Page 45 of Breaking the Rules
"You have flash cards?"
"Yeah. Of course."
He motionsgive me.
I do.
He motions to my stack of pens.Can I take one?
I nod.
He picks up a black pen. Looks at the chapter notes. Draws a perfect approximation of Water Lilies.
Okay, maybe it isn't perfect. But considering it's black on white paper, it's close.
It's badass, actually.
"What's on this test?" he asks.
"I'm not sure. The professor said that we'll be fine as long as we've done the reading and paid attention."
"Have you?"
"Yeah, but professors always say that."
"What is it you don't get?"
"It all looks the same. I can memorize which is which, yeah. But if you showed me a painting I hadn't seen, I couldn't tell you if it was Van Gogh or Monet or Renoir."
"Really?"
"Yeah." I fold my arms over my chest reflexively. Deep breath. Slow exhale. This isn't a time to be defensive. He's helping. He's trying. I do appreciate that. "Art isn't a big thing to me."
"You want to own a boutique."
"Yeah…"
"Fashion is art."
"Yeah, but it's democratized."
"Thousand-dollar purses are democratic?"
"Hell yeah. Go America."
Again, his chuckle fills the room. It's low. Hearty.
Hot as hell.
It hits me somewhere deep.
Makes my chest warm.
Makes my sex ache.
"Fashion is as elitist now as paintings were in the Renaissance. Only the rich and famous can afford a fancy designer outfit," he says.
"No. They can buy a wallet or a small hand bag. You aren't up with the times. Luxury has been scaled down. I was just reading this book—"
