AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Lunch with your family,” he repeated, allowing the full weight of her request to settle upon him. It was not a command performance nor a state dinner—it was an invitation to be part of something real.
“Very well,” Theodore acquiesced, the corners of his mouth turning upward with a rare, genuine smile. “I shall be honored to join you.”
“Good,” Nicole replied, a playful glint brightening her eyes. “It’s settled then.”
He offered his arm at the back door to the castle, leading down to the car he would take to drive her home.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they descended the palace steps, their steps synchronized in silent accord.
As they walked toward the waiting car, Theodore felt the familiar weight of responsibility on his shoulders—an ever-present companion. Yet, there was something different now. His mind wandered to the upcoming lunch with Nicole’s family; the thought of it sparked an unfamiliar excitement within him.
“Are you sure about this? Me at your family table?” His question floated between them.
“Absolutely,” Nicole replied, her grip tightening ever so slightly. “You’ll be a guest, Theodore—not the prince. Just a man breaking bread with those I hold dear.”
He marveled at her ability to separate the man from the mantle. It was a gift he found both humbling and intoxicating. “I’m not certain I know how to be just a man anymore,” he confessed.
“Then consider it another adventure,” she teased gently, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.
They reached the car, its black exterior gleaming under the touch of the setting sun. Theodore opened the door for her, and as she was about to settle into the seat, he paused, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon them.
With an almost imperceptible nod, he closed the distance between them, enveloping her in an embrace that spoke of protection and promise. The world outside faded away as he held her close, the beat of her heart against his own a testament to the bond they shared.
“Home, then,” Theodore murmured as he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.
“Home,” she echoed, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile that reached deep into his soul.
He closed the door behind her and signaled to the driver before taking his place beside her. The engine hummed to life, and the vehicle rolled forward, the guard in the front seat with the driver.
His hand held hers tightly as they moved through the busy streets of the capital, and he said a silent prayer of thanks that she was all right.
Chapter Fourteen
Theodore stepped into the art gallery, his heart thrumming in his chest like the soft roll of distant thunder. He was not simply Theodore tonight. He was Peter Thompson, an enigmatic artist whose works had captured the imagination of the people. The gallery was filled with patrons admiring his creations. Each piece was a window to a soul he rarely let others see, but none knew the man behind the canvas.
Nicole flitted from guest to guest, deftly playing the part of hostess. Her laughter beckoned Theodore closer, though he maintained his guise as a mere spectator.
“Isn’t this one just amazing?” Nicole gestured toward one of the paintings, her eyes bright with genuine appreciation. “Peter Thompson truly has a way with colors.”
“Indeed,” Theodore responded, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest. “It’s as if he paints what the heart whispers when words fail.”
She turned to him, her gaze locking onto his for a fleeting moment—a moment that held the weight of all their unspoken words. “That’s beautifully put,” she said, a tinge of curiosity lacing her tone. “It’s like you’re an artist.”
“In my way,” he replied, a cryptic smile gracing his lips. “We all are, aren’t we? Creating moments and memories—that is art.”
“True,” Nicole mused, before being whisked away by another cluster of enthusiastic guests. Theodore admired her ease among them, how her presence seemed to elevate the very air around the artwork. They were all drawn to the mystery of the unseen Peter Thompson, yet here he was, invisible in plain sight.
As he wandered, he listened to the quiet judgments and loud praises, nodding along to opinions offered freely to the stranger that was him. Theodore could feel the pull of expectation, the silent call of duty that threaded through the evening. These people sought connections to the world he poured onto canvas, but it was Nicole who anchored him, who provided the gravity he needed to remain grounded amidst the flight of his dreams.
“Your friend seems quite passionate about the work,” a patron commented, nodding toward Nicole. “One might think she knows Mr. Thompson personally.”
“Perhaps she does,” Theodore allowed himself to say. “Or perhaps she simply understands the art.”
“Either way,” the patron chuckled, clinking glasses with him, “she’s a marvel. This show wouldn’t be the same without her touch.”
“Agreed,” Theodore replied, his voice low, each word steeped in loyalty to the woman who unknowingly possessed his heart. She was more than a hostess. She was the muse behind the myth of Peter Thompson.
His thoughts yearned to stray to the future, to the promise he hoped the night would hold, but he reined them in. There would be time for revelations after the last painting sold after the soft echo of applause faded into memory. For now, he was content to watch, to wait, and to marvel at the woman who made his art come alive.
