Page 13 of Royal Sin

I pulled up to the address he’d texted me—a sleek elegant building overlooking the harbor. The valet approached, and I left the vehicle.

“Welcome to the museum of art, Miss Anna,” he said with a bright smile.

The building seemed empty but not abandoned.

I laughed softly under my breath, not sure what to make of the situation. After thanking the valet and handing him my keys, I approached the stairs. Ascending feltmagical. I’d been here dozens of times, but never like this.

Waiting just inside was the business shark himself.

He looked different tonight—still immaculately dressed in tailored slacks and a crisp black button-down, but without the full armor of his business suit. More approachable, yet somehowno less intimidating. He was speaking into his phone, but when his dark gaze landed on me, he cut the call and hurried to open the door.

“What’s this, Americano?” I gestured to the empty foyer. There wasn’t even an attendant in the ticket booth.

Leonard’s lips curved into a smile as he took my hand, leading me inside. “I thought we’d have dinner somewhere special tonight.”

“You rented out the entire museum?” I couldn’t keep the astonishment from my voice.

“Just for a few hours.” His tone was casual, as if commandeering cultural institutions was something he did every Thursday evening. “We couldn’t take the yacht out on the lake because of incoming weather, so I had to improvise. I remember you mentioning your love of Renaissance art the other night.”

Had I? Our conversations ranged so widely that I couldn't recall every detail. But the fact that he had listened, had remembered something I said in passing, sent a warm flutter through me.

“This way,” he said, guiding me past the empty ticket counter and into the main gallery.

The museum was transformed. Soft lighting illuminated the artwork, casting gentle shadows across the marble floors. In the center of the main hall, beneath a domed ceiling with a magnificent staircase. Behind it, a little ways further, right before the entrance to the back exhibit, was a secluded area. The intimate nook was staged solely for us. I gasped. Amongst priceless pieces of art stood a table set for two. Candles flickered in ornate holders, casting a golden glow over fine China and crystal glasses. Irreplaceable paintings that were hundreds of years old were placed around it for our enjoyment as we ate.

“I wanted privacy,” Leonard explained, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. “And I thought you might appreciate the setting.”

I turned slowly, taking in the masterpieces surrounding us—Botticelli, Raphael, Titian—their eternal subjects watching us from gilded frames.

“This is....” Words failed me. No one had ever done anything like this for me. All my life, I’d been surrounded by wealth and privilege, but this gesture wasn’t about flaunting money or power. It was thoughtful in a way that caught me completely off guard.

Leonard stepped closer, his hand still holding mine. “Too much?”

I shook my head, meeting his eyes. “Perfect. It’s perfect.”

“Good.” He paused. “A tour first or are you ready to eat?”

Plucking two glasses of wine, I gestured to the East Wing. “Half and half?”

His gaze narrowed in confusion.

“I mean, let’s start looking and then eat, and see more after?” I clarified.

We began the tour with our drinks, stopping to chat about the pieces. He knew a surprising amount of information, especially about Italian art.

Once the red simmered in my veins, I found myself watching him more than the art. It was immersive the way he spoke about things.

So passionate.

The kind of captivation that came with the freedom to explore what he loved.

My glass dangled from my fingertips as we stopped by a sculpture of two lovers done by a lesser-known artist in the 1500s. Leonard continued to speak, but I moved into his space. When he turned, his sharp inhale was audible.

“Thank you for tonight,” I breathed.

The energy between us sparked like a tangible entity. I reached up and brushed invisible lint from his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t seem to breathe. But the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

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