Part 3:

Interesting choice. Most people think it’s a love scene. Isn’t it? She heard herself ask. He turned to face her, and suddenly the gallery felt too small, the air too warm. I don’t think so. To me, it looks like a woman deciding how close she’ll let someone get. The metaphor landed with uncomfortable precision, making her throat tighten.

“Maybe she thinks the man is dangerous.” “Or maybe she’s just measuring how much danger she can handle,” Allesandro said, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made heat pull low in her stomach. “Seline took a small step back and gestured vaguely toward the office. We have exhibition preparations today. Visits are by appointment only.” I know.

Aleandro didn’t move. I came anyway. Of course he did, she thought, frustration and something dangerous tangling in her chest. Why? His expression softened in a way that felt genuine, unguarded. I wanted to see you to make sure you’re all right. The honesty nearly undid her composure, making her wrap her arms around the catalog she still held.

I’m fine, thank you. And thank you for the piano, though it was too much. And my father said you might take offense if I refused. Alessandro smiled. Something warm breaking through the controlled exterior. Your father knows me well. We have history. A friendship that goes back years. Selene found she couldn’t look away from his eyes, and the confession escaped before she could stop it.

My father told me to stay away from you. Alessandro took one step closer, his voice calm, but his eyes contradicting every word. He might be right. But his gaze traced over her face, lingered on her lips, traveled down to where her pulse hammered visibly in her throat, then back up with an intensity that made breathing difficult. He stopped 3 ft away, close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly.

“So, when I want to buy paintings for my home, will you be the one helping me?” Heat flooded her face as she bit her lip, trying desperately to maintain professional distance. I’m just a newly graduated assistant, Mr. Moretti. Madame Ober would be better suited. Aleandro looked down with a genuine smile that made him look younger, less controlled, more dangerous. I want your help.

I need fresh eyes, modern perspective. She felt her own smile threatening despite every warning echoing in her head. But I don’t make appointments to come here. Mr. Moretti, that’s not how galleries work. Then bring your catalog to dinner and we’ll discuss which pieces might suit my home, he said.

The suggestion waited with implications that had nothing to do with art. The laugh escaped, breathless and reckless. “Mr. Moretti, I can’t know your style without seeing your home.” The words were out before she could think, before she could stop them, and immediate panic crashed through her. “What are you doing? Your father was clear. This man is dangerous.

Stay away, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs. Aleandro’s smile widened with triumph. Then I’m expecting you for dinner at my home. Everything in her wanted to say yes. His voice, his eyes, the magnetic pull that made staying away feel impossible, but she forced herself to bite her lip hard and shake her head.

I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti. I can’t come to your home. I think you should speak with Madame Oair instead. She turned and walked toward the back office with measured steps that felt like retreat, her spine rigid and her shoulders tight. “Don’t look back,” she commanded herself. Even as heat spread across her neck and every nerve-ending screamed to turn around, Aleandro stood motionless, watching Seline disappear through the back door, and the question turned over in his mind like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “What is it about this girl? She

wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. wasn’t sophisticated or worldly or calculating like the women who usually crossed his path. Wasn’t anything that should have held his interest for more than 5 minutes. But underneath that innocence, he could feel something else. Fire, strength, a stubborn defiance that refused to bend when powerful men gave orders.

That’s what draws you in, he realized with uncomfortable clarity. She’s not afraid to say no. Not afraid to walk away. In his world, people said yes. They bent, they accommodated, they feared. Selene Davenport had just looked him in the eye and walked away. He turned back to the painting, the couple forever frozen in their careful separation, neither willing to cross the space between them first, and his jaw tightened with something that felt dangerously close to frustrated respect.

“Staying away from you would be best Seline,” he thought, the words hollow even as they formed, for both of us. But even as he walked toward the exit with his bodyguards falling into step beside him, Aleandro knew it was a lie. Because Selene Davenport had just become the most interesting thing in Monaco, and Aleandro Moretti didn’t walk away from things that interested him ever.

Madame Ober appeared from the back office as soon as Aleandro’s guards closed the door behind them, her sharp eyes bright with curiosity. What were you discussing with Msure Moreti? Sheri, if he’s considering purchasing, this would be very important for the gallery. Seline felt heat creep up her neck again as she set down the cataloges with hands that wanted to shake.

Yes, he’s interested in acquiring pieces for his home, but he specifically requested that I show him at dinner at his residence. She paused, forcing the next words out. I declined. Madame Oair’s perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted, something like surprise mixed with concern crossing her elegant features, though that would have been an important opportunity for the gallery, Masheri.

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