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“It is.”
He heard her voice before he saw her. “Did you say five million in donations?” Abby walked into the room wearing a white sundress. Her breasts looked lush and ripe. His cock twitched.
“That’s right.” Cole grinned. “Soar is kicking ass and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
She walked toward them. Deacon held his hand out for her.
“Ready for the exhibit?”
She nodded. “I can’t wait to see it. Cole, are you sure you don’t want to go?”
“Yeah, that’s your thing. I have plenty to do. When you get back I’ll take a break.”
Abby twisted her lips together. Deacon knew she was still struggling with how to spend her time between them. She was great when the three of them were together, but the one-on-one time was harder to navigate. He knew it would get easier.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.”
She pulled her purse on her shoulder and they left the Rapture Resort for the Bellagio.
“I have a surprise for you.” Deacon held the door open for Abby as they walked into the lavish hotel.
“Is there an addition to the collection?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Guess again.”
“Do we have a tour with the museum curator?”
He laughed. “I don’t think so. Not really my style.”
“Then what is it?”
He guided her through the hotel and toward the museum. “What if I told you I rented out the museum for the afternoon? It’s ours.”
“What?” Her eyes lit with amazement. He loved all the shades of green when she was happy.
“Just for you. You can take your time and look at every single painting with no one looking over your shoulder. No one rushing you on to the next work. It’s all yours.”
“This is too much. You didn’t have to do that, Deac.”
He nodded at the guard who unlocked the exhibit for them.
“I know I didn’t. But I wanted to.”
“It’s extravagant. I’m fine looking at the paintings like everyone else. It’s what I’m used to.” She hesitated at the entrance.
“Abby, enjoy it. This is our day together. Don’t worry about the money. It’s not like I robbed the museum.” He winked.
She giggled involuntarily.
“Ok. Fine. I’ll enjoy all the priceless works of art if you insist.”
“I do.”
The guard nodded, leaving them alone inside the recesses of the museum. Deacon wound his fingers through Abby’s and led her through the first row of paintings. They examined each one, discussing the lines and the colors. Abby told him what she liked and what she would have used instead, or remarked on how she wished she had come up with a particular color combination.
They strolled, taking in each canvas. Walking through the hushed halls.
Abby sat in front of one of the ballerina paintings.
