Park Avenue Prince

“We’re just here,” he said, pointing at the building in front of us. “If your feet get tired, I’m sure I can give you a piggyback.”

This didn’t look like a restaurant. There were no lights, no people. We were on a pretty deserted street. I glanced around. Where exactly were we? I looked up at the huge mansion. Wasn’t that the Frick—one of my favorite places in the world? I wasn’t used to seeing it at night. It had the most beautiful art collection. I’d always liked to imagine arriving for dinner here, ready to swap stories with Teddy Roosevelt and Edith Wharton, as if I wasn’t a visitor but a guest at the grand house.

“I’m sure you’ve been to this place a million times, but I wondered if you’d share it with me?” Sam asked as he took my hand and led me up the stoop.

I’d assumed we’d have dinner at some fancy restaurant. A tour of this place was so much better, but the black heels I’d put on with my blue leather skirt and silk shirt weren’t really designed for walking. I might have known Sam would surprise me.

“Those shoes are something else,” he said.

I looked up at him, and he was staring at my legs. “Something else?” I asked, grinning.

Our eyes locked. “Yeah, you should come with a warning sign,” he whispered into my ear.

I wanted him to kiss me, but knew if he did, neither of us would be able to stop.

We entered the door to find a man holding a tray with two glasses of champagne. Sam picked up both drinks and handed one to me. “Here’s to a lovely evening.”

“Sam,” I said and took a sip, “it was really nice of you to bring me here, thoughtful. But I might be a little underdressed. Is it a formal reception or something?” I asked, transferring my weight from one foot to the other.

“It’s whatever we want it to be,” he said. “I thought maybe you could show me your favorite pieces and then we’ll have dinner in the dining room.”

“The dining room?” He couldn’t mean the dining room in the Frick. Maybe he meant a restaurant nearby?

“Yeah, they asked me which room, but since I had no idea what you’d like I went with the obvious choice.”

“We’re going to eat in the dining room, amongst the Gainsborough and the Hoppner?” He couldn’t be serious. It was one of my favorite parts of the place.

“I couldn’t tell you what’s in the room, to be honest. Just that there are a lot of paintings in there. I thought you might like it.”

“Like it?” I stared at him as he frowned at me. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” The faint hint of a blush bloomed across his cheeks as I slid my hand into his. “Where should we start?”

He led me into the Garden Court. The place was surprisingly empty. The curved glass roof that normally let in the sun was dark but the fountain in the middle of the courtyard was still babbling to the surrounding palms despite the time of night. Were we the only members of the public here? “Sam Shaw, do we have this place all to ourselves?” I whispered as our footsteps on the stone walkway echoed around us.

“They don’t normally open on a Saturday night. I thought it would be nice to be here, just the two of us.”

When had any man in my life ever done anything so thoughtful for me? Okay, so to be fair, no one I’d dated since high school had money, but that wasn’t what made tonight special. Sam had organized things because he’d thought about me, and what would make me happy. Just the thought and attention he’d given to the evening to make it feel special, make me feel special. I shivered.

“Is this what you do? Extravagance, blow women away with your thoughtfulness in order to get into their panties?”

He scraped his hand through his hair. “I’ve blown you away?”

I hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to make it so obvious I wasn’t used to men treating me as if I were special, because if I did he might stop, and I didn’t want him to. “Yeah. A little bit.”

The corners of his mouth began to curl upward and he nodded.

“A lot actually,” I confessed.

“Good.”

“I’m going to kick off my shoes and make myself comfortable, if you don’t mind,” I said as we walked into the small, windowless Oval Room at the end of the Garden Court.

“I want you to be comfortable. If you wanted to slip the skirt off and walk around naked, that would be just fine with me, too.”

I laughed. “Naked at the Frick? Not with all these eyes on us,” I said, sweeping my arm around at the portraits that lined the room. “We can save that for when we go to the Guggenheim.”

Sam laughed. Why hadn’t I noticed the smile lines around his eyes before? Perhaps because I didn’t see him laugh that often. But a smile suited him. I could imagine Sam as a kid, tumbling about with his friends in the backyard, young and carefree. When had he become so serious?

We wandered from room to room, stopping at various paintings. Sometimes, I talked about what I liked about the works. Sam seemed content just to listen, squeezing my hand at various intervals.

“Is that Degas?” he asked, nodding toward a picture of ballerinas. “You said he liked to paint dancers.”

A rush of pride surged within me. He’d been listening, interested in what I was saying. “Yes. Degas. This is very typical of him.

Sam leaned forward to read the title of the picture on the plaque. “The Rehearsal.”

“Degas liked to paint what he saw as real life, rather than posed models, so it follows that theme.” Sam stayed silent, studying the painting. “Almost half his work depicts dancers as they sold so well.”

He straightened up and turned to me. “Ahhh, he was a businessman about his art. How do you feel about that, Grace Astor? You don’t like people who just want to make money from art.”

I laughed. It was a fair challenge. “I think it was a combination of head and heart for Degas. At least I like to think so.”

We wandered into the West Gallery.

“I think this one is my favorite,” I said as we stood in front of Turner’s Harbor of Dieppe. “The way he can make the surface of the water look like glass like he does.” I shook my head. “It gets me every time.”

“Where do you mean?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he scanned the canvas.

“Look where the sun hits the water. You have to concentrate without looking too hard at the components of the painting. Look at the scene as a whole—”

“Oh wow, yes,” he said. “I see it. And the light. It’s beautiful.”

His enjoyment seemed real and as much as I loved these paintings, seeing him love them gave me an additional level of pleasure.

“Some people criticized it as being too unrealistic because the light in his pictures is so beautiful,” I said.

“People always find a reason to complain.”

The man who had served us champagne interrupted us. “Sir, dinner is ready whenever you are.”

“Are you hungry?” Sam asked.

“Sure,” I said, though honestly, I wasn’t. I felt full up with life, happiness. With the evening. With Sam.

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