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He seemed to understand, and pulled back. “Thank you.” The words were heavy with emotion. “Dinner is an excellent start.”
In the end, his probation extended to multiple dinners, but each lasted for longer, and started earlier, until four dates later, they wound up having lunch, then going for a walk through the national gallery, so that Phoebe could show Anastasios her favourite pieces.
To Anastasios, it might have simply been a gallery, but to Phoebe, it was a shrine, and sharing it with Anastasios meant more than she could say. More than she could admit, even to herself. Deep down, fear was still holding her heart tight, making it difficult to let go and step into the future she knew he wanted them to have.
“He hurt you deeply,” Anastasios said, that same night, as they walked, slowly, back to the car, neither of them willing to end their time together, just yet.
“It’s not so much that he hurt me,” she said thoughtfully, “but that he shaped me. I’m tough, Anastasios, because I keep people outside. The danger comes from letting someone in.” She lifted a hand to his chest.
“Especially someone who treated you as I did.”
Her eyes fanned shut. “I’m sorry.” Because she felt as though she was failing him, and herself, but she couldn’t help the self-protective instincts.
“Don’t apologise,” he groaned, and then, breaking the unspoken rules they’d observed for weeks, he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight, breathing her in. “If all this can ever be is dinner, after dinner, after dinner, then I will be happy, because at least that is something. It’s something with you. Do you know how much I live for our time together, agape mou?”
A single tear slid down her cheek. She loved him. There was no sense fighting it. But how to admit it? How to fearlessly own that love?
“I feel the same,” was the best she could do, and he made a noise of relief, holding her so tight against him. “Dinner tomorrow?” It was the first time she’d asked him, and his eyes glowed with relief and pleasure.
“Absolutely. I can’t wait.”
When he arrived to pick her up, it was with a spring in his step, as an idea that had been borne years earlier suddenly seemed to have gained impetus, and Phoebe was at the heart of that.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he said, as soon as she opened the door.
Phoebe lifted a brow. “Hello, to you too.”
“Hello,” he laughed, and her heart swelled, because she loved the sound of his laugh, almost as much as she loved him. “It’s more of a favour, really.”
That had her pausing. “A favour?” She opened the door wider, but didn’t move.
“The art in the vault,” he nodded.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and you were right. It shouldn’t be hidden away in storage. Those are priceless, very old pieces, many of which have been in private collections for centuries.”
She shook her head, bemused that she was so lucky as to have seen them.
“I spoke to the family. We want to open a gallery.”
“Oh!” She clasped her hands together. “That’s such a wonderful idea. You already have several galleries’ worth of masterpieces.”
“I have spent many very pleasurable hours listening to you talk about art, about colour and pigmentation and preserving and canvas stretching and oils. Your passion is obvious. I cannot think of anyone better to help curate the selection.”
Her stomach swooshed and her lips parted. “What exactly do you mean?”
“You’d be a coordinator,” he said. “Reporting directly to the main gallery curator.”
She stared at him as if he’d just sprouted three heads, but reality—and pride—quickly came back into focus. “That’s very kind of you, Anastasios, but surely you know me well enough to know I could never accept that kind of offer.”
“Hear me out. This would be a one-year contract. If you don’t like it, you can resign, no hard feelings.”
“Yeah, but it’s still nepotism, or whatever,” she said with a shake of her head. “You’re giving me this job because you feel bad about what happened between us, or because you feel sorry for me because of my mountain of debt, and I don’t want charity.”
“This isn’t charity, and it’s not because I love you, it’s because you’re brilliant at this, and I want you to be a part of it. It was your idea.”
His words might have warmed her if she’d been at all capable of focusing on them, but her heart was doing the most ridiculous, fast beating and her lungs were expelling every bit of air so she felt hot and woozy.
