“I think dinner is about to be served,” Walt says, trying to end the conversation while keeping the peace. “Have you found your seat yet?”
“Oh sure, yeah. Let me see where they stuck me. I better have a damn good spot with the amount I donated to this thing.”
In a wonderful turn of events, Fred has been placed clear across the table from me, so I’m not subjected to any more of his attention over dinner.
Instead, we sit between a few of Walt’s business acquaintances who have no real interest in me whatsoever. It’s nice. It means I can eat my food in peace while they all talk about things that bore me. After dessert, I tell Walt I’m going to freshen up, but it’s really an excuse to wander around the museum and get a breather from all the theatrics. The line takes a while and I check my phone, not really in any hurry. Then after, on my way back to find Walt, I poke my head into the silent auction room and get distracted.
There’s a lot of art, and I take my time perusing each item, reading about the artists and studying their work. One sculpture in particular, a dancer cast in bronze, is reminiscent of Degas. The starting bid for it was $25,000 and it’s already worked its way up to well over $60,000. Beside it, hanging on the wall, the foundation placed a small original René Magritte painting with a security guard positioned beside it. Once I see the starting bid, I understand why he’s there.
“They’ll arrest you if you stand here for too long,” a man says behind me.
Seventeen
My eyes widen in panic and I step back immediately.
I turn to see the man who warned me, and I’m surprised to find he’s young and attractive, polished and fashionable in a slightly nontraditional navy satin tuxedo. His black hair—kept slightly longer—is slicked back and brushing the nape of his neck. The tiny crook of his nose is the only thing that’s less than perfect about him.
“I was just looking,” I say, going so far as to hold up my hands as if in proof.
He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m only kidding.”
I smile, realizing he meant no harm, and now that I see his cheeks carry a tinge of pink, I think he might be embarrassed about his bad joke.
“Do you think you’ll bid on it?” he asks.
“The painting? No. I mean, I already have like a dozen Magrittes. Who needs one more?” I tease, not wanting to outright admit that I could never afford to bid on a painting like that.
He grins and steps up to take a pen off the table. “Then I guess I’ll have to bid for the both of us.”
Holy cow.
Quickly, I step forward and touch his arm. “Don’t. You can’t just put your name down like that. What if you win?”
He turns to look up at me, his pale blue eyes catching mine. “I intend on winning.”
My jaw drops as he finishes writing his name, Olivier Rappeneau, beside a sum so staggering I blush and look away.
“I was going to bid on it before you walked up,” he admits when he senses that I’m slightly uncomfortable. “Though that did feel quite cool to do it with you watching.”
“I hope you win,” I say with a friendly smile.
He nods in agreement before extending his left hand out to me since his right hand is still holding the pen. “What’s your name?”
“Elizabeth Brighton.”
I realize a moment too late that I was supposed to say Elizabeth Jennings. It’s not something I’m used to yet, and now it feels too awkward to go back and correct myself.
His hand wraps around mine, and after he shakes it up and down for a moment, he turns it to study my ring without letting go.
“Please tell me you bought this ring for yourself and you’re only wearing it on this finger to deter men.”
I laugh. “No.”
“So you’re married?”
“Oh…um, yes.” I look down at the ring as if only now remembering. “I am.”
When I look back up, Olivier is frowning at me. “Why do you sound so disappointed about that?”
“I’m not,” I clarify. “Not in the least. It’s new. That’s why it took me a moment to answer.”
He hums in thought before letting go of my hand. “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”
I look behind me. “I should probably be getting back—”
“Your husband won’t mind. He’s already let you out of his sights for this long. What’s five more minutes?”
When I don’t immediately argue, he grins and his whole face transforms. He is truly good-looking, though slightly intimidating. It’s the catlike shape of his eyes and his domineering presence. He sticks close to me as we exit the auction room and head back out into the fundraiser. Now that dinner is over, a small ensemble orchestra is playing on a stage accompanied by couples out on the dance floor.