Page 132 of Lush

I looked out the window and frowned. The gallery came into view, its black-and-gold sign shimmering.

“Why are we headed to the gallery?” I asked, leaning forward to address my driver.

“You have a reservation here, ma’am.”

What?“The gallery is closed.” Like anybody else, I did not want to be at work on my off day.

The driver didn’t respond, but Gigi kept chatting on. That’s when I noticed the red carpet unfurling from the front steps. Candlelit lanterns lined the path, their soft glow flickering in the early evening light.

“Uh, Laurene? You still there?” Gigi asked, but my focus was on what was in front of me. A faint strain of music floated on the air, growing louder as we pulled up. It wasn’t until I saw the violinist standing on the stairs that my heart skipped.

“Is this for real?” I whispered to no one in particular.

“Absolutely, Mrs. Ashbourne,” my driver said smoothly as he stepped out and opened my door.

“Laurene?” Gigi’s voice carried on, but I barely heard her.

“No,” I murmured, and hung up the phone as I stepped onto the red carpet. My eyes scanned the flickering candlelight reflecting on scattered rose petals leading up the plush, deep red carpet, and then the heavy oak gallery doors creaked open.

Reese stood there, framed by the warm light spilling out behind him. His expression was unreadable, but the flicker of a smile danced on his lips.

“Reese? What is this?” I stepped out of the car, and Reese began to walk down the steps.

“Just a little surprise.”

“Surprise?”

He stopped just inches away. His eyes dipped briefly to the shopping bags tucked in the car.

“We didn’t have a first date when you got back,” he said, his voice soft, intimate. His gaze lifted back to mine, heat simmering beneath it. “I figured it was time to make up for that.”

“This isn’t a first-date vibe, Reese,” I said, gesturing toward the red carpet, the candles, the violinist playing something achingly beautiful in the background.

He took another step closer, pulling me into him, his breath warm and slightly minty against my cheek.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “It’s not. First dates are innocent.” His voice dipped, rougher now. “And there’s nothing innocent about what I have planned.”

Taking my hand, he led me up the steps, and I could do nothing but be in awe. Did Arthur know? I hadn’t seen anybody setting anything up.

Inside, the red carpet led straight into the big hall. Soft amber light filled the breathtaking space. Our main hall had been turned into an exhibition forme.

I felt a surge of recognition. Pieces from artists I adored flashed before my eyes.

“What did youdo?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. “You’ve spent so much time curating beauty for everyone else. This is something curated just for you.”

I saw Giotto’sLamentation.

“That piece should be in Italy.”

Reese shrugged. “I had them send it over for the night.”

We walked, my eyes glancing over more of the pieces. I sawThe Nightmareby Henry Fuseli, and I shook my head. “That should be in Detroit, and that?—”

I let go of Reese’s hand, rushing over to look closely at William Blake’sNewton.

“London.”

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