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Darren’s wearing a mischievous smile. “I thought you had to give a speech?” I ask.
“Not until later,” he says. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”
With his hand barely on my elbow, I follow like a magnet being pulled through the crowd until we slip through one of the doors and enter a dimly lit hallway.
21
Emerson
Darren
We enter the hallway, leaving the sounds of violin music and the clinking of crystal glasses behind us.
“Are we allowed in here?” Evangeline asks, as I lead her down the dimly lit hall, passing closed exhibits.
“Don’t tell me you weren’t a rule-breaker in school,” I say, raising my eyebrows at her.
The corner of her mouth tilts and she narrows her eyes at me in that sexy as fuck way when I annoy her… So I annoy her some more. “Or maybe you were a cheerleader?” I ask. “I’m liking the image of that.”
Her eyes flare and I laugh as we take a turn down another hallway into an exhibit that I thought was the one I wanted, but it turns out not to be. Frustrated, I pull her down yet another dark hall, the sound of her heels echoing against the walls.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Evangeline asks breathlessly.
“Of course I do,” I say, pulling her into another exhibit.
“I’m wearing heels, Darren.” The exasperation in her voice is evident. “If this is a 10k charity walk, at least get me some gym shoes.”
Stopping momentarily, I pin her with my eyes. “I will carry you over my shoulder all the way back to the atrium if I need to.”
She shuts her mouth, the ruby red glistening in the soft lighting, but her eyes are still narrowed at me as if daring me to do it.
“You wouldn’t.”
“It would be my immense pleasure,” I practically purr, and she swallows hard.
I pivot us into the entrance of the exhibit room and Evangeline stops short, because on the far wall is the photograph I wanted to show her.
She steps further into the room with trepidation until she’s standing directly in front of it.
“I thought you might like a private viewing,” I say a little nervously. I stand behind her, watching the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes in and out.
The tilt of her head causes fine pieces of hair to caress the side of her neck, and I want to run my finger over the arch, across her shoulder, and push the strap of her dress down so I can kiss the top of it, but I don’t. Instead, I hold my breath, wondering what she’s thinking, because her silence is killing me… and every moment she breathes instead of speaks causes a painful beat of my heart.
“It’s Emerson,” I say, stepping forward to stand next to her.
“I know,” she says with a hint of humor.
“You don’t like it?” I ask. “Because we can go back if you…”
“Shut up, Darren.”
I do as I’m told, shoving my hands in my pockets and rocking back on my heels. She looks at the photograph as if she’s memorizing every detail, and I find myself jealous of her attention to something other than me.
When I can’t stand the silence anymore, I ask, “He’s not a particularly good-looking gentleman is he?”
The profile accentuates his large nose and prominent chin. I realize I’ve never studied what Emerson looked like, only his words. But now, scrutinizing his picture, I can see why.
“It’s not just about someone’s physical appearance,” she says without looking away from the photograph, “it’s his words; what’s in his heart, and how he lives his life,” she continues. “I think he’s kind of beautiful.”
