15. Christian
The grand opening of The Solvarian National Museum of Antiquities and Cultural Legacies is an event that I cannot pass up. It’s an event that I mention in passing to Cataleya, who immediately perks up.
“Can I come with you?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to go?” I still remember the scowl on her face when I told her about the Nelson Charity Gala.
Memories of Cataleya’s history as a party girl lawyer back in New York City come to the forefront. I imagine a museum opening and subsequent tour would bore her half to tears.
However, she’s adamant that she wants to go. And I’m in no position to say no to my fake soon-to-be wife.
Cataleya dresses beautifully in a navy blue long sleeve dress that matches the suit I choose to wear that night. There are diamonds hanging from her ears and adorning her neckline. She’s starting to understand that looking the part of Crown Princess of Solvaria is just as important as doing her duties.
People adore beauty.
Maybe if they got to know more about Cataleya herself, they’d start to adore her even more.
On the ride to the museum, we sit in a limousine with tinted windows and complimentary champagne. When I offer her a drink, she shakes her head. She frequently glances out the window and wipes her hands on her dress.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“A little bit.”
“You’re becoming a pro,” I remark, relaxing into my seat. “People love seeing you. You’ve already won them over just by showing up.”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, she nods. Her eyes remain glued to her heels, though. As much as I want to reach over, grab her hand, and press a kiss or two into her knuckles, I still don’t feel as if that’s entirely appropriate.
We’re in private. The world isn’t watching. I don’t have to comfort her in any way.
But why do I want to anyway?
“Prince Christian, we’ve arrived,” the driver announces.
Offering Cataleya a smile, I adjust my collar. “Are you ready?”
Cataleya blows out a stream of air as she plays with the diamond dangles on her ear. Then she straightens her back. “Absolutely.”
Once the limousine door opens, we’re thrust into the camera lights and shouting crowd. I take Cataleya’s hand in mine as we walk down the carpeted entrance leading up into the museum. Smiling and waving becomes second nature to me, and thankfully, Cataleya picks up on all the right cues.
She does an amazing job. In a role like ours, it’s important to give the people what they want to see. As the cameras capture our every move, she leans over and whispers in my ear.
“Can I kiss your cheek? For the paparazzi, of course. I’m sorry for asking like this.”
“Please don’t apologize for that,” I whisper, offering her a reassuring smile. Then I nod slightly. “Go ahead. Great idea, by the way.”
She presses a firm, quick kiss on my cheek. “Thanks.”
Around us, the paparazzi goes wild. We continue smiling, waving, and interacting with the crowd around us. In my peripheral vision, Cataleya accepts handshakes and cheek kisses from the people she encounters. It can be overwhelming at times, but she acts like a true professional.
It’s as if she’s meant for this role. Maybe she is.
Soon enough, Cataleya and I reconnect. With her hand in mine, I lead her up towards the museum entrance where the owner awaits us. The museum director, Gabriella Muntz, greets us with handshakes and a nervous smile.
“Prince Christian, Lady Cataleya, thank you for coming,” she says, sweeping her brown hair behind her ears in one quick motion. “And congratulations on your engagement, by the way. The news has the whole country buzzing.”
“Thank you,” Cataleya says. “Will there be a tour of the gallery soon?’
“Ah, yes. Of course.” She places her hands behind her back and motions toward the doors with a hand. “May I provide you two with a glass of champagne to celebrate the occasion?”
I nudge Cataleya, silently urging her to say yes. She’s done a spectacular job out there. At an event like this, they only shell out the best of the best, which is what she deserves.
“Yes, please,” Cataleya replies as if reading my mind. I smile at her when she glances my way. “What was that for?”
“You seem tense. A bit of champagne will do you good.”
“Was it obvious?” she whispers as Gabriella nabs two champagne glasses from a passing server.
“Not at all. I know because…” I shrug. “I know you well by now.”
Cataleya gazes at me silently, her hazel eyes holding enough wonder to enthrall me for days on end. Eventually, our little moment is interrupted by Gabriella offering us two glasses. Then, she guides us through the museum gallery, where art critics and important members of the art world gawk and stare at the paintings.
“Prince Christian, I have great faith that this museum will increase tourism to Solvaria by an impressive amount,” Gabriella begins, leading us toward a Monet painting. Cataleya gazes at the statues that are positioned throughout the exhibit. “I believe I’ve sent the data and the exact numbers to your father, the King.”
“I’ll be thrilled to go over the data with him,” I reply. Gabriella and I walk along, observing the paintings on the walls. Cataleya must be somewhere behind me, following us silently. “Now, Gabriella, do you think this museum has the potential to rival some of the great international museums across the world?”
“Oh, yes! Absolutely. We have ambitious plans to obtain some of the most coveted art pieces the world has ever known. We’ve even sent some pieces to your father already.”
“Excuse me?”
A voice calls from behind us. I turn around and realize that it’s Cataleya, standing before a large painting with her champagne glass still in hand. Gabriella sputters slightly before hurrying over. I take my time to return to her side, suddenly intrigued by what she has to say.
“Is this a Caravaggio piece?” Cataleya asks, narrowing her eyes at the art. “And it’s authentic? My God, I’ve only ever seen this piece in magazines and books.”
“Yes! Yes, it is! Lady Cataleya, I didn’t know you were interested in fine art!” Gabriella’s eyebrows shoot upwards as she shoots me a glance. “Prince Christian, your fiancé has impeccable tastes.”
I would have never guessed Cataleya knew anything about these art pieces, but I suppose that’s my judgment toward her rearing its ugly head. I’m still trying to shake away those thoughts that she’s a party girl.
There’s so much more to her than I realized. Each day with Cataleya by my side, I’m peeling away more layers in the hopes I reach her core. But that’ll only happen if she lets me in.
“Excuse me for a moment, there’s a colleague needing my attention,” Gabriella announces, checking her watch. She bows before speed-walking in the other direction.
Once we’re alone, I hum softly. “Caravaggio, huh?”
“One of my favorites,” she muses, gesturing towards the piece. “I mean, look at the colors! And the symbolism. The facial expressions. I’ve always loved artwork that can tell a hidden story.”
“Cataleya, when did you become interested in art?”
She looks at me with a crooked smile and a raised brow. “Since my college days. Why?”
I shake my head. “Well, I just thought—”
“There are some amazing museums back in New York City, I’m sure you’d like them,” she says earnestly. Then, without warning, she links her arm with mine. “Walk with me. I’ll show you some more pieces that I like.”
With Gabriella gone, she essentially takes over as my tour guide. She tells captivating details about each art work we pass. I hang onto every word, wanting to learn about the entire world itself if the information comes out of Cataleya’s pretty mouth.
She’s not like what I remember. At all. In the past, Cataleya Fitzrelzon was a woman who would make my eyes roll because of her personality and disposition.
I never took her seriously, but now, she’s making me eat my words. She enchants me with her knowledge of different cultures and of different artists who come from all over the world. By the time the event draws to a close, Cataleya and I have immersed ourselves into a world of our own.
She laughs and leans into me while I make some jokes. I wrap an arm around her waist as she sips on her champagne. It’s getting easier to act like her fake partner.
But what about these emotions? What about these touches, smiles, and laughs we share? They’re real, every last one of them. They’re not an act, either. We aren’t Prince Christian and Lady Cataleya of Solvaria at this moment, but Christian and Cataleya. Two people with a history, getting along well at a museum grand opening.
Why has Cataleya hidden her true self from me for so long?
But what’s even more exciting is the fact that she’s decided to show her true self to me to begin with. And I’m entranced.