Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology(57)



A loud noise disrupted them a long minute later, and Marcie looked toward the store front. As she laughed and hid her face against his chest, Ben saw the windows of the limo were down, and the women were waving flutes of champagne and cheering while Max laid down on the horn in celebratory bursts.

Ben looked toward a smiling Bernard and his son. “You really should have the police drive off the rabble hanging around in front of your store.”

“Of course, Mr. O’Callahan. We’ll look into that.” Bernard had already placed the other two rings in a small silk-lined box that could be latched. After he did that, he handed the box over to Ben. “I wish you both the very best.”

Reaching across the counter, Bernard clasped Marcie’s hand one more time, placing his other hand on top of it. “The marquis cut diamond is also known as a navette, meaning little ship, because of its shape. I think that is a very appropriate cut for an engagement ring, since it signifies the beginning of a voyage together.”

Releasing her, he gave Marcie a wink. “I will look for your wedding notice in the society columns, so I can add it to the clippings of the many other happy couples whose rings I’ve had the privilege of designing.”

“I’ll bring you a copy myself,” she promised. “Your work is beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you are, my angel,” he said. “Keep him out of the fires, hmm?”



So, yeah. It had been a nice, long day. After the cookout at Lucas’s, he took Marcie home to his Garden District house and reminded her thoroughly and several times, who her Master was. In the morning, he dropped a reverent kiss on her bare shoulder where she lay limply in the bed. As he always did—or rather, the routine they were establishing in their new life, living together—he left her aspirin and directions for what he expected of her that morning.

Take a long, hot shower, put on one of my shirts or your silk robe. Magnanimously, he left that choice up to her, even knowing she’d choose one of his dress shirts. She always did. Then she was to eat the breakfast he’d left her and spend the morning, until he returned, reading on the small balcony at the end of the second floor hallway. It overlooked the alley garden below. He knew she had a new book she wanted to read, and he wanted her to take the time to enjoy it.

He also liked thinking that she might get distracted a few times from the pages by the new addition to her finger. She’d spent most of the time last night—when he didn’t have her otherwise distracted—gazing at the sparkling diamond like a kid with the best Christmas gift ever.

She was his distracting diamond, the one he wanted to gaze at all day today. But first he had to honor another promise he’d made her.

His destination was the gallery, to collect the painting he’d bought for Cass. He drove one of the company Escalades, since he still hadn’t decided on a new car after he’d donated the McLaren to a charity auction. While he missed the sports car’s maneuverability, he didn’t have any problem negotiating the narrow streets, making his way around the carriage horses already at work. As he passed the café on Royal Street, he inhaled the scent of fresh baked beignets. He might pick up some of those on the way back. Powdered sugar tasted just fine on Marcie’s skin.

It was morning, and the gallery opened at ten, so he expected he’d be the day’s first arrival. He was wrong.

As he entered the store, he saw Cassandra, sitting on a bench that had been placed before the monastery painting.

“She came in a half-hour ago,” the man standing at the desk said. Ben guessed this was the gallery owner, Mike Owens, according to the business cards in a holder on the polished desk. He was in his fifties, with silver gray fine hair pulled into a ponytail. He wore a maroon dress shirt with a silver tie and gray slacks. A spider web tattoo was visible above the starched collar. His gravel voice was at odds with the formally educated tone. It reminded Ben of Hector Elizondo in Pretty Woman.

“Did she bring the bench with her?” Ben asked.

“I put it there, so she’d have the option to sit,” Mike replied. “After she stood in front of the painting for about ten minutes.”

Sometimes a storeowner did things because of the money a customer spent or could potentially spend. Cass had the style and presence to broadcast she could be a generous patron. But Ben didn’t get the ingratiating vibe from the man. He was simply observant…and kind. A combination Ben appreciated, and would remember. Ben guessed he’d been in the back yesterday, since he seemed to realize not only that Ben was the owner of the painting now, but that Ben also knew Cass.

“She lost someone recently?” The gallery owner made a sympathetic noise at Ben’s nod of acknowledgment. “That piece does that. It’s the last work the artist did, and it was where he died. He told the monks he hoped to imbue it with all the serenity, compassion and spiritual hope he’d felt within their walls. Know it sounds crazy, but everyone who gets caught up in it is still in some stage of grief over someone who meant a lot to them. I almost hate to lose it, because it’s kind of nice to watch how it comforts people.”

Since Ben had kept his attention mostly on Cass, he could see firsthand what Mike meant. There was a peace to her profile, a quietness. “Doesn’t look crazy at all,” he commented.

Mike grunted in acknowledgement. “Take your time. We can pack it up to go whenever you’re ready. Mornings are quiet here.”

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