In fact it was Simon's  decision, and they waited ten years to have a child. Knowing how Marjorie longed  for children, Simon had finally acceded to her wishes, and was only mildly disappointed  when Marjorie gave birth to a daughter and not a son. Simon was fifty when Sasha  was born, and Marjorie thirty-nine. Sasha instantly became the love of her mother's  life. They were constantly together. Marjorie spent hours with her, chortling and  cooing, playing with her in the garden. She nearly went into mourning when Sasha  began school, and they had to be apart. She was a beautiful and loving child. Sasha  was an interesting blend of her parents. She had her father's dark looks and her  mother's ethereal softness. Marjorie was an angelic-looking blonde with blue eyes,  and looked like a madonna in an Italian painting. Sasha had delicate features like  her mother, dark hair and eyes like her father, but unlike both her parents, Sasha  was fragile and small. Her father used to tease her benevolently and say that she  looked like a miniature of a child. But there was nothing small about Sasha's soul.  She had the strength and iron will of her father, the warmth and gentle kindness  of her mother, and the directness she learned early on from her father. She was four  or five before he took serious notice of her, and once he did, all he spoke to her  about was art. In his spare time, he would wander through the gallery with her, identifying  paintings and masters, showing her their work in art books, and he expected her to  repeat their names and even spell them, once she was old enough to write. Rather  than rebelling, she drank it all in, and retained every shred of information her  father imparted. He was very proud of her. And ever more in love with his wife, who  became ill three years after Sasha was born.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Marjorie's illness was a mystery at  first, and had all their doctors stumped. Simon secretly believed it was psychosomatic.  He had no patience with illness or weakness, and thought that anything physical could  be mastered and overcome. But rather than overcome it, Marjorie became weaker with  time. It was a full year before they got a diagnosis in London, and a confirmation  in New York. She had a rare degenerative disease that was attacking her nerves and  muscles, and ultimately would cripple her lungs and heart. Simon chose not to accept  the prognosis, and Marjorie was valiant about it, complaining little, doing whatever  she could for as long as she was able, spending as much time as she had the strength  for with her husband and daughter, and resting as much as possible in between. The  disease never snuffed out her spirit, but eventually, as predicted, her body succumbed.  She was bedridden by the time Sasha was seven, and died shortly after she turned  nine. Despite all the doctors had told him, Simon was stunned. And so was Sasha.  Neither of her parents had prepared Sasha for her mother's death. Sasha and Simon  had both grown accustomed to Marjorie being interested in all they did, and participating  in their lives, even while in bed. The sudden realization that she had disappeared  from their world hit them both like a bomb, and fused Sasha and her father closer  together than they had ever been. Other than the gallery, Sasha then became the focus  of Simon's life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sasha grew up eating, drinking, sleeping, loving art. It was all  she knew, all she did, and all she loved, other than her father. She was as devoted  to him as he was to her. Even as a child, she knew as much about the gallery, and  its complicated and intriguing workings, as any of his employees. And sometimes he  thought, even as a young girl, she was smarter about it, and far more creative than  anyone he employed. The only thing that annoyed him, and he made no bones about it,  was her ever increasing passion for modern and contemporary art. Contemporary work  irritated him particularly, and he never hesitated to call it junk, privately or  otherwise. He loved and respected the Great Masters, and nothing else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As her father  had before her, Sasha attended the Sorbonne, and got a \"license,\" a master's degree,  in the history of art. And as she had promised her mother she would, she earned her  PhD at Columbia in New York. Then she spent two years working as an intern at the  Metropolitan Museum of Art, which rounded out her education. During that time, she  returned frequently to Paris, sometimes just for a weekend, and Simon visited her  as often as possible in New York. It gave him an excuse to visit his clients, as  well as museums and collectors in the States. All he really wanted to do was see  Sasha, and he used any excuse to do so. What he wanted more than anything else was  for Sasha to come home. He was irritable and impatient during her years in New York.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The one thing Simon had never expected was the appearance of Arthur Boardman in  Sasha's life. She met him the first week of her doctoral studies at Columbia. She  was twenty-two at the time, and married him, despite her father's grumbling protests,  within six months. At first, Simon was horrified at her marrying so young, and the  only thing that mollified him, and made him consent to the marriage, was that Arthur  assured his father-in-law that when Sasha was finished her studies and apprenticeship  in New York, he would move to Paris with her and live there. Simon nearly made him  sign it in blood. But even he couldn't resist seeing Sasha as happy as she was. Simon  finally conceded that Arthur Boardman was a good man, and the right one for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Arthur was thirty-two, ten years older than Sasha. He had gone to Princeton, and  had an MBA from Harvard. He had a respectable position in a Wall Street investment  bank, which conveniently had a Paris office. Early on in their marriage, he began  lobbying to run it. Within a year, their son Xavier was born. Two years later, Tatianna  arrived. In spite of that, Sasha never missed a beat with her studies. Miraculously,  both her babies managed to arrive in the summer, right after she finished her classes.  She hired a nanny to help her with them while she was in school and working at the  museum. She had learned how to keep many balls in the air, while watching her father  run the gallery when she was a child. She loved her busy life, and adored Arthur  and her two children. And although Simon was a somewhat hesitant grandfather at first,  he warmed to it quickly. They were enchanting children.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sasha spent every spare  moment with them she could, singing the same songs and playing the same nursery games  her mother had played with her. In fact, Tatianna looked so much like her maternal  grandmother that it unnerved Simon at first, but as Tatianna grew older, he loved  just sitting and watching her, and thinking of his late wife. It was like seeing  her reborn as a little girl.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e True to his word, Arthur moved the entire family to  Paris when Sasha finished her two-year internship at the Met in New York. The investment  bank was literally giving him the Paris office to run, at thirty-six, and had full  confidence in him, as did Sasha. She was going to be even busier there than she had  been in New York, where she'd been working only part time at the museum, and spent  the rest of her time caring for her children. In Paris, she was going to work at  the gallery with her father. She was ready for it now. He had agreed to let her leave  by three o'clock every day, so she could be with her children. And she knew she would  have a lot of entertaining to do for her husband. She returned to Paris, victorious,  educated, excited, and undaunted, and thrilled to be home again. And so was Simon  to have her home, and working with him at last. He had waited twenty-six years for  that moment, and it had finally come, much to their mutual delight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He still appeared  as stern as he had when she was a child, but even Arthur noticed, once they moved  to Paris, that Simon was softening almost imperceptibly with age. He even chatted  with his grandchildren from time to time, although most of the time, when he visited,  he preferred to just sit and observe them. He had never felt at ease with young children,  not even Sasha when she was small. By the time they moved back to Paris, he was seventy-six  years old. And Sasha's life began in earnest from that moment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Their first decision  was where to live, and Simon stunned them by solving their dilemma for them. Sasha  had been planning to look for an apartment on the Left Bank. Their small family was  already too large for the apartment the bank owned in the sixteenth arrondissement.  Simon volunteered to move out of his wing of the house, the elegant three-floor domain  he had occupied for his entire marriage, and the years before and after. He insisted  it was far too big for him, and claimed the stairs were hard on his knees, although  Sasha didn't quite believe him. Her father still walked for miles. He volunteered  to move to the other side of the courtyard, on the top floor of the wing they used  for additional offices and storage. He quickly set to work remodeling it with charming  \u003ci\u003eoeil de boeuf\u003c\/i\u003e windows under a mansard roof, and put in a funny little motorized seat,  which sped up and down the stairs, and delighted his grandchildren, when he let them  ride it. He walked up the stairs beside them while they squealed with excitement.  Sasha helped him with the decorating and remodeling, which instantly gave her an  idea. Not one he liked at first. It was a plan she'd had for years, and had dreamed  of all her life. She wanted to expand the gallery to include contemporary artists.  The wing that had previously been used for storage was perfect for her plan. It was  across the courtyard and from their offices and her father's new home. Admittedly,  opening the ground floor would cramp their storage space, but she had already consulted  an architect to build highly efficient storage racks upstairs. At her first mention  of selling contemporary work, Simon went through the roof. He was not going to corrupt  the gallery, and its venerable name, selling the garbage that Sasha liked, by unknown  artists he insisted had no talent. It took her almost a year of bitter arguments  to convince him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was only when she threatened to leave the gallery and set up  shop on her own that Simon finally relented--albeit with considerable rancor and  a ferocious amount of grumbling. Although gentler in style, Sasha was as tough as  he was, and had held her ground. Once the plan was agreed to, she didn't even dare  meet her new artists in their main offices because her father was so rude to them.  But Sasha was as stubborn as he was. A year after they moved back to Paris, she opened  the contemporary arm of the gallery with style and fanfare. And much to her father's  astonishment, to unfailingly great reviews, not just because she was Sasha de Suvery  but because she had an eye for good, solid contemporary work, just as her father  did in what he knew best.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Remarkably, Sasha kept a foot in both worlds. She was  knowledgeable about what he sold so competently and brilliant about newer work. By  the time she was thirty, three years after she had opened Suvery Contemporary on  his premises, it was the most important contemporary gallery in Paris, and perhaps  in Europe. And she'd never had so much fun in her life. Nor had Arthur. He loved  what she did, and supported her in every move, every decision, every investment,  even more than her father, who remained reluctant though ultimately respectful of  what she'd accomplished with contemporary work. In fact, she had brought his gallery  into the present with a bang.","brand":"Dell","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303642550501,"sku":"NP9780440242017","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780440242017.jpg?v=1767729896","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/impossible-isbn-9780440242017","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}