Chapter twenty
Arthur
The museum steps are wide and formal, the kind of entrance designed to communicate importance before anyone even crosses the threshold. Press are gathered at a respectful distance. They are controlled. Managed. Acceptable.
I approve of all three.
Lindsay walks beside me.
She's wearing her pink sparkly hoodie.
That, I do not approve of.
I would have preferred a dress or a pants suit. But her hoodie is like everything else she owns—bedazzled, catching the light in a way that feels deliberately defiant.
Her handbag is worse. Of course she would bring the one that is oversized, sparkling, bright white, and impossible to ignore.
I clock the looks immediately. Curiosity. Judgment. Interest sharpened by the knowledge that this is the woman who married me and also won the lottery.
I feel irritation curl low in my chest—not at the attention, but at her refusal to preempt it.
"This isn't exactly appropriate," I murmur under my breath as we approach the doors.
She doesn't answer. Doesn't adjust.
She glances at me, amused. Unconcerned.
Inside, the museum hums with quiet wealth.
Donors. Patrons. And regular people packing the exhibits. I nod to people I recognize, adjusting my pace instinctively, keeping Lindsay positioned slightly to my right—protective habit, not strategy.
She keeps up easily, but I can feel her resistance when I start offering corrections.
Where to stand. When to pause. How long to look.
"This section will be crowded," I say, low. "Stay close."
That earns me a look—half incredulous, half exasperated. "Arthur."
"Yes?"
She stops walking. Turns to face me fully.
"I won the lottery," she says flatly. Then, sharper: "I never attended finishing school—stop talking to me like I know museum etiquette."
A few people glance our way.
I expect her to be embarrassed.
She isn't.
What I get instead is something dangerously close to pride.
I incline my head, conceding without apology. "Noted."
We stop in front of one of my favorite pieces.
Smaller. Sparse. Mostly negative space, with a single off-center form that looks almost accidental—like it landed there instead of being placed.
