Page 82 of A Lot Like Forever
Faith bit down on her bottom lip to stop from smiling. He really was pulling out all the stops today.
The ride from the airport was relatively quick, given the amount of traffic they had to negotiate, and she was wide-eyed the entire way. She’d never been to New York, and it was everything she’d imagined. Busy, incredible, vibrant . . . and that was just the vibe she got from inside the car.
“We’re here,” Nate said.
“Have you been here before?” she asked, waiting for the driver to stop before pushing her door open, not intending waiting for Nate to do it for her. She wanted to get out and discover the city she’d dreamed about so often and never thought she’d see in real life before she was thirty.
“Once,” Nate replied as he stepped out behind her, passing the driver some bills when he took their cases from the trunk. “I had a meeting canceled nearby a while back and I took a look around. Granddad always liked his art, so I was just seeing what they had.”
Faith walked alongside him and into the building. She’d seen pictures on various Web sites, had always followed their exhibitions and reviews, so she knew exactly where she was and what she was about to walk into.
“Thank you, Nate,” she said, reaching for his hand as they walked in.
He took the opportunity to stop her, keeping hold of her hand, his palm locked against hers.
“You don’t even know what I have planned yet.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m here, at the gallery of my dreams, and you’ve made it happen. So no matter what else goes down between us, thank you.”
Nate had never done anything wrong, which was exactly why she found it so hard to be angry with him or pull away. It was merely her resolve to be stronger than her mother had been, to prioritize herself and follow her own dreams, and not get her heart broken into a million pieces along the way.
When they entered, the gallery was quiet. So quiet she could have dropped a hairpin and it would have sounded like a rock crashing down onto the tiled floor.
“Welcome. You must be Nathaniel King.” An immaculately groomed woman on superhigh heels stepped forward, holding out her hand to Nate. “We’re so pleased to have you here today.”
Nate nodded and clasped the woman’s hand. “This is Faith Mendes, the art consultant I told you about. Faith is also a personal friend of mine, and she’s helping me to develop my personal collection.”
Faith stepped closer and shook the woman’s hand, smiling as they exchanged pleasantries.
“You’ll find that the only staff on are here for security reasons,” the woman continued. “I’ll be in my office should you need me, and you have the gallery for the next few hours. Your table is waiting where we discussed.”
Once she’d left them, Faith turned, studying Nate’s handsome face. “Table?” she asked.
“I know how hungry that little stomach of yours gets,” he joked. “I couldn’t have us here until midafternoon without something to eat now, could I?”
“Trust you,” she muttered.
“Trust me to what?”
“Manage to give me the one thing in the world you knew I wanted, and turn it into something romantic at the same time.”
He laughed. “Hey, I’m not all that interested in art unless it serves as an investment purpose, so there had to be something in it for me.”
Faith walked on ahead, leaving Nate to find somewhere to place their cases and then catch up to her. She could hardly believe some of the works she was looking at, all by amazing established artists, the most stunning blend of contemporary pieces she’d ever seen in the flesh.
“Anything you like?” he asked, his voice lazy like he didn’t really give a damn.
“I love everything,” she said, sounding all breathless and unlike her usual self. “But you want my professional opinion, right?”
“Yes,” he answered, touching her back as he passed, moving to the next painting. His lingering hand, palm flat to her back, only made her more aware of him. “I doubt the owner will be happy with me if I don’t buy anything after insisting that I would.”
Faith nodded. “Well, let’s look through the entire gallery first; then I’ll consider my answer.”
They walked slowly side by side, Faith pausing to make notes in her phone every so often. She might not have even finished her post-grad degree yet, but this was the experience of a lifetime, and more important than any final paper. She’d dreamed of being an art consultant to the rich, and this was her first taste of it. Just because it was Nate didn’t meant she wasn’t going to take it seriously, especially when there was so much money at stake. She wanted him to genuinely appreciate her skill when it came to art—see her as more than a pretty face and fun bedmate.
* * *
“Please tell me you’re ready to stop walking now?” Nate loved spending time with Faith, but after close to two hours of her walking painstakingly slowly through the gallery back and forth and hardly saying a word to him except for the odd comment about different brushstrokes and styles, and anecdotes about various artists, he was well and truly over art.
