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“Oh, good heavens, don’t tell me you’re mixing business with pleasure again,” my father says, and I can mentally picture him dragging a hand over his face.
My father would not approve of Emily. She is everything he is not. Fun, spontaneous, sweet…
The thought that he’d not like her only makes her more attractive.
"William, you're being irrational. This dalliance, or whatever it is, can wait. The Lonelle connection is crucial for our gallery's expansion in Europe. You know this."
I stand, pacing the room, my frustration mounting. "Dad, I understand the importance of the Lonelle deal, but I can't just manipulate relationships for business gains. I've met someone here, someone... different."
"Different?" he scoffs. "What could possibly be so special about this small-town encounter that it derails our plans? William, be sensible. You have a responsibility to the family, to the gallery."
I stop by the window, looking out into the stillness of the night. "It's not about being sensible all the time. Emily, she's...she's real, authentic. It's refreshing, and I need to see where this leads."
There's a heavy sigh from the other end of the line. "Your mother was the same, always chasing after what felt 'authentic.' But she understood the importance of our legacy, of making sacrifices for the greater good. I expect you to do the same."
I clench my jaw, the mention of my mother hitting a nerve. "This isn't about Mom. It's about me making my own choices. I'm staying here a bit longer. I need to figure things out, for myself."
The line goes silent for a moment, a battlefield of wills stretching across the distance. "Very well, William," he finally says, his voice icy with resignation. "But remember, the clock is ticking. Don't let a fleeting fancy cost us our future."
As the call ends, I'm left staring at the phone, my heart racing with a mixture of rebellion and uncertainty.
My father's words echo in my mind, a stark reminder of the life I'm expected to lead. But there's something about Emily, something that urges me to defy expectations and explore the unknown.
The next morning, weak light filters softly through the curtains as I make my way to the living room.
There, nestled in an armchair with a book, is Emily.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, creating a serene, almost picturesque scene.
She's so absorbed in her reading that she doesn't notice me at first.
I clear my throat gently. "Good morning."
Startled, she looks up, a slight flush on her cheeks. "William! Good morning. I didn't hear you come in."
I gesture to the book in her hands, an art book I recognize. "Ah, Monet. His series on water lilies is one of my favorites."
Emily's eyes light up. "Mine too. There's something so calming about his use of color. And the painting looks different depending on which light you look at it."
We delve into a conversation about Monet, discussing our favorite pieces and the emotions they evoke. It's a comfortable exchange, one that reminds me of the connection we shared in the greenhouse.
It’s almost enough to make me forget all about the chaos of last night.
Almost.
After a moment, I ask, "How are you feeling this morning? Last night was quite eventful."
She winces slightly, setting the book aside. "My head is sore. And I’m embarrassed about all the running around I did. I hope I didn't come off too... scatterbrained."
I shake my head, smiling. "Not at all. It was... interesting. Don't worry about it."
There's a pause, and then I remember the reason for my extended stay. "Any update on the Art Queen? I assume she's still tied up with her commitments?"
Emily jumps slightly, as if she'd forgotten the entire pretense of her grandmother's visit. "Oh, right, the Art Queen. I should call her for an update."
She stands up quickly, a little too quickly, and steadies herself. "I'll just make that call now."
As she hurries out of the room, I can't help but feel a twinge of concern.
