pagne flutes clinking. Lily made her rounds, stopping to chat with pat

on, Mrs. Callaham, was discussing the merits of a particular modernist piece with a passion that Lily usua

ck into the moment. The older woman's pale blue eyes peered at

naging a smile. "I was just admiri

wever, betrayed her as they darted back to the figure across the room. Ethan Cornwell-a man with the bearing of a king

ity and critical detachment. He stood near one of her favorite pieces, "Emergence," an intricate metal sculpture that

her again. "You know I'm not the type to ju

to him? I can't just walk up t

ou're the curator of this entire exhibition. If a

such a formidable reputation felt daunting. Yet, deep down, she knew Lisa wa

ruby-red piece that complemented her fair skin-and made her way through the crowd. E

one," Lily observed a

sion thoughtful. "It's compel

ng her hands in front of her. "But thi

ou

g back. Long nights spent welding, every spark

ely businessman facade slipped. "There's strengt

re enjoying

nd her-a dramatic portrait of shadows and light. "Your cur

t her side to keep from fidgeting. "Thank you. I be

assessing her response. "And

touch of defiance. The tension between them hummed with an

a rare, genuine expression that made

y, you need to meet Mr. Caruso-he's interested in commissioning a new

turning away. "Mr. Cornwell, I hop

her departure, his e

e the crowd. For the first time, she was speaking not just to potential patrons