The Verve was one of Lena’s favorite galleries because it was known for taking chances on up-and-coming artists, and you never knew who or what you might discover inside its walls. The gallery was quiet when they entered and their footsteps echoed on the cement floors, bouncing off the high ceilings and reverberating through the long white showroom, which provided a stark backdrop for the colorful pieces displayed within. It appeared they had the place to themselves, which was a nice change of pace.
“Welcome to The Verve,” Lena said, smiling at Liam, Jack, and Ethan. “One of my favorite places to visit in the city.”
Liam chuckled. “I should’ve guessed.”
“Yeah, you really should have.” She hooked her arm through his and guided him toward the first exhibit. “But you know what they say, keeping the mystery alive is key to any healthy relationship.”
Lena froze. Fake relationship. She’d meant to say mystery was the key to any fake relationship. Mierda. What had she been thinking? Sure, they had scorching hot chemistry, but it wasn’t like they had a future. Not when his life was in Valeria and hers was in New York. Orgasms weren’t the same thing as happily ever after, and she’d do well to remember it, even if she wished it weren’t true.
There was so much more to Liam than his crown, and though she longed to know every part of him, it was impossible. He would return to Valeria in a week and there was only one certainty—she was going to miss his company when he was gone.
“Everything okay?” Liam asked, concern lining his brow.
She studied his face for any sign he’d noticed her slipup, but he seemed oblivious, and she wasn’t about to press the issue. No, she was going to enjoy the afternoon and make the most of the time they had left. “Couldn’t be better.”
They walked and talked and kissed, moving from one exhibit to the next, enjoying the solitude of the gallery and the rare opportunity to be themselves without a camera hovering nearby.
“Did I ever tell you I wanted to study art history at uni?” Liam asked as they stood before a faded pink balloon animal statue.
“Really?” Lena asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. It seemed far too impractical for him. She’d pretty much accepted that Liam had sprung from the womb with a crown on his head and a desire to rule. “What changed your mind?”
“My parents. They wouldn’t hear of it.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Politics and International Relations tend to be far more useful for a man in my position.”
She pressed her lips flat, afraid that if she opened her mouth she’d say something she’d later regret. Going to college was supposed to be about finding yourself and discovering your passions. It wasn’t supposed to be about duty or becoming the person the world wanted you to be. It was so completely unfair. And even though she knew Liam wouldn’t trade his crown for the world, it broke her heart to know this was yet another concession he’d had to make for his country, for his people. And even now, when they wanted to take it all away, he still put them first. Put his country first. She lowered her head to his shoulder and held him, not wanting him to see the sadness in her eyes.
Liam cleared his throat. “So, you’re the artist here. What do you think we’re supposed to be seeing?” he asked, gesturing toward the deflated pink animal.
Lena turned her attention back to the statue. “Honestly? I’m having trouble with this one. It feels like a bit of a knockoff,” she admitted, hating that she sounded so judgmental. Art was personal and entirely subjective, but yeah, she wasn’t feeling this piece. “There’s another artist, Jeff Koons, who has an amazing series of metallic balloon animals that symbolize optimism, and I’m sure this is meant to inspire the opposite reaction, but I have to be honest, for me, this just feels like a cheap imitation.”
Liam smirked. “They say imitation is the best form of flattery.”
“Not in this case.” Lena frowned. “It lacks originality.”
“Excuse me.”
They turned in unison to find a young man in a fitted black pantsuit. Either the guy had soft-soled shoes or he moved like a ninja, because she hadn’t heard him approach.
“My name is Marcus Gillroy and I’m the curator here at The Verve.” He reached into his pocket and offered Lena his card, although his eyes kept sliding to Liam. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. You’re an artist?”
“Yes. Elena Murphy,” she said, extending her hand to the curator, who gave it the briefest shake in return. “I own a studio in the East Village where I work and teach.”
Gillroy nodded. “I see. And what is your preferred medium?”
“Primarily paint, but I do some sculpture and mixed-media work as well.”
What was with all the questions? She seriously doubted the dude paid this much attention to every artist who rolled through the door. On a normal day she’d have been lucky he gave her the time of day.
“Your assessment of this exhibit was…astute,” he said, cutting his eyes at the statue behind her. Lena started to apologize, but he waved her off. “My assistant curated this exhibit.” He lowered his voice, though there was no one else in the gallery. “Trust me, it’s a mistake I won’t be repeating.”
“I see,” Lena said, unsure how to respond.
Gillroy straightened his spine, pulling himself up to his full height, which was only a few inches taller than her. “You have a sharp eye. I’d love to review your portfolio to see how it’s reflected in your work.”
Lena’s bullshit radar spiked. She’d submitted her work to The Verve twice and both times they’d politely declined. Rejection was the name of the game in the art world. You couldn’t take it personally or the soul crushing despair would devour your creativity and your will to live.
Harsh, but true.
So why was he so hot on seeing her work? It probably had something to do with the way his eyes kept returning to Liam. Was it possible the curator wasn’t as clueless about their identities as he pretended to be? If he knew who Liam was, he was probably only asking about her work because he figured their combined names would draw a crowd, not because he was impressed with her assessment of the sad pink dog.
Indignation burned like a hot coal in her chest. She wasn’t a freaking charity case, and she wasn’t about to use Liam to get ahead in her own career. If it took another twenty years to land a gallery showing, so be it. At least she’d do it on the merit of her work.
“We’re always accepting submissions for new exhibits.” Gillroy grinned like a Canal Street vendor hawking luxury handbags. “You can find the themes for group shows on our website, but if your portfolio is substantial enough, we also exhibit solo collections.”
“I appreciate your interest, Mr. Gillroy—”
“Please, call me Marcus,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm like they were old friends.
“All right, Marcus,” she said with an overly saccharine smile. “The truth is, I’ve submitted my work for review in the past and The Verve has declined to show it.”
Marcus flinched almost imperceptibly, but he rebounded quickly. “As you know, tastes are always changing. New seasons, new trends. What was in is out and what was out is in.” He paused. “Give us another opportunity to review your portfolio. Maybe you even have some new pieces that we haven’t seen?”
She did have some new pieces, but that didn’t mean she wanted to submit them to Marcus. “I appreciate the invitation. I’ll think it over and let you know.”
No way was she going to let him strong-arm her into committing on the spot.
Looking as deflated as the pink dog, Marcus bid them good afternoon and returned to his office at the back of the gallery.
“Are you feeling all right?” Liam asked, concern lining his face as he turned to study her. “Because it sure sounded like you have no intention of submitting your portfolio.”
“That’s because I don’t.
”
…
“What do you mean you have no intention of submitting?” It made no bloody sense. Where was the enthusiasm? This was exactly the kind of opportunity she needed. Once people saw how fantastic her work was, they’d love it as much as he did.
“We should head back,” Elena said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have a class this afternoon.”
Liam stared, flummoxed as she turned on her heel and made her way to the front of the gallery. The dismissal grated, but if she thought this conversation was over, she had another think coming. He wasn’t going to stand idly by while she threw away an amazing opportunity.
She’d said herself this was one of her favorite galleries.
“Wait,” he said, jogging to catch up with her. He caught her out front of the gallery and grabbed her arm. “Don’t shut me out, love. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Liam raised a brow. Even he knew that nothing was code for something. “Then why aren’t you going to submit your portfolio and why are you running away?”
“I’m not running away,” she huffed, shrugging out of his grasp and planting a hand on her hip. “But I’m also not going to use you to get what I want. The only reason Marcus wants to see my portfolio is because he thinks we’re dating.”
Liam’s resolve faltered.
“I’m not taking an opportunity that’s only being offered because our relationship has been splashed all over the news.”
Her words hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. When was the last time he had someone in his life who hadn’t wanted to use him to further their own agenda? They were so few and far between he could hardly remember. Everyone wanted a piece of him. It was an ugly truth of growing up royal. And he’d grown so accustomed to it that Elena’s flat-out refusal to leverage their relationship in that way touched him.
Oh, he knew it was as much for her own pride as it was for him, but it didn’t lessen the impact.
“That man doesn’t give a damn about my sharp eye or my artistic ability.” Elena laughed hollowly. “I could submit a pile of horseshit and he’d probably put it on display because he knows people will show up to see the work of Prince William’s girlfriend.”
God, he loved the way she stuck to her principles. The world could use more people like her, but just this once he wished she weren’t so damn stubborn. He hated being used, but even more than that, he hated to think of her passing up an opportunity to share her art—her passion—with the world. Besides, this was Elena. She would never use him.
“The fact that you’re willing to pass up this opportunity means more than words can express,” he said, “but this is a good opportunity, and you’ve earned it. I would hate for you to let it pass you by.”
“I’ve earned it?” she scoffed. “What? Because I’m fucking a royal? I hardly think that makes me qualified for a gallery showing.”
Liam groaned. He’d walked right into that one, hadn’t he?
“You know that’s not what I meant. You’ve worked hard at honing your craft, and you deserve it. The world can be a shitty place sometimes, and that guy’s a jackass for not recognizing your talent the first time you submitted—”
“The first two times,” she interjected saltily.
“But don’t let his shortcomings keep you from taking what you want with both hands.”
“I wouldn’t feel right about it. It feels like selling out. Or pimping myself.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even know what I’m saying. It just feels wrong, you know?”
Too well, although he was normally on the other end of such moral quandaries.
“Elena Murphy, you are an amazingly talented artist,” he said, pulling her to his chest and resting his chin on her head. Her body was soft and warm against his own as she laced her hands behind his back, and his chest tightened at the realization of just how much he’d missed this the last two days. He hadn’t wanted to leave Lena.
Their month was almost up and he wanted to enjoy every damn minute of it with her before reality came crashing down, but duty had called, so he’d flown to California and worked his fingers to the bone trying to seduce the Spartan leadership team. It had been a grueling two days, but he was back now, with Lena in his arms, and she smelled of paint and citrus and the promise of better days ahead.
“I wish the entire world could see what I see, but you have to give them the chance.”
“Even if the opportunity presents itself in an undesirable fashion?” she grumbled, burrowing deeper into his chest. “And the curator is a pompous ass?”
“Especially then,” he said, holding her tight, even as the hypocrisy of his words mocked him.
Chapter Twenty
Lena was saying goodbye to her last student when the phone rang. She snatched it up off the cradle, no longer fearing the worst. Things were going so well—at the studio and in her personal life—that she half expected to wake up from a dream most days. She’d even decided to submit her portfolio to The Verve. She still didn’t like the idea of gaining an advantage because of her relationship with Liam, but she’d rationalized that her work would stand on its own merit once shown, and she couldn’t deny the extra exposure would be good for the studio. Or that any sales she might make would help pad her bank account for the many repairs the studio needed.
Just the thought of a fully functional heating and cooling system had her singing a cheerful greeting as she answered the phone. “East Village Art, Elena speaking.”
“Hello, love.” The unexpected timbre of Liam’s deep baritone sent a shiver down her spine. Before she could recover, he spoke again. “Pack a bag and stay with me at the hotel tonight. We’ll have dinner and…dessert.”
Lena’s pulse quickened. The prospect of staying in was tempting. She’d have Liam all to herself. No fangirls. No cameras. No paps. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t play hard to get. “I don’t know,” she drawled, resting her hip against the counter. “There’s a new restaurant downtown I was hoping to try. I hear they serve the most amazing twenty-four-layer chocolate cake. Rumor has it each layer is like its own mini-orgasm. Do you think you can compete with that?”
Liam damn near growled. “Twenty-four orgasms? Consider it done.”
Heat flared low in her belly even as she scoffed at his guarantee. “That might be a stretch, even for you.”
His cocky reply came fast and confident. “Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll make you come every hour on the hour.”
She pressed her thighs together, the promise of multiple orgasms scorching her panties. “If you’re determined to try, who am I to stop you?”
When Liam spoke again, it was in the low rasp she’d come to think of as his “sex voice,” a sound so at odds with the smooth baritone he used when addressing the public, it was hard to reconcile with the prince she’d met that first day in the alley. “Ethan will pick you up in an hour.”
Lena hung up and busied herself cleaning the studio, rinsing brushes and wiping down tables in record time. Nia would be arriving any moment to take over the evening shift, and if she hurried, she’d have time to squeeze in a quick shower before Ethan picked her up. She’d just finished stuffing all the aprons in the washer and was measuring detergent when the overhead bell jangled.
“Is that you, Nia?” she called over her shoulder.
There was no response.
Not Nia, then. She hastily wiped her hands on her apron and pitched it in the washer before making her way to the front of the shop where she found a blonde in stiletto heels surveying the studio. Judging by the set of her lips, the visitor was unimpressed.
Lena wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t exactly their typical customer. Everything about her suggested she was more Upper East Side than East Village. She had the kind of sleek platinum hair that was rarely natural, and her creamy skin glowed as if it had been treated with only
the best lotions and serums. One look at her expensive suit and Lena figured the woman was lost, because no one showed up for art lessons dressed like that.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The woman turned to face her, looking her over from head to toe with a derisive snort.
Well, then.
“Are you Elena Murphy?” she finally said, her accent disturbingly similar to Liam’s.
Lena’s stomach churned. Whoever this woman was, it was no coincidence she’d stumbled into EVA. “Yes, and you are?”
“I am Lady Charlotte Dupont, and I’m a close personal friend of His Royal Highness, Prince William. We grew up together in Valeria.”
The way she put special emphasis on the word “close” raised Lena’s hackles. Liam had never mentioned a friend named Charlotte. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t mentioned any friends besides Fin.
A pang of jealousy struck hard and fast. Was it possible Liam had dated this woman? Fucked her, even?
No, she couldn’t picture it. She’d only just met Charlotte, but it was clear the woman had a permanent stick up her ass. So who was she and what was she doing in Lena’s studio?
Only one way to find out.
“It’s nice to meet a friend of Prince William’s,” she said, offering the other woman a bright smile. “What brings you by East Village Art today?” No way the woman had flown three thousand miles for a pottery lesson.
“I wanted to meet you,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Okay then. Definitely not here to make friends.
“May I speak frankly, Elena?” she asked, striding across the studio like she owned the place. Lena had a feeling Charlotte approached everything in her life with the same air of entitlement and, though it rankled, she wasn’t exactly surprised.
“We’re not big on pretense around here,” Lena said, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip.
A Royal Disaster Page 22