“Yeah, technically, but not. I want him to enjoy this triumph over the jerk who did him dirty. Guy deserves good things. He’s such a sweet man and has been so supportive and kind to me.”
“You plan on giving him the entirety of the show commission as payment for the gallery?”
“Yes. He should be paid in full for the gallery, then travel the world to his heart’s content.”
Clearing his throat, he said. “I assume after we secure the Seurat, your agent commission will remain in your possession?”
“It’ll help me pay off my brownstone in Brooklyn. I’m afraid I bit off more than I can chew in purchasing it, but I’ve always been optimistic about the gallery’s future. It has such great potential.”
“What do you see? What’s your dream?”
Enthusiastically, she shared her secret. “Once it has legs, I hope to offer a quarterly showing for art students. Not only undergraduates from my alma mater, but from all five boroughs. I think it could be a great encouragement and could provide emerging artists with a strong footing when they move into a professional career. They’ll already have clients to draw upon and inspiration to continue to create with solid backing from a gallery.”
He sat back in the chair, his expression intense, dissecting, but he said nothing, nor did he cheer her on. Disappointed, she realized that her supportive, caring William had reemerged only to disappear in a flash. In six years, her perfect man had morphed into someone she no longer recognized.Is he in there somewhere? Stop staring at me!
“What’s the matter?” she finally asked, fixing the tendril at her ear, thinking him finding fault with her.
Softly smiling, he said. “I’m just thinking ... I’m amazed, actually. You’ve made something of yourself in remarkably little time, Elizabeth. Despite everything that happened between us, I’m proud of you and happy for your success. My mother would be, too.”
She wanted to cry. No one other than her William would compliment her like that! “Thank you, Mr.Billionaire.”
Chuckling wryly, he said. “Thatimpresses you?”
“Of course, it’s an extraordinary achievement and testimony to your intelligence and resolve.”
“With a father like mine, all work and no play were bound to pay off. It’s meaningless, though.”
“It’s not meaningless. You had a goal and worked hard for it while fighting through loss and pain on the journey.That’swhat matters.”
“I doubt he’d see it the exact way. No doubt, my father would be more impressed with the meteoric result, rather than the ride, as you are.”
“You don’t know that. I’m sure he would be very proud ofallyour achievements, as I am, as your mother would be.” She paused, noting the sadness behind his eyes. She took a deep breath. “I am sorry for their passing, William.”
“Thank you.” He sipped his water, then looked away, withdrawing again.
“Say, do you still paint?” she cheerfully asked, pulling him back to lighter conversation.
“Truthfully, I hadn’t for a long while, but I recently felt inspired. It felt good to pull from my mind and immortalize fantasy on canvas. The right music helped, too.”
“You had such talent! I’m glad to hear you’re back to doing what you loved so much. What medium are you working in?”
“Impasto.”
His eyes locked with hers, and their shared memory covered her like a protective, cherished blanket, sending a warmth throughout her body. It felt like coming home. Her cheeks flushed.
“It was the right medium for the piece and my muse. How about you? Are you still working with watercolor?”
She looked up at the waiter passing their table with escargot. “Oh look! My favorite!”
He grimaced.
William lay awake thinking of Elizabeth’s luscious, red lips and how he couldn’t tear his gaze from them. Each movement of her mouth mesmerized him, and no matter how he tried to hate her, to be cold to her, to give her a dose of what he’d felt for so long, it was impossible to hold onto. They had seamlessly slipped back into their old selves. He was a better man with a lighter heart when with her, and by the end of the night, he was putty in her talented hands, his entire veneer tossed to the wayside. Could she ever love him again? And if so, was he truly willing to risk heartbreak again?
From the moment he saw her waiting at the end of the corridor, his heart arrested. The mature Elizabeth looked incredible at the Bingley wedding, but tonight she bore a sophisticated grace that reminded him of his mother. In her essentials, though, she was his Lizzy. Her humor and enthusiasm were still there, just more refined, peppered with new, realistic cynicism. Perhaps dating Wickham had done that to her.
He rolled to his side, gaze fixed beyond the open French doors to the terrace and the city lights beyond. A slight breeze moved the open curtain. Fucking Paris.
Lonely hardly described his despair. His heart lay in her hotel room next door, their heads were probably only inches apart with a wall between them, and here he was filled with desire and a raging hard-on at the mere recollection of her lips sucking the olives off the cocktail stick. If kissing her goodnight at her suite door was taboo, then the slightest innuendo suggesting an uncomplicated hook up was not an option. Yet, that’s exactly what his heart and body wanted. How dare she look so alluring tonight! How dare she seduce him with her smile and laughter! How dare she break through his reserve byjust being “Lizzy.” And damn it, how on earth did she convince him to eat snails and share a crème brûlée? She’d bewitched him body and soul, that’s how.
