“Come in.”
I follow him up the stairs, trying to focus on anything but him. The gallery is filled with bright light streaming in through the skylights and big windows. The statues and artwork are a mix of modern and classic. The scent of paper and ink washes over me, warm and inviting.
I’m completely lost in the surroundings when his hand touches my arm, bringing me back to reality and leaving a tingle in its place.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was just admiring the art. It’s beautiful.” Every piece has its own spotlight, perfectly arranged to draw your attention to it. “Are you planning to do something similar in the new gallery?”I ask. The color palette of ivory white, blush beige, and bronze is subtle, elegant, yet striking.
“I want the new place to have a similar look, but with a touch of something different. I’m just not sure what that will be yet.”
I nod. Imagining my paintings in a place like this makes my chest tighten with a mix of hope and dread. The fear of people mocking me or tearing my art apart makes me feel vulnerable.
“Karley?”
I shake my head, snapping out of my past, realizing I missed what he was saying. “Sorry, what?”
“Nothing important,” he says with a slight smile, his tone gentle. “Come on, let’s go to my office.”
I follow him down the hall and into a large room, which is not at all what I expected. It’s just as inviting, with deep navy, black, white, and soft gray tones. The painted artwork on the walls stands out, a mix of large and small pieces, with a beautiful framed canvas of flowers that matches the office perfectly. My gaze lands on one painting hung on a wall of its own.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I feel his eyes on me before I turn to see him watching my reaction.
“Yeah,” I murmur, still taking it all in. A rush of something intimate fills me in a way I wasn’t prepared for, bringing a strange connection to this space, and to him.
“Do you want to sit on the sofa or at the desk?”
I glance at both. The sofa feels too intimate. “At the desk. Easier for taking notes.”
“Good idea,” he says with a small nod. There’s a professional confidence in his posture now, but I catch the tap of his fingers against his desk. Maybe he’s not as completely at ease as he appears. “Want a drink?”
I want to say yes, but I have work later in the day so I better not. “No, I’m good, thank you.”
“Okay.” He settles into his sleek, black leather chair.
I take a seat, forcing myself to focus on the task and not on him. “So, how is this going to work?”
He leans forward. “Let me transfer the money first.”
“No contract?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He looks up, meeting my eyes. His gaze assesses me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. There’s something almost challenging in his expression, as if he’s wondering just how much I trust him, or perhaps how much I trust myself. “No, I trust you. Unless you’d feel more comfortable with a contract, then I’d be happy to draw one up.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m just asking.”
“You don’t seem like someone who backs down from a challenge.”
On the outside, maybe. Inside, I’m hiding so much. All the times I’ve pretended to be braver than I felt, like right now, sitting across from him. Although we haven’t been close because our relationship centers around Declan, I find it comforting that he trusts me. Which I suppose is good since I’m about to become his wife.
He turns back to his computer, then asks for my bank details. My fingers hover over my phone, suddenly aware of what I’m doing… giving him financial information with nothing but a verbal agreement. The reality twists in my stomach. If this goes wrong, I’ll have nothing to fall back on, no proof, no protection, just his word against mine. But then again, that house, the kids…
“What do you need the money for?” he asks casually, but there’s a hint of curiosity in it.
I pause, considering how much to say. Declan doesn’t even know I’ve looked at houses, but if I want the money…
“A house.”
