Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
More time has passed than I thought I’d be spending with Warner. I don’t mind, but I sort of miss the jerk. I finally reach the American wing of the museum. I’ve seen the painting online and on TV a million times and could describe it by heart. But he talked about it so much that I feel compelled to see it in person. I enter through two open double doors and stop. As I stare ahead, I was expecting a large painting. I wasn’t expecting this. It’s huge, covering most of the wall space at the far end of the room.
Awe overcomes me as I walk toward it, leaving me speechless.
“It’s impressive, no?”
I glance over at Warner. He’s standing next to me, his gaze on the painting in front of us. “I didn’t expect it to be that big. Or . . .” I start, words still eluding me as the art takes precedence over thought. We stand in silence, both staring at the famous painting. “I’ve been here so many times over the years. I can’t believe I’ve never seen it before.”
“It’s a big museum.” He says, “It’s not the original. But it’s an incredible replica. The first was destroyed in a war.”
“It’s not like I haven’t seen this on TV, online, or even in the movies. It’s a general in a boat for goodness’ sakes. I shouldn’t be this emotional.”
“There comes a sense of astonishment from the hours it must have taken. We feel like we know it because it’s familiar, but it hits different seeing it in real life.”
I nod, nothing of value to add to his observation. He nailed it. I face him, looking around the room to see if I spot his mom. “Where’s your mother?”
“Drinking champagne with the lead curator for the glass art that’s being introduced tonight. She made a donation to close the gap to make the exhibit possible.”
“Quite the philanthropist family.”
He sips his drink and leans over. “You’re part of that family, remember?”
“I don’t think I could forget even if I tried.”
Chuckling, he turns to me. “I almost kissed you when I found you in here. You really do have a graceful neck.”
Disappointment shouldn’t enter my mind, much less my chest, but there it is, weighing me down with the possibility of what could have been. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because the last time, I got sucker punched by your bony elbow.”
That makes me laugh, easing the heaviness that was creeping in. “You made a wise decision, I suppose. This time.”
He looks at the painting once more before looking around as if he’s searching for the nearest exit. “As romantic as this painting is,” he says with a smirk on his face. “How about we get out of here?”
“The room or the museum?”
“Both.” When a server passes with a tray of empty glasses, Warner finishes his drink and adds his glass to the others. “Ready?”
I add my glass to the tray and take Warner’s offered hand. “Ready.”
Judging by how he weaves us through the halls and straight toward the main lobby entrance, I think he’s been here a few times. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go? We’re all dressed up and can—”
“Warner Landers.”
The lobby fills with applause, trapping us in the dead center of the room, holding hands, like a couple that we’re not. I look at him, worried about what will happen next. Exposure? Busted? Getting arrested for impersonating his wife? Frozen in panic, my heart still manages to beat louder than the rousing applause.
The announcer comes over the speaker and says, “We are so grateful for museum gold status saints like you. Without your donation, we wouldn’t be able to offer such a robust catalog of exhibits. Another round of applause for Warner Landers.”
Gold status? My eyes find the ribbon pinned to the front of his jacket, the same one that’s pinned to mine. “What does gold status mean?”
A man comes up to him to shake his hand. He turns to me and replies, “Doesn’t matter, Sass.”
“I’m just curious.” An older woman wearing a museum lanyard around her neck slips in after the man to shake his hand. She’s thanking him while I consider pulling out my phone to research. “I’m sure I can find it online.” Why is it such a mystery? I know he’s rich, but how much could it possibly be? A hundred K or even two? I can’t even imagine that kind of money, but that’s his world.
He shoots me a look as he shakes one more man’s hand and laughs, like we’re sharing a secret. Guess we are. We both want to get out of here. Before anyone else cuts in, Warner takes me by the hand and says, “We’re leaving.”
His hand lands on the small of my back as he guides me through the crowd toward the exit. The heels are works of art themselves, the crystals covering them making them shine under the bright lights of The Met’s facade, but for running, not my first choice.