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She let out an exasperated huff. “I give up, you don’t take anything seriously.”
Aaron gifted her a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry, I really meant to try this time. Okay, let’s move on. What’s this one about? Looks like a woman lying in a pond fully clothed. But correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Ophelia. You must know what play she’s out of?”
“Macbeth?”
“Hamlet, you dunce.” She gave him a little swat on the arm with her program. “She went mad and drowned after Hamlet jilted her.”
“And did the artist’s model die a terrible death too?”
“Well she’s dead now, obviously. This was painted in the 1850s. There’s a scandal behind this one. Effie Gray left her husband, John Ruskin, for John Everett Millais, who painted her here as Ophelia. Effie’s marriage to Ruskin was never consummated.”
“You’re kidding? They never had sex? Why not?” Aaron looked at her sideways from under the thick sweep of his lashes. They were probably longer than hers, which was monumentally unfair.
“Apparently, so the rumour goes, Ruskin didn’t like… that was, he didn’t expect… a woman would havepubic hair,” Alicefinished in a louder whisper than she’d meant.
“What was he wanting—a Hollywood?”
Alice giggled. “Keep your voice down. And what’s aHollywoodanyway?”
“The full works.Zrrrppppp.” Aaron made a zipping motion below his waist. “All gone. Or, so I’ve heard.”
Alice bit her lip and stared at the garland of flowers around Ophelia’s neck. She guessed Aaron had probably seen everything there was in that department. She thought of how untidydown thereshe would be in comparison if… if… she tried to control the blush that was riding across her face, but it was too late, their corner of the gallery suddenly felt like a sauna.
Fanning her face with her program, she tried to slow her breathing. “According to some art historians—though all their correspondence disappeared so we don’t really know for sure—John Ruskin couldn’t consummate the marriage because Effie didn’t live up to his ideal of what the female body should look like naked.”
“That’s pretty weird.”
“Ruskin was an intellectual, he was probably more into his books than, well, you know… moreearthlypursuits.”
“Like someone else I know.”
Before she could stop herself, she rebutted, “Are you implying I don’t like sex?”
For a moment their eyes locked. Alice tried to control the crazy little zaps that seemed to be prodding her in very intimate places. Once again, a dull flush sat high on Aaron’s perfect cheekbones. “No, not at all.”
“Well, good.”
He grinned. “Just not with hairy men.”
“Oh, you—” Her words jangled around the gallery and again the bearded man cast them an exasperated look. If she’d come on her own, Alice knew she would have been like him, deeply immersed in studying the art, the beauty of the brushstrokes and the nuances of light and shade. But now all she could think of was how her skirt swished delightfully around her legs when she walked and the warm glow that wouldn’t let up in her belly every time Aaron looked at her.
For once in her life she was having too much fun to care what Mr Bearded Man thought.
After that, the afternoon seemed to pass in an enjoyable haze of vibrant colours and light banter. By the time they were back in the foyer and fetching their coats, it was hard not to feel a frisson of excitement about the evening ahead. It wasn’t as if they’d never been for a meal together; they had, more times than Alice could count. Especially when Aaron was between dates and she was, well… her drastically dateless self. She’d only ever had two boyfriends, and neither had proven earth-shattering experiences. But this felt different. Anticipation bubbled in her stomach. Despite his no-strings-attached promise, she was sure the fake date was on Aaron’s agenda; why else would he have subjected himself to two hours of non-stop art appreciation? And what if he didn’t raise it… would she have the courage to?
By now they were out in the rapidly cooling late afternoon.
“That was more fun than I expected,” Aaron said, raking his fingers through his hair as he surveyed the buzzing art precinct. “It’s still early but I skipped lunch, so if you’re happy to eat, you can choose.”
Alice’s eyebrows flew up. “Me choose?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Last time you said you’d never let me decide where we ate ever again.”
“Oh come on, be fair, raw zucchini noodles in a pad Thai? What’s a guy to do? I had to grab a kebab on the way home.” Aaron gave his stomach a light thump. His shirt barely indented against the ridge of his abs and Alice suddenly had the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch them.
