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“Before I knew your name or the sound of your laughter,” he replied. “I painted a dream, and then you walked into my life, more vivid than any vision.”
Nicole turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She saw now, in the way he regarded her, a depth that transcended duty, a loyalty not to crown or country, but to the truth that pulsed quietly between them.
“Nicole,” Theodore began, his voice steady despite the tumultuous beat of his heart. “In this room, I am not Prince Theodore. I am simply Theodore, a man who desperately needs you in his life.” He moved closer, his presence a magnetic pull she found impossible to resist.
“From the moment our paths crossed, you’ve enchanted me with your strength, your kindness, your unconquerable spirit,” he continued, reaching for her hands and holding them within his own—a gesture both grounding and electrifying.
“And while I may have duties to fulfill, there is one oath that rises above all others—the vow I wish to make to you.” From inside his jacket, he produced a small, velvet box and knelt before her, reverence transforming his features.
“Nicole, will you grant me the honor, the privilege—will you allow me the joy of calling you my wife?”
Her breath caught, the world narrowing to the earnest green of his gaze, the weight of history that whispered of the future. In the quiet of the studio, amidst a tapestry of moonlight and shadows, Nicole found her answer, as natural and sure as the beating of her heart.
“Yes, Theodore,” she whispered. “Yes.”
And as he rose to seal their promise with a kiss, he knew that they would endure. The artist and the gallery owner.
Chapter Seventeen
Nicole’s slender fingers trembled as they wrapped around the steaming cup of Earl Gray tea, her gaze frozen on the morning paper splayed open before her. The bold typeface announcing her impending marriage to Prince Theodore looked almost surreal, the letters a stark contrast against the white expanse of page one. The palace must have released a statement.
“Nicole, did you see this?” Maria, her assistant, fluttered into the gallery with an identical copy of the paper tucked under her arm.
“Impossible to miss,” Nicole responded, the words laced with forced cheer as she set her cup down with a delicate clink. Her heart fluttered at the reality settling over her.
The gallery doors chimed their familiar tune as a steady stream of patrons entered, their faces blooming with smiles and eyes seeking out the bride-to-be. She quickly felt swarmed with people as the congratulations started pouring in.
“Nicole, darling, we are so thrilled for you!” Mrs. Haversham, a patron known for her impeccable taste in art and gossip, enveloped her in a perfumed embrace that left no room for escape. “To think, our little gallery owner marrying royalty!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Haversham,” Nicole managed, her smile practiced yet genuine. She withdrew slightly, straightening the hem of her chic black dress, a piece chosen for its quiet elegance.
“Prince Theodore is a lucky man,” Mr. Renard said. He was another regular whose keen eye often spotted the hidden gems of her exhibitions. “And what a wedding it will be! All the magazines are already clamoring for details.”
“I see that,” Nicole said. She folded her hands together, the diamond on her finger catching the soft light and scattering it across the room. Duty and loyalty, she reminded herself, feeling the weight of those words alongside the weight of the ring.
As the well-wishes continued, Nicole’s gaze swept over the crowd, each face a reminder of the life she had cultivated here. Yet, despite the familiar surroundings, an unfamiliar tightness constricted her chest, longing for Theodore’s reassuring presence.
“Nicole,” a gentle voice called. It was Maria again, her expression soft with understanding. “You’re handling this with such grace. Your strength is truly an inspiration.”
“Is it strength?” Nicole mused aloud. “Or is it simply playing the role expected of me?”
“Both, I believe,” Maria replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Nicole’s ear with sisterly affection. “And both are equally admirable.”
Nicole allowed herself to be carried by the tide of enthusiasm, her responses automatic, her smile unwavering. Yet beneath the surface, her thoughts churned like a stormy sea, yearning for the tranquility of Theodore’s quiet strength.
Nothing in the gallery could capture her attention as it once did. She longed for Theodore’s quiet gaze, a beacon in the tempest of her current life.
“Nicole,” called an eager patron, “I must say, your taste is impeccable. This exhibit is breathtaking.”
“Thank you,” she replied. Suddenly she’d lost what she should say to others. She felt overwhelmed by the gallery, by the wedding, and by life.
As she spoke, the crowd shifted. Through the temporary corridor, she caught sight of a man, his hands deep in the pockets of a nondescript coat. A jolt of unease shot through her, an instinctive reaction that had become all too familiar this past week. The gallery, her sanctuary, suddenly seemed less welcoming, its corners shadowed with potential threats.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, her smile never faltering though her eyes betrayed a flicker of fear. Nicole retreated through the crowd, making her way to the backroom under the pretense of business needing her immediate attention.
“Let me know if anyone needs me,” she instructed her assistant.
“Of course, Nicole,” Maria replied, taking the reins without question.
