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“Thematic,” he asserted. “It offers a more compelling story.”
“Agreed.” She nodded.
As Nicole paced the length of the gallery, Theodore followed her movements, noting the grace in her steps. He could already see the space transformed, Thompson’s vibrant hues and daring strokes adorning the walls—a testament to the power of art to evoke emotion.
“Nicole,” Theodore began, pausing as if to weigh each word, “I find myself quite taken with your...dedication. It is a rare thing to encounter someone so thoroughly connected to their craft.”
“Is that so?” she replied. “Well, Prince Theodore, you aren’t exactly a stranger to passion yourself. I’ve seen the way you speak of art—like it’s a part of you.”
Theodore offered a half-smile, the compliment landing close to his heart. “One could argue it is,” he admitted.
“Then we’re not so different, you and I,” Nicole said, stepping closer.
“True, our shared ardor for art makes us quite compatible collaborators,” he managed to say.
“Collaboration can lead to unexpected outcomes,” Nicole quipped.
“Indeed, it can,” Theodore agreed, the double entendre hanging between them like an unfinished masterpiece awaiting its final brushstroke.
“Shall we select specific works now?” Nicole asked.
“Of course,” he replied. As they leaned over the material, their shoulders brushed lightly, sending a current of awareness through him.
“Peter’s early work is quite raw, don’t you think?” Nicole mused, pointing to an image of a stark, abstract piece. She seemed to have a photograph of every painting he’d ever done there.
“Raw, yet brimming with promise,” Theodore noted. He was finding it rather fun to discuss his paintings as if he was a stranger who was only casually acquainted with them.
“Much like us,” she added softly.
“Exactly.” Theodore cleared his throat. “Let us ensure this show captures the essence of Thompson’s journey.”
Nicole echoed. “We’re going to be at this for a while. Shall I have lunch brought in for us?”
Theodore nodded. “That would be nice.”
Nicole made a quick call, ordering lunch to be brought to them.
As they waited, Theodore gazed out of the window, lost in his thoughts. The task at hand was immense; capturing the essence of Thompson’s journey meant delving deep into the heart of human emotions.
As the delivery arrived, and Nicole set the table with plates of sandwiches and bowls of steaming soup, Theodore’s mind began to wander into Thompson’s world.
With lunch finally served, Theodore and Nicole began discussing their approach. They agreed on the importance of capturing the vivid landscapes and extraordinary encounters that Thompson had experienced. But equally crucial was conveying the inner turmoil and growth that occurred along the way.
Theodore told her some of his journey as an artist, carefully speaking in third person the entire time so she wouldn’t realize that he was Thompson. It was difficult, but he had a feeling that as much as the prince seemed to be unappealing to her, the artist would be her idea of the perfect man.
“Modern Renaissance,” she suggested, breaking the hush of the room as she unfurled a vibrant poster concept onto the table. “A melding of classic and contemporary. It feels fitting for Thompson’s style.”
“Quite fitting,” Theodore conceded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. His fingers itched to reach out and straighten the corner of the poster Nicole had missed, but he restrained himself, focusing instead on the details at hand. “Though we should consider how to weave a narrative through the exhibit.”
“Clusters could provide more context,” Nicole mused, flipping through images of paintings. “Dreams and reality, light and shadow—themes that resonate with Thompson’s work.”
“You’re right,” Theodore remarked. “And for logistics, opening night will need to be impeccable. We’ll require security, caterers, and a guest list curated as meticulously as the exhibit itself.”
“Curated,” Nicole repeated, savoring the word. She placed the painting back into the folder and turned to Theodore. “You have a way with words, Your Highness. One might think you’re more poet than prince.”
“Titles often belie the truth beneath,” he replied. The intensity of their shared endeavor was thrilling, yet he couldn’t ignore the twinge of apprehension in his chest. Was it the prospect of the event’s success, or the fear of his heart becoming too entangled with Nicole’s?
Nicole leaned closer, her scent infiltrating his senses. “What about interactive installations?” she proposed. “We could invite the audience to participate, to leave their mark alongside Thompson’s.”
