Page 53 of The Wife Deception
I wanted to do one for a long time, but if you didn't have the art connections or weren't rich enough to pay a gallery to show your art, getting one was difficult. My connections in the art worldwere negligible and the gallery I worked at was more interested in showcasing artists that were already famous. My grandfather could have helped on the money front, but he thought contemporary art was ugly and silly, so I never asked him to help me.
"It's not that easy to get one."
"Maybe as a Burgess, but certainly not as a Hawthorne. I know a few galleries who love to exhibit talent like yours."
"Thanks, but I don't think they'd find it as beautiful as you think it is."
"I'm serious. Your work deserves to be seen by the world."
Wow. I blinked away tears welling in my eyes. "No one has said that to me."
"That's because they're all blind."
We were interrupted again by our starter coming over. The conversation changed after that. Nolan and I spoke of nothing and everything. And when we were done, he offered to take me for a walk.
We strolled hand in hand through the streets of Milan. We went to the Piazza Duomo, which was illuminated beautifully at night and as we strolled aimlessly, Nolan's hand slipped from my hand to my waist. His warm body was a comfort shield from the cool night air. At some point, we paused and Nolan sighed.
"My father and I used to come here often, but I've visited none of the landmarks. Isn't that funny?" he said.
"Your father must have been a serious man."
Nolan nodded. "He was a taskmaster. He was always working. I'm pretty sure I spent most of my childhood in his office. That was the only way I could see him."
"That must have been hard for you."
He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "It made me who I am today. I wouldn't be where I am if it weren't for him."
"I don't know about that. It sounded like you didn't have a childhood."
"And you had a better childhood than mine?"
"Not better. But I had one." I shook my head. "No wonder you're the way you are."
He balked. "And what way is that?"
"Soulless and unfun."
"That's not a word."
"It's what you are. You're so rigid and stiff in your ways." I thought of the weekly meal preps he had his chef do. "Have you ever eaten something that's not planned a month ahead?"
"I do. Literally a few minutes ago."
"I mean at home. You were twitching whenever your mother suggested we eat something different. You always do the same thing when you're home and no doubt when you're at work. You never color outside the lines."
"He spun me around and encircled both his arms around my waist. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with doing the same thing over and over again if it's as beautiful and sexually satisfying as you. And besides, I do color outside the lines when it's warranted."
I ignored the innuendo. As difficult as it was. "You know what I mean."
"And you? You seem to color outside the lines to the point of rendering the entire picture into Jackson Pollock painting."
If only he knew how wrong he was on that account. "That's not the real me," I said quietly, casting my gaze down.
"I know. I wish you'd show me more of her."
I turned my gaze to him. His eyes were a pleasing shade of gray that shone under the moonlight. "I do. I do want to show you more of her. But.."
"But?" His eyes became inquisitive. Hopeful. My stomach wobbled. He could not possibly want to be with me beyond sex. To know me beyond my body.
