everything is set. I like the music you have chosen for tonight. Now we can only pray we will have a good turnout and sell some paintings."
As the evening wore on, more and more people arrived. As I was visiting with Dylan, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. Turning, Pierre was standing before me. God, he was gorgeous. He was dressed in a dark suit and a crisp white shirt. I don't know if it was the lighting in the gallery, but his eyes were dark and mesmerizing. Dylan must have noticed my fixation on him, because she bumped my shoulder with hers.
"Sorry, Dylan Matheson this Pierre... umm," I couldn't believe that I didn't even know his last name.
"Marchand, Pierre Marchand. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Matheson," he said, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on the back.
"Please, call me Dylan," she smiled, looking at him with the same fixation.
"So, it seems your opening is a big hit," Pierre said.
"It is. Thank you so much for coming," I returned.
"It was my pleasure. Do you mind if I steal Lilly away?" he asked, looking at Dylan.
"Not at all. Enjoy."
Pierre took hold of my hand and we walked up the steps. I thought it would be the best place to start the tour. As we were enjoying ourselves, one waiter came along with a tray of appetizers and another with a tray of champagne. I was filled with so much excitement that I couldn't eat a bite, but the champagne offered something I needed to settle my nerves. By the time we finished our tour, Pierre had purchased several pieces of art. He knew a gentleman who would appreciate the details in the collection.
We were standing in front of a display of abstract art when Pierre softly whispered in my ear, "Is there somewhere where we can be alone?"
Taking him by the hand, I led him in the direction of my office. Once we were inside, I closed the door. "Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, walking to the credenza behind my desk.
"Whatever you're having will be fine," he said.
Pouring two tumblers with vodka, I rounded my desk and handed him one. Taking a sip, I kept my eyes on him. "Let's sit," I said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the couch. Somehow I needed to find out about what happened between him and the girl he was accused of raping. Placing my glass on the glass table, I faced him. "So tell me more about yourself?"
"What's there to tell? You already know so much about me," he said.
"Well, I don't know if you have any girlfriends, I don't know if you have ever been in love," I began. "What was growing up like?"
"I had a good childhood. My parents were very loving. They gave me everything that I wanted. They insisted I have the very best. I was an only child, so you could say that they spoiled me. When I went off to college, they made sure I went to the very best. That was where I fell in love for the first time. She was American. Her parents worked for the government. We were so in love until...,"
"Until what, Pierre?" I asked.
"Until her parents found out. She was two years younger than me and by all accounts a minor. Even though we loved each other, it didn't matter to them. They accused me of raping her. My parents did everything they could to have the charges dropped, but because her parents worked for the government they had a lot more pull," he explained.
"So what happened?" I asked, placing my hand on his.
"My parents ended up making a deal with them. If I agreed never to see her again, the charges would be reduced, my record sealed, and I would get no more than a slap on the hand." Pierre placed his hand over mine and tapped it lightly. "Needless to say, I transferred to a different college and never saw her again."
"That must have been horrible for you. To know that you could never be with the one you loved," I said, sympathetically.
"It was a long time ago, in the past." Pierre looked at me, taking hold of my hand and bringing it to his lips.
As the evening wore on, more and more people arrived. As I was visiting with Dylan, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. Turning, Pierre was standing before me. God, he was gorgeous. He was dressed in a dark suit and a crisp white shirt. I don't know if it was the lighting in the gallery, but his eyes were dark and mesmerizing. Dylan must have noticed my fixation on him, because she bumped my shoulder with hers.
"Sorry, Dylan Matheson this Pierre... umm," I couldn't believe that I didn't even know his last name.
"Marchand, Pierre Marchand. It's nice to meet you, Ms. Matheson," he said, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on the back.
"Please, call me Dylan," she smiled, looking at him with the same fixation.
"So, it seems your opening is a big hit," Pierre said.
"It is. Thank you so much for coming," I returned.
"It was my pleasure. Do you mind if I steal Lilly away?" he asked, looking at Dylan.
"Not at all. Enjoy."
Pierre took hold of my hand and we walked up the steps. I thought it would be the best place to start the tour. As we were enjoying ourselves, one waiter came along with a tray of appetizers and another with a tray of champagne. I was filled with so much excitement that I couldn't eat a bite, but the champagne offered something I needed to settle my nerves. By the time we finished our tour, Pierre had purchased several pieces of art. He knew a gentleman who would appreciate the details in the collection.
We were standing in front of a display of abstract art when Pierre softly whispered in my ear, "Is there somewhere where we can be alone?"
Taking him by the hand, I led him in the direction of my office. Once we were inside, I closed the door. "Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, walking to the credenza behind my desk.
"Whatever you're having will be fine," he said.
Pouring two tumblers with vodka, I rounded my desk and handed him one. Taking a sip, I kept my eyes on him. "Let's sit," I said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the couch. Somehow I needed to find out about what happened between him and the girl he was accused of raping. Placing my glass on the glass table, I faced him. "So tell me more about yourself?"
"What's there to tell? You already know so much about me," he said.
"Well, I don't know if you have any girlfriends, I don't know if you have ever been in love," I began. "What was growing up like?"
"I had a good childhood. My parents were very loving. They gave me everything that I wanted. They insisted I have the very best. I was an only child, so you could say that they spoiled me. When I went off to college, they made sure I went to the very best. That was where I fell in love for the first time. She was American. Her parents worked for the government. We were so in love until...,"
"Until what, Pierre?" I asked.
"Until her parents found out. She was two years younger than me and by all accounts a minor. Even though we loved each other, it didn't matter to them. They accused me of raping her. My parents did everything they could to have the charges dropped, but because her parents worked for the government they had a lot more pull," he explained.
"So what happened?" I asked, placing my hand on his.
"My parents ended up making a deal with them. If I agreed never to see her again, the charges would be reduced, my record sealed, and I would get no more than a slap on the hand." Pierre placed his hand over mine and tapped it lightly. "Needless to say, I transferred to a different college and never saw her again."
"That must have been horrible for you. To know that you could never be with the one you loved," I said, sympathetically.
"It was a long time ago, in the past." Pierre looked at me, taking hold of my hand and bringing it to his lips.
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