Epilogue
Amelia
“Big day today,” Lukas says as he drives us through the city.
We’re in his Maybach. Thankfully, someone has cleaned his blood out of it and repaired the dent I put in the rear panel.
Bastien must’ve arranged it; we haven’t seen the car in months.
Actually, for that matter, it might not be the same Maybach after all.
It might be a new one. Is it just me, or is the instrument panel slightly different?
I shake my head and focus on what he was saying. “Thank you for doing this.”
“It’s right for both of us. That house has too many memories, and the pool is outdoors.”
“Yeah, because the pool is a reason to buy another house.”
He lays his hand on my thigh. “You’re the reason to buy another house,” he says. “Somewhere to make our own, where we can be happy together.”
“We can be happy anywhere.” But I’d rather it wasn’t in that house, and I’m so grateful he feels the same. Linda’s coming with us; she said she’s not ready to retire. “Except the house I saw pictures of was an oceanfront on Long Island, and this is clearly Chelsea.”
My art gallery used to be a few streets over. I say ‘used to be’ because Sierra told me the insurance company sold it to a developer. It’s going to become a block of apartments.
I shouldn’t let it bother me.
“That’s because we have a stop to make first. Surprise date.”
My eyebrows go up. “Here?” I’m used to the rules by now. “Art auction?”
“No. Still on the list, but we’ll do that really soon.”
“Gallery visit?”
He smiles. “Warmer.”
“Lunch?” I ask. It’s a bit early.
“Afterward.”
“Any clues?”
“Isn’t driving into Chelsea clue enough?”
It doesn’t matter. He’s absolutely shit at clues; I’ve never guessed one of his surprise dates. Of course, it might be because he intends it that way.
He turns onto West 26th Street and pulls up alongside a red-and-white No Parking sign displayed clearly on the side of a building.
“I don’t think we can stop here.”
“It’ll be all right.”
It’s not like he cares about parking tickets, but I pity the poor guy who tries to tow him.
“So where are we going?”
“There.” He points out the window at the building next to us.
It’s a typical brick construction, half the buildings around here similar, the other half glass and steel.
I prefer the older look; it’s charming. Every other address is an art gallery.
This one’s been converted into offices, the front facade a series of arched windows with three floors of desks within.
“Who are we meeting?”
“You’ll see.”
He gets out of the car, walking around to join me.
“What are we doing?”
“You’ll see.”
I scowl at him. Four months of dates since his shoulder grew strong enough, and I still don’t like it when he does this. Except secretly, I do. I’d just never admit it.
Problem is, I think he knows I like it. It’s why he keeps doing it.
He leads me inside, the main door unlocked. There are a few lights on within, and a man is waiting in a cheap suit. I don’t recognize him.
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs—” he begins, but closes his mouth with a snap when Lukas lifts a finger.
He has that effect, especially when they’ve met before.
The ground floor is in disarray, some desks pushed haphazardly against the wall. There’s a mezzanine above, reached with a set of spiral stairs, and another floor above that. It’s a large, empty space, cables still poking out of the walls where the prior occupants didn’t bother to tidy up.
“What do you think?” Lukas asks.
“Of what?”
“The space.”
I turn slowly to face him, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. “In simple words, explain to me what we are doing here.”
He grins, dimples appearing. “I think you’ve figured it out.”
“A gallery?” I ask. “You’re… buying this place?”
“No,” he replies with a little shake of his head. “We’re buying this place. If you like it.”
“If I like it…? I friggin’ love it!” I spin around, instantly seeing the possibilities.
“It’s perfect! It’s got viewing on multiple levels…
a balcony for different perspectives… massive windows for natural light.
I could put different displays up…” I pause, taking it all in with a happy sigh.
“It’s humongous. So many different exhibitions! ”
“There we are then,” he says to the man. “I told you she’d like it. Wait outside while I talk to my wife, would you?”
“Yes, Mr. Van Wyk,” the realtor says, knowing he’s onto a good thing when he hears it.
I barely wait for him to leave before I throw myself into Lukas’s arms, smothering his face with kisses. “Thank you! Oh, thank you!”
“It needs a little work,” he comments when I let him come up for air.
“But that’s perfect. I can build it in my own vision, and—” I break off at his expression, that little smile that usually precedes me being in trouble for something. “No?”
“Absolutely yes, but with one minor change.” He clears his throat. “I… uh… wondered if we might do it together.”
I freeze, blinking at him, while my heart explodes in my chest and knits itself back together stronger.
“Together?” I say in a hushed voice.
“I’d like to help. Do the heavy lifting, at least.” He smiles, then tags on hurriedly. “If that’s all right, of course.”
“You want to build a gallery with me?” I still can’t believe it. My vision is blurry, tears filling my eyes.
He takes my hand. “Amelia… I want to do everything with you.”
“You’re not just saying it?”
He pulls his phone out, swiping it open, turning it to show me the screen.
“I’ve been researching neo-expressionism.
There’s so much more to art than I was aware, but…
I don’t know what areas you particularly like.
” He gestures to the space. “Large canvases require wall height and volume, right? There’s plenty of that.
We could strip it back to the industrial bones, use the exposed brick and the rawness of the aesthetic…
” He trails off as he looks at me. “…or not.” He shrugs a shoulder. “There’s a lot to learn.”
My heart aches so much it hurts. “Lukas… I fucking love you. I adore you.”
His smile returns, full dimples this time. “So we’re doing it together?”
“Hell yes, we’re doing it together.” I slink toward him. “Who else would I do it with, Van Wyk?”
His eyebrows go up. “You called me Van Wyk.”
“Because we are absolutely going to have to fuck in every room before we open this place.”
“I want a marble bench, about here,” he says, pointing at the middle of the floor. “About this big, about this high. People can sit on it when they’re looking at the art. And when they’re not, when it’s after hours, I’m going to tie you over it.”
I press up against him and push my lips to his ear. “You’ll have to catch me first.”