“I won’t be long.” She turned and fled, her fingers shaking as she pushed open the door of the gallery and stepped onto the busy Athens street.
Deep into the icy-cold night,Phoebe stood in the center of the Gallery Valentina in the middle of Athens’ art precinct, with a glowing sense of accomplishment. The guests and staff were gone now, the champagne had been put away, the floors cleaned, leaving a pristine space with the art she’d hand-chosen adorning the walls.
The curator Rebecca had given Phoebe a lot of latitude, appreciating her insights and natural instinct for arrangement and placement, and for Phoebe, her work had become an extension of who she was, so she could no longer tell where she ended, and her vocation began. It felt as if her true purpose in life had been realized. The blissful happiness she experienced every day was something she’d never known possible, let alone that it would be hers.
“Well, my darling?” His voice sent goosebumps over her skin, as it always did.
She smiled as she turned to face him, and as he drew her into his arms, holding her tight, swaying a little, as if dancing to their own soundtrack. Gratitude filled her, for the courage she’d had in taking the step to be with him. Ever since that evening, she hadn’t looked back. “That was amazing.”
“You’ve certainly put together an exceptional showing.”
“Not hard with pieces like this. The media was in a frenzy.”
“I expect the gallery will be at capacity for months.”
“Definitely.” She drew back, so she could see him better. “I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity to work on this.”
“You earned it. And you proved what a natural you are. Just don’t let one of the bigger galleries headhunt you. At least, not right away.”
His faith in her made her heart swell, particularly because she knew he was right. She could feel how good she was at this.
“I’m sorry your dad isn’t here to see it,” she said, softly, glad they could speak of Konstantinos now with equal grief and sadness for the void he’d left in their lives.
“He’d have been so proud of you.” Anastasios kissed her forehead.
“I really think he would have.”
Phoebe had been workingtwenty-hour days for the week leading up to the gallery’s opening, so the surprise Anastasios had planned for opening night had to be postponed. Of higher priority was getting her home, running a bubble bath then tucking her into bed for a good night’s sleep.
But in the morning, when she stepped into the kitchen, all the elaborate plans he’d made for candlelit dinners on the rooftop terrace with the accompaniment of a string quartet fell completely by the wayside. She was so heart wrenchingly, ethereally beautiful, and he was so utterly and completely in love with her, he had to speak the words he’d been thinking for months, before they chewed through him from the inside out.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said, sipping his coffee to moisten his suddenly dry throat.
“Can coffee be a part of it? I’m so tired.”
Maybe this wasn’t the best time. Maybe she was too tired to think straight? But his nerves were stretched to breaking point and he knew he had to do this. He’d been waiting months, deciding that focusing on the gallery was most important for Phoebe, that he didn’t want to get in her way or be a distraction.
He turned and began making her coffee on autopilot. It was a small morning ritual they had, one he hoped to take part of every day for the rest of his life.
He slid the cup across the bench, then stood, still and silent, while she took her first sip.
“Okay, shoot.”
He arched a brow. It was a command, and he was more than willing to obey.
“I love you,” he said, simply, so her brow furrowed.
“This is not new information, but I’ll never get sick of hearing it.”
He laughed softly, his nerves relaxing a little.
“More than I ever knew it was possible to love someone. Being with you has blown the walls right off whatever I thought relationships were about. I’ve known for a long time that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and what I’m asking is if you would like to spend yours with me?”
She blinked, the coffee forgotten. “You know I do.”
Was he doing this wrong? Did she understand what he was asking?
He reached above the cabinets—far too high for Phoebe to reach, let alone see—and pulled down a black velvet box. He opened it carefully, then bent down on one knee, holding the ring for her to see. She lifted her hands to her mouth and clasped them there, eyes misty.