“Not a fan. I prefer something Impressionist or American Realism, maybe a watercolor.”
“And,Iprefer modern abstract.” She gave him the puppy-dog pout.
“Um. No.”
“The art of the deal, huh? Okay, then, how about an original Georgia O’Keefe if we can locate one?”
He grimaced.
“You’re playing hardball, I see. What do you think of a Sargent or a Homer?” she offered.
“Possibly. I’d prefer a Wyeth.”
“I could live with that even if he’s a bit morbid.”
“He’s realistic.”
“What about Pointillism over the fireplace?”
“I’m impressed, you’ve brought your art appreciation A-game,” he complimented.
“Don’t be too blown away. I only know the technique because one of my clients installed a Pissarro print above the mantle, and I think the length of this living space would do the medium justice.”
“Maybe.”
“We finally, sort of, agree on something. There’s a high-end fine arts gallery in Tribeca I’ve been dying to visit. I’ll see if they can recommend an art broker or have one in-house.”
“Handle it. You’re in charge,fiancée,” he joked.
“Well, I’d appreciate it if we made this decision together. Maybe you can come to the gallery with me?”
“I don’t have the time. I trust you. You’ll do great.”
“You know, Darcy, sometimes Idolove you.”
“Darcy?”
“Since it’s going to be my last name. I thought it sounded much more ‘us’ instead of William. I’d call you Fitzwilliam, but I know how you feel about that.”
“Darcy’s fine,” he groused, but truth be told he rather liked it coming from Beanz.
“Anyway, I love you because you never really deny me anything—except for sex, of course,” she said.
“I guess, lucky for you, it’ll only be a few more months of abstinence.”
“An end toyourabstinence, certainly not mine. You’re the sweet, sometimes sour, cream on the cake, darling. I’ve waited averylong time for part deux.”
That set him back, his ire immediately surfacing at the inference. “Wait. What? Youwaitedfor me? That’s not how the contract was intended to work, and I’ll have you know I dated quite a bit.”
“But did you have sex?”
“That’s not any of your business.”
She grinned. “Aw c’mon, you can tell me. Have you gotten laid since that incredible night we spent together?”
“You’re changing the subject,andyou weren’t supposed to wait for me for the six years.”
“That’s not what I meant, silly. Of course, I didnotput my life on hold with the expectation of you and me tying the knot. Don’t flatter yourself—marrying you was a last-ditch option. And frankly, there’s no other single, straight, high-value man in New York City.”
