Chapter 25
Natalie stepped into the auction house and froze, her breath catching as the stunning display unfolded before her.
Paintings of every size adorned the pristine white walls, each illuminated by carefully angled lights that seemed to coax every brushstroke into vivid life.
The vibrant colors and intricate textures glowed against the clean backdrop, wrapping the space in an air of both creativity and elegance.
For a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in the space.
To her, interior design was more than a job—it was an art form, a marriage of practicality and beauty, mathematics and inspiration.
She loved shaping a room into something not only beautiful but livable, a piece of art someone could step into and inhabit.
But here, surrounded by the pure, unfiltered work of painters, she was reminded of the raw artistry that had first sparked her own love of design. Each canvas felt like a window into someone’s soul, a fleeting glimpse into their thoughts, dreams, and interpretations of the world.
As she wandered deeper into the gallery, her fingers itched to trace the textures she saw. Even when a piece wasn’t to her personal taste, she respected the passion behind it. This pursuit of beauty—this wordless conversation between artist and observer—was what fueled her.
“Natalie!”
The familiar, deep timbre cut through her thoughts.
She turned, pulse skipping, to see Rylan striding toward her.
The man was devastating in a dark, tailored suit paired with a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal a hint of tanned skin.
No tie—of course. Rylan didn’t need one to command a room.
“Glad you could join me,” he said warmly as he closed the distance, his arm slipping naturally around her waist.
The brush of his palm against her side sent a quick shiver up her spine, and his eyes sharpened at the subtle reaction. “Are you cold?” he asked, his tone edged with concern.
Biting her lip, she shook her head a beat too quickly. “No, just… the air conditioning. It’s a shock after being outside.” The excuse sounded thin even to her own ears, but the truth—that the heat pooling in her chest came entirely from his touch—wasn’t something she was ready to confess.
Without hesitation, he shrugged out of his jacket and settled it over her shoulders, his fingertips grazing the back of her neck in the process. “Better?” he asked, voice dropping just enough to make her heartbeat stumble.
She clutched the lapels, startled by the small but intimate gesture. No man had ever done something so instinctively protective for her before. “Thank you,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.
Before she could say more, the click of high heels against polished floors broke through the moment.
“Your Highness!”
A striking brunette swept toward them, her sharp cheekbones framed by a cascade of dark curls.
Her fitted dress hugged every curve, and her makeup was expertly done—just shy of theatrical.
Without so much as glancing at Natalie, she placed both hands on Rylan’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss his cheeks, her cloying perfume curling into the air between them.
“I heard you were on the guest list tonight, but I didn’t dare hope you’d actually show up!” she said, her voice honeyed with familiarity.
“Celeste,” Rylan replied evenly, stepping back just enough to create distance before sliding his arm firmly back around Natalie’s waist. The move was casual to anyone watching—yet the subtle possessiveness in it made anger bloom low in her chest.
“Thank you for including me. Let me introduce you to Natalie Gibbons,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet pride as he gestured toward her. “She’s the interior designer helping me redesign my home.”
Celeste’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker quickly smoothed over as her gaze swept Natalie from head to toe. Then she clasped her hands together, that overly bright, professional smile snapping back into place. “Oh! Are you the genius who did Elsbeth Hapsburg’s home last spring?”
Natalie returned the expression, though hers was more measured.
“Yes, I had the pleasure of working with Elsbeth,” she replied smoothly, glossing over the truth.
Elsbeth had been a high-maintenance nightmare—indecisive to the point of absurdity—but Natalie’s persistence had eventually turned the project into a triumph that earned her glowing praise from Philadelphia’s elite.
She felt Rylan’s thumb move in a slow, deliberate stroke across her back, as though silently acknowledging the unpleasant memory she’d just alluded to. It was comforting—dangerously so—and she fought the urge to glance at him, knowing the moment their eyes met she’d probably laugh and ruin the lie.
“Well, how delightful to have you here tonight!” Celeste trilled, her smile bright enough to rival the gallery lights.
Then her gaze slid back to Rylan, softening into something coy…
almost predatory. “Your Highness, could I have a private word with you?” Her hips shifted subtly as she spoke, her posture tilting just enough to showcase every line of her figure.
Rylan’s body went still against Natalie’s side, the tension rolling off him in a quiet wave. His pause was brief, but she felt it in her bones before he gave a short, clipped nod and slid his arm from her waist.
The loss of his touch left an immediate chill, one she masked with a bright, unaffected smile. “I’ll be fine,” she said, her fingers brushing his sleeve in a light, deliberately possessive touch. “I’m going to look around—maybe I’ll find something for your living room.”
For the smallest fraction of a second, Celeste’s eyes sharpened before she smoothed her features into polite interest. But she focused immediately back on Rylan.
“How wonderful. And if you’re planning to part with those Jackson Pollock paintings, do let me know.
I have buyers who’d be very eager to take them off your hands.
” She laughed lightly, already curling both hands around Rylan’s bicep as she steered him toward the far end of the room.
Natalie turned away, jaw tightening, determined to ignore the scene unfolding behind her.
She moved deeper into the gallery, letting her heels click softly against the polished floor, forcing herself to focus on the art.
But no matter how she tried to drown it out, Celeste’s syrupy voice kept floating to her ears, needling her with every note.
A low stab of jealousy lodged in her chest.
She exhaled sharply and stared at the nearest painting, letting its bold colors soak into her senses.
This is exactly why you keep him in the friend zone, she reminded herself.
Rylan Al-Sintra thrived on attention from women like Celeste—glamorous, practiced, and perfectly at ease in his orbit.
That wasn’t the kind of man you built stability and trust with. And she wanted both. Badly.
Yes, they’d started this whole friendship thing as a way to get to know each other, a careful prelude to something more. But if they crossed that line, she knew—knew—she’d be the one left shattered. She couldn’t risk it.
And yet…
Her mind betrayed her, replaying the way he’d smiled at her earlier, the protective weight of his arm around her, the lingering warmth of his jacket over her shoulders. He was starting to feel too perfect. Dangerously perfect.
She forced herself to focus on a nearby abstract piece, its swirls of color and erratic lines pulling her in. She told herself she was making the right choice. She could admire Rylan from a safe distance. She could ignore the way her heart whispered otherwise.
“Everything okay?”
His voice came from just behind her, followed by the familiar heat of his arm sliding around her waist. She jumped, the movement making his jacket slip from her shoulders. She caught it quickly, fingers curling around the fabric.
“I—here.” She started to pull it back on, then hesitated, shook her head, and handed it over. “I’m fine now. My… uh… body temperature has adjusted.”
The corner of his mouth tilted upward, that knowing, maddening smile telling her he saw straight through her. Worse, he knew she knew he’d seen straight through her—that her earlier shiver had nothing to do with the air conditioning. And the blush heating her cheeks now wasn’t helping her case.
Annoying man.
Natalie turned abruptly back to the artwork. “This is an interesting piece,” she blurted, grasping for neutral ground.
Then she really looked at it. The jagged lines, the layered shapes—abstract enough to pass for art, but arranged in a way that unmistakably suggested a woman in the throes of passion.
The low chuckle beside her made her cheeks warm further. He’d noticed. Of course he had.
“I agree,” he murmured, his voice taking on a husky edge. Then he stepped in behind her, his presence wrapping around her like heat. His hands settled lightly on her shoulders, his breath close enough to stir her hair. “I’d definitely put this one in my bedroom.”
Natalie made a small, wordless sound, then deliberately stepped to the next canvas. It was from the same artist, the same abstract shapes—only this time, the angles and shadows formed a man in the exact same act. This one, however, was far more obvious.
Her gaze snagged on the strong lines of the figure, and before she could stop herself, her mind veered down a dangerous path. She wondered if Rylan would look that hot when he—
Her thought slammed to a halt when a hand came into her peripheral vision. Rylan reached around and, with a slow, deliberate motion, closed her open mouth with the tip of his finger. She hadn’t even realized her mouth had fallen open.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She bit down gently on her lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes, and stepped quickly to the next painting.