"That was much better than my earlier photo experience," I said with a laugh, thinking of my awkward encounter with Rafael.
"I can imagine," Julian said dryly. "Rafael Blackstone isn't known for his subtlety."
As the evening progressed, I found myself completely at ease. I chatted with a curator from the Museum of Modern Art about the resurgence of textile-based installations, traded thoughts with a journalist from Vogue Arts on how fashion and fine art were blurring lines, and even had an animated conversation with Margaret about the upcoming fashion exhibition.
"We should get lunch sometime," Margaret said during a quiet moment. "I love having conversations with those who understand both the historical context and the contemporary relevance of fashion as cultural expression."
"I... I'd love to," I said, hardly believing I was having this conversation.
We exchanged numbers and then Margaret was off speaking with another attendee.
As the evening wound down, Julian appeared at my side, two glasses of champagne in his hands.
"One last toast?" he suggested.
"To what?"
"To unexpected evenings," Julian said, his steel-gray eyes holding mine. "And to women who can hold their own in the world of their true passion."
I clinked my glass against his, feeling like the night had transformed me in ways I was only beginning to understand. I'd entered Julian's world not just as his guest, but as someone with my own expertise, my own value, my own right to be here.
"To unexpected evenings." I agreed, and meant every word.
As we prepared to leave, I caught sight of Scarlett across the room, looking significantly less confident than she had earlier. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and I felt nothing but pity for someone who had to tear others down to feel important.
I had nothing to prove to Scarlett Voss. I never had.
Julian pulled me into his chest for a moment as a server with a tray full of glasses came by, his fingers brushing down my arm as he released me. Even through the glove, the contact sent a shiver down my spine. I'd begun to think of the gloves not just as something he wore—but as something he trusted me to see, even if he wasn't ready to explain.
"Ready?" he asked.
"More than ready," I said, taking his offered arm.
Together, we walked toward the gallery exit, past the clusters of beautifully dressed people who had originally intimidated me. Now I saw them for what they were, just people, no more or less worthy of being here than I was.
Outside, the photographers were still waiting, and several flashes went off as we emerged together. But instead of feeling exposed or uncomfortable, I felt proud to be walking beside Julian, proud of the evening we'd shared, proud of who I'd proven myself to be.
Julian spotted the black car that had brought me earlier, still waiting at the curb. "Can I take you home?" he asked. "I'd like to make sure you get there safely."
"I'd be delighted," I said, and realized how perfectly that summed up my entire evening.
When I'd stepped out of this same car hours ago, I'd been nervous about fitting into Julian's world, worried about saying the wrong thing or being exposed as an outsider.
I never could have imagined I'd end the night with a tentative future luncheon with a prestigious gallery curator, the satisfaction of hearing about Scarlett getting professionally humiliated, and the knowledge that Julian had created something unprecedented just for me. Tonight had turned out so much better than I'd ever dared to hope.
13
Vivienne
The car pulled away from the gallery, city lights streaming past the windows in blurs of gold and white. I settled into the leather seat beside Julian, acutely aware of the space between us and the way he was watching me with something that looked like admiration.
"So," he said quietly, "How do you feel about your first exclusive gallery opening?"
"Overwhelming in the best possible way," I said, turning to face him. "I can't believe Margaret wants to get lunch. I mean, I teach high school history. What do I know that an art curator would find fascinating enough to want to hear more?"
"More than you think," Julian said. "The way you discussed the intersection of fashion and social movements tonight, that's exactly what she needs for an exhibition like that."
I felt a blush heating my cheeks at his confidence in my abilities. "It feels surreal. This whole evening feels surreal."
