However, it would be unfair to expect Peter to be okay with a fact I’d wrapped my head around long ago. If he was the kind of man who’d spent a great deal of time imagining what it would be like to have kids of his own, I didn’t want to be the thing that stood between him and that dream.
Nobody pushed me any further to talk about me and Peter over the course of breakfast. I was grateful for it as I stuffed my face with hash browns and bacon. The meal was better than I thought it would be, and I’d already had high expectations going in.
By the time my belly was full and I’d made my way through a second cup of coffee, Rick had arranged for all of us to head down to the art gallery of one of his close friends that was near the hotel. At first, I was going to decline the invitation but I thought better of it. Peter said he would be gone for a few hours and I’d only managed to kill one. I might as well get out there and have some fun with the friends I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time with over the course of a year.
So we piled into a minivan taxi cab, much to the protest of Hailey, who was not terribly interested in climbing up into the seats or spending much time in a car at all. She was happy when we arrived outside the gallery, a sleek, standalone, modern building with massive windows that showed off the colorful art inside.
We followed Rick in, and he met a man in a light gray suit in the foyer and shook his hand. Rick turned to us and introduced him. “This is my good friend, Walker Vice. He’s the owner of the gallery and the artist. Walker, this is the crew.”
Walker was a good-looking man. He was tall, too—taller than both Jackson and Rick, both of whom would certainly not be considered short. He had a clean-cut look that I didn’t associate with an artist, but when he reached out to shake my hand, I spotted speckles of blue paint on his wrist and under his nails.
“Nice to meet you all,” Walker said, grinning around at all of us. “Rick has spent a lot of money in my gallery and any friend of his is a friend of mine. Look around, take your time, and let me know if you have any questions. And if you think art like this is pretentious as hell, feel free to make a mockery out of my life’s work. I won’t take it personally.”
I snorted.
Walker flashed me a devilishly charming smile and pointed my way. “Girl in the back. Thank you for laughing at my joke and not making me feel like an ass.”
I tipped my head to him and gave a little curtsey. “It was a pleasure.”
Walker threw his head back and laughed, then clapped Rick on the shoulder and banished all of us to peruse his collection.
I noticed almost immediately that there was most definitely a running theme here. All of the paintings, save for a handful, were of beautiful naked women. One of them caught my eye and I wandered over to it, soaking in the sight of the rich warm tones, red, orange, rust brown, and streaks of gold through her hair. It reminded me of terracotta, fire, and sex. The woman was all dramatic curves, her face contrasting angles, her hair dark and wild as her skin.
I glanced at the tag below the frame. The model’s name was there. This was his creative expression of a real woman.
Jackson moved up to stand beside me. “Now that’s talent, wouldn’t you say?”
I nodded, still in awe of Walker’s work. “He has a gift. I’d hang this on my wall and I’m not someone who has any knowledge about art at all. But this? It’s beautiful.”
“Careful, if Rick hears you talking like that, he might buy it for you.”
I laughed. “I have no problem taking money from my rich friends.”
“Only your brother,” he said pointedly.
“Christmas is coming,” I teased. “I wouldn’t complain if this was wrapped up under my tree.”
My brother chuckled. “Noted.”
I didn’t notice that Walker had sidled up next to me until he cleared his throat. I practically jumped out of my skin and he offered me a gracious, apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve been told