I took a step back, but his hand went to mine to stop me. “I know, no talk of marriage. But, you know I adore you. Is it wrong to want to be with you always?”
Danny Franco, the gallery’s new manager who I hadn’t met before, interrupted us then. “Sorry to break in, but I think it’s time for an introduction to this lovely lady.”
Mr. Franco looked Italian. He was tall, handsome, and wore a suit like he was born to it. His hair was black as obsidian and just as shiny, although not in a greasy way. The man was smooth, sophisticated, and smiled with such charisma, it was impossible not to grin back at him.
“Enough of that. Turn the charm down,” Timothy growled, as if he should ever worry over competition.
I gave him a quick smile, a mocking one, I’m afraid, and he took it with only a hint of chagrin.
“All right, you two. Danny Franco, this is Penelope, no last name necessary because she’s going to be taking mine as soon as possible.”
“You are consistently persistent,” I laughed. “But I bet the day I said yes, you’d run off screaming.”
“Not likely, my dearest,” Timothy said, kissing my hand. “But shall we try it, and see if you’re right?”
I pulled my hand back and held it out to shake hands with the new gallery manager. “Hi, Mr. Franco. My name is Penelope Casey,” I said, shaking his hand.
The man had on Italian shoes that probably cost more than my weekly salary. I reckoned maybe $1,000, but I once read that the really high quality men’s shoes went from $5,000 to $10,000. How could I tell? Rich color with a natural sheen that almost glowed, stitching that was small, fine, and delicate, and the fact that they looked sleek and timeless. How did I know all this? One of Cara’s friends, well, roommates, actually. James had gone on and on about fine quality men’s shoes, telling me more than I ever wanted to know.
“You like my shoes?” Mr. Franco asked with an amused look.
“Shouldn’t you be attending the guests,” Timothy asked. “That’s what you’re paid to do.”
“The guards will see to their behavior, and the guests don’t need me pointing out my favorite paintings. The connoisseurs must savor the art work on their own, without a curator breathing down their neck.”