Page 237 of The Wright Man

"I brought you tonight because it's a one-night exhibit. You can guess the theme. I knew you'd love it."

She nodded, voice soft. "It's beautiful."

"I know."

She elbowed me lightly. "Not talking about you, Narcissus."

I kissed her cheek. "Even still."

She turned her head slightly, lips close to mine. "As much as I wanna kiss you right now... I really can't wait to see everything."

"Then let's go," I said, taking her hand.

We walked through the exhibit, pausing every few minutes so she could point out a brushstroke, a detail, a color story. I didn't pretend to understand it all. But halfway through, she stopped in front of a large oil painting — a Black woman standing alone in a field of sunflowers, face tipped up toward a storm instead of the sun. Angelica didn't say anything for a long moment. Just looked.

"That's me," she said finally, quiet. "That's been me for a long time."

I squeezed her hand and didn't say anything back. Didn't need to.

Watching her light up as she moved through the space — that was the art I came for.

Two hours later, we left hand-in-hand, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. In her arms, she carried a framed canvas—an abstract piece with vibrant golds and browns and deep sunflower yellows.

"It's gonna be perfect for my new walk-in closet," she said, her eyes dreamy and distant, full of future.

I grinned. "You not turning my whole room into a closet."

She didn't respond. Just smiled that little manic pixie smile I'd loved since we were kids. And in my head, I was already measuring the wall space for where the shelves would go.

She was beaming when she slid into the passenger seat. I buckled my seatbelt and stole one more glance at her before pulling off.

"You hungry?" I asked, easing us back onto the road.

She sighed dramatically, dropping her head against the headrest. "Starving. All I had today was breakfast and that bowl of fruit I didn't finish."

I smirked. "Mmm. So basically you'd starve to death without me."

She didn't even flinch. Just turned her head, smiled sweet and wide. "I mean... facts are facts."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Tragic. Grown woman, bad as hell, successful business owner... can't even feed herself."

"That's why God gave me you," she said with a shrug, eyes playful. "Provider. Protector. Uber Eats with dick."

The laugh that burst out of me was deep and full. "Wow. That's all I am to you?"

"Don't forget shelf-reacher. And personal security."

"Oh, I'm definitely charging you a service fee."

We kept joking as I drove us toward the National Harbor. The sun dipped low behind the skyline, throwing golden streaks across the water and the hood of the car. I didn't tell her where we were going, just pulled up to the front of the sleek, glass-wrapped hotel and turned off the engine.

She looked over at me, eyebrows lifted. "This is... Fancy. Sure they gon let you in here?"

"Shut up. Let's get you fed."

I stepped out, circled the car, and opened her door like I always did—because Mama didn't raise no half-ass man. She took my hand, stepping out in her heels like she owned the pavement.

The lobby was cool, dimly lit, the kind of place that whispered money without screaming it. I guided her past the front desk and toward the elevator, told her we were headed to the rooftop. She didn't ask how I knew about this place—just kept glancing at me with that little smirk, like she was trying to read my mind.