Page 41 of The Prince Who Loved Me

“Hell no! The gallery has never been so busy. I think everyone is hoping for a glimpse of you, but I intend to hint that you might be hiding behind some of the art I want to showcase.” She laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m going to take full advantage of my newfound notoriety. Hooking up with Europe’s hottest bachelor? Wait until my girlfriend sees this.”

“With my blessing.”

“You sketch, yes?”

“I do.”

“I was trying to figure out a way to say this at dinner without sounding like a sycophant, but if you have any with you, I’d love to hang them for the art walk. I’ve seen some you’ve done for charity auctions, and this is not solely about your fame. You should have a show. At my gallery, of course. Though I’d be happy with three or four pieces of your art right now. Or five. Even six. Okay, you’ve talked me into seven.”

Her words made Sebastien pause. Part of him had always wanted to show his work in a gallery. But he wanted it to bebecause the art was worthy, not because of his name.

“Wow, I’ve silenced a prince.” She laughed. “Think about it, okay?”

“I will.”

“And you’ll be at the Mosey show in two weeks? Because you better believe I’m going to bank on that publicity, too.”

“Yes. I will be there.”

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Prince Sebastien of Casagnes. I look forward to seeing you again.”

As soon as he hung up, his phone rang again. It was Brandi.

He held the device in his hand and stared at the display, a picture of her blowing a kiss, her eyes sparkling with laughter. It was after ten o’clock, so her date must have ended already. What a shame. Would she wonder what he was doing if he let it go to voice mail? Would she feel even the tiniest bit of jealousy? Would she then call him an ass if she learned he’d been playing games with her?

“Hello, darling,” he said. Bad choice of words. Though he had said them to her many times over the years.

“How was your dinner? You’re famous again.” She let out a light laugh, but Sebastien heard the guarded undertones.

So she had seen the picture. He could picture her relaxing on her bed, legs crossed at the ankles. “The potatoes were nothing like the chef makes back home. You Americans do some weird stuff with your food.”

“You never complain about Aunt Eulalee’s cooking,” she said. “Was it worth it? The trip, I mean.”

He bet she did. He hesitated, finding words for sharing what Thomasina had asked.

“Of course it was worth it,” Brandi answered for him. “Although I’m sure being hounded by photographers isn’t any fun.”

She had it all wrong. “The curator said something interesting.”

Brandi gave a little snort. “The woman in the picture? You sure were looking all cozy.”

“She knew I sketched. She offered to show my pieces.”

“That’s great, Sebastien. But why is that interesting? You’ve shown them before.” Now that they were on familiar ground, her tone was more normal, but it was carefully casual. Interesting.

“A piece here and there. Never a whole gallery to myself.” He swallowed.

“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already. You want to, though. It’s in your voice. I can always tell when you want something.”

Not always. “I do. But I don’t think I have enough of anything good to have a solo show.”

“Mmmhmm. So don’t have everything good. People will have different feelings about your art regardless of what you think about it. So I’ve been told.”

He stifled a laugh at her throwing his words back at him. “Good idea.”

“I know. Because I thought of it.” Her voice was rich in laughter, but then immediately softened. “When are you coming back?”

What did that longing tone mean? “Not sure.”