The Dancer: A Forbidden Billionaire Romance (Broken Slipper Series Book 2) by Vivian Wood

Author:Vivian Wood [Wood, Vivian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-12T18:30:00+00:00

19

Calum

“Are you sure you’re not going to give me even a hint of where we’re going?” Kaia asks.

I look over at her in the back seat of the limo, shaking my head. “No. You look incredible, though. Perfect for our destination.”

She blushes, looking down at her dark, clingy dress. I like the dress because it is short and simple… and it shows a daring amount of cleavage. Around her neck she wears the glittering emeralds and diamonds I got for her. “It was hard to know what to wear since you refuse to tell me where we are going. All I had to go on was your tux, really.”

I smirk at her, straightening my right cuff link. “It really doesn’t matter what you are wearing.”

Kaia shoots me an annoyed look. “That only makes me want to know where we’re going more.”

I look out the window as we turn onto the small town’s main drag. A grocery store is on the left. A bank on the right. Ahead, I can just make out the bright lights of the marquee.

“We’re almost there,” I tell her for the tenth time. “Just be patient.”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “You are enjoying keeping me in suspense.”

I snort. “You bet I am. I’ve started to figure you out, beauty. You’re impatient anytime that you feel out of control.”

She surprises me by scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out at me. A guffaw bursts from my chest as the limo begins to slow.

“You’re ridiculous,” I charge.

Kaia makes a big show of straightening her dress and patting her hair. “I don’t know what you mean, Calum.”

A grin plays about my lips as the vehicle stops. I shoot her a questioning look and then open the door, stepping out. I hold my hand out and she scoots over to take it, following me onto the sidewalk.

Her eyes immediately go to the marquee. “Hallman’s Art Gallery Welcomes Calum and Kaia.” Her eyes widen. She looks at me, her green eyes impossibly excited and full of questions.

I stick out my elbow, jerking my head toward the gallery’s main door. “Come on.”

Her eyebrows still arched, she allows me to lead her inside the door. It wasn’t hard to find the closest art gallery to my private beach house. Nor was arranging the string quartet that plays in the corner, or the frosty champagne that is offered to us by a middle aged woman.

We both accept a flute. Kaia sips hers nervously as she stares around at the blank walls. In the corner, the string quartet plays Chopin quietly.

“Welcome to Hallman’s, Monsieur Fordham,” the middle aged woman says, bowing her head. Her English is heavily inflected with a French accent. Her gray hair is in a neat ponytail, her dress is perfectly fitted. She brows her head. “I’m Louise-Therése. If you will just begin on your left, you will find your private gallery showing set up there.”

Kaia puts her hand in mine, her brow wrinkling. I lead her into the second room of the gallery.

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