Descent (Black Heart Romance)

“Oh, I intend to,” he murmurs as he passes behind me to look at the next display.

I try not to think about that too hard as we continue on, exploring reliefs and sculptures, ceiling paintings and pieces of tombs—priceless works of art and pieces of history.

Out of all the parts of the museum he could’ve taken me through tonight, it’s funny that he picked the part I’ve always enjoyed the most. I know it’s a coincidence—there’s no way he could have known I ever had an interest in Egyptian art—but it’s crazy how perfect his choice was.

“Which piece did you like most?” Calvin asks me as we walk out of the last exhibit.

“It’s a bit pedestrian,” I warn him, “but I think William the hippo is my favorite. The first time I saw that little blue hippo I loved him, and I still do. If I were an art thief, I would steal William.”

“Pretty famous piece,” he tells me. “Might be hard to fence.”

“I wouldn’t sell it,” I say, my eyes widening. “I’d keep him for myself. Put him on my dresser or something so I can see him every day.”

Calvin shakes his head at me. “Of course you would.”

“I don’t think I could ever be an art thief, though. These pieces are meant to be seen and enjoyed by many, not stashed on a shelf in some rich person’s house.”

“An art lover who doesn’t aspire to own any actual art?” he asks cocking an eyebrow.

“I can own all the art I want, but I’m fine with copies. I don’t need to own the originals.”

Shaking his head, Calvin remarks, “We are very different people.”

Finally, after exploring all the rest, we get to the piece de resistance—the Temple of Dendur. An actual Egyptian temple brought to the states piece by piece and reconstructed in this room built just to display it. The room is massive with a whole wall of windows so people in Central Park can see the temple without even coming in.

It doesn’t look the way it does during the day when museum-goers come to see it, though. The room is dimly lit since it’s evening, and uplighting casts a golden glow on the ancient structure

As we walk around the serenity pool and nearer to the temple, I see another man waiting for us by the stairs. Not the security guard, but a man in black slacks and a white dress shirt. He almost looks like a waiter.

When he sees us coming, he walks over to a table set up in front of the temple. It’s a table for two with candlelight and rose petals spread out across the gold table cloth. There are two crystal goblets of water and two empty goblets which the waiter fills with wine as we approach. There are two place settings. Folded linen napkins sit atop gold chargers with gold eating utensils on either side.

I had heard this room was rented out for weddings or benefits, but I’ve never heard of it being rented out for a dinner just for two people.

Even though ours is the only table, it was clearly set up by an event planner. The whole space was. It has the look of a wedding reception or black tie gala, only it’s just for us.

“This is… wow,” I say, gazing up at the impressive temple as Calvin moves up behind me and pulls out my chair. I look at him. “Wow,” I say again.

Pleasure glitters in his dark eyes. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I do—who wouldn’t? This is an insane amount of effort to put into a date, though. How did you even do all this in one day?”

“That part was a bit tricky, but I called in some favors. I figured if I’m going to convince you to go out with me again, I’d better go big or go home.”

Shaking my head as I take the napkin off the charger and unfold it across my lap, I say, “Well, I hope that’s not why you went to all this trouble. It is very nice and I’m very impressed, but this doesn’t change anything between us.”

When I look at him across the table, I expect him to look thunderstruck. He’s thrown all this money in front of me and arranged a lavish date that exceeds even my wildest dreams—he must have expected the show of wealth and effort would change my mind. Honestly, I can even understand why he would. He thinks he can buy anything, even me, and it must be a shock to find out he’s wrong.

But he doesn’t look surprised or disappointed at all. It’s almost as if that’s the response he expected, which begs the question: what sane person would put in this level of effort not even expecting it to change anything?

“You don’t seem disheartened,” I remark tentatively.