I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found(60)

"I don't want to be seen at all," I said. "Did you want to buy a drawing, or what?"

"If I buy a drawing, will you do an interview? Just one page. It'll be twenty minutes. We can do it right here." He was actually reaching for his wallet.

"No!" I said, louder than I meant to. There was enough ambient conversation that it was hardly noticeable, but a few people turned to look at me curiously. "No," I repeated, more quietly this time. "Absolutely not."

"Have you read our paper?" he pressed, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "I know sometimes the headlines can seem sort of…inflammatory, but we're really quite fair. We have a circulation of almost seven hundred thousand. This is a unique chance for you, it's unlikely to come up again."

"Wait, you mean if I called you up tomorrow and told you that I changed my mind, you wouldn't want to run the piece?" I smiled at him. "Sorry, but I don't believe you. Now if you'll move along to the other exhibits so everyone can have a chance for a meet and greet?"

He looked over his shoulder, then stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Nobody else is interested in talking to you," he said, softly. "They don't know who you are. But I do. Your drawings aren't enough to catch people's attention, honey, I'm sorry to break it to you. The only facet of interest you could possibly have for anyone is being Daniel Thorne's wife."

"Excuse me," said someone at my elbow. I turned to see Curtis standing there, holding a glass of champagne so tightly it looked like it might shatter. "I'm the gallery owner. Can I help you?"

The journalist pasted on a smile. "No thank you. I was just having a nice conversation with Mrs. Thorne here."

"Oh, is that all?" Curtis' smile was frigid. "Well, I have to say, I'm not an expert, but it didn't sound all that friendly to me."

"With all due respect," said the journalist, "this isn't really any of your business."

"With all due respect, this is my gallery, and I'd prefer that my featured artists not get hassled by someone like you."

I edged away, slowly. The journalist's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. "I'd really prefer that you not leave," he said. "We have a lot to talk about, if I can just get rid of this…busybody." He glared at Curtis.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said a voice so familiar that it made my heart leap into my throat. "But could you move out of the way? I can't quite see the drawings."

The journalist whirled around. "And just who the hell do-" Suddenly he went white as a sheet, and stepped backwards reflexively. "Mr. Thorne," he said, his voice suddenly much softer.

"Yes," said Daniel, smiling faintly. "And who did you say you were?"

The journalist swallowed dryly. "I didn't," he said, stepping further back.

"I got his card," I supplied, with the part of my brain that wasn't staring dumbfounded at my husband.




"Oh, you got his card. Excellent." Daniel sidled up to me and placed his hand on the small of my back, the way he always liked to do. "Well, then."

The journalist disappeared into the crowd.

"You look beautiful, darling," said Daniel very softly, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

"God damn Lindsey," I muttered. "She promised not to tell."

"Oh, she didn't," said Daniel. "Don't be so quick to lay blame."

"I'm sorry," said Curtis, who was still standing awkwardly on the other side of the installation. "I couldn't resist."

"You f*cker," I mouthed at him. But I was smiling, and so was he.

"I'm ridiculously proud of you," said Daniel, looking out over the gallery with a half-smile playing at his lips. "You know that, right?"

"I just didn't…" I let out a sigh. "I didn't want to give you one more thing to worry about. I'm sorry, I just figured I could do this on my own."

"You could," said Daniel. "And you did." He smiled down at me, his grey eyes shining with the light reflected off the little fixtures on my installation. "But isn't this better?"

I leaned closer to him, wrapping my arm around his waist and breathing in the smell of his cologne. It was so expensive that it didn't even have anything written on the bottle. All this time, and I still didn't know what it was called.

"Yes," I said softly, "this is better."

Curtis had disappeared at some point. I'm not sure how long we stood there, holding onto each other as the crowd walked around us, but after a while Curtis came back, hand extended, with a little piece of paper folded up between his fingers.

"What's this?" I asked, taking it.

"It's an offer," said Curtis, nodding his head towards a nearby couple. "From him. He wants the willow tree."

It was strange - all the anticipation and planning and dreaming, and I'd never once considered how it would actually feel when someone really bought something I'd made. It was such an odd, exhilarating thought. And sad, somehow.

I looked up at Daniel. "Did you put him up to this, to make me feel better?"

"Of course not. Open it."