Marriage Lessons Read online

  Resigned, she stood, heading for the door, but Max’s words stopped her.

  “I apologize for my actions Friday night.”

  Turning slowly, she eyed him carefully. She hadn’t been prepared for those words, but she’d take that over the anger she’d expected. “Thank you. Apology accepted.”

  Louis cleared his throat loudly from inside the studio.

  As Max’s face turned an even darker shade of red, one that bordered on an unhealthy purple, he clenched his jaw tightly and spoke through gritted teeth. “I will never speak like that to you again, nor will I ever touch you without your permission.”

  Her eyes went wide. Although she knew she was staring at him, she couldn’t help it. She’d never, ever expected to hear those words coming out of Max’s mouth. The whole thing felt surreal. “Thank you,” she said warily. “I appreciate that.”

  With a tight nod, he did an abrupt about-face and headed back into the studio, leaving the door open this time. “Will that suffice?” he asked Louis.

  “Yes.” Louis paused slightly. “As long as you keep your word.”

  A grunt was Max’s only response. Except for the clack of dress shoes across the polished studio floor, there was silence until the exterior door slammed. The loud bang made Annabelle jump since she was straining so hard to hear. As soon as she heard that, she jumped out of her seat and rushed into the studio. Louis was standing at his work bench, staring at his current painting in progress, frowning and apparently oblivious to both Max’s explosive exit and her curious hovering. She knew him better than that, though.

  “Come oooonnn,” she said when he stayed silent. The corners of his mouth quivered, and she knew he was holding back a smile. “You’re killing me here. What was all of that about? How’d you get him to apologize to me? He looked like he was about to have a stroke just from the horror of having to say he was sorry. You need to tell me everything.”

  “Fine.” Louis looked up at her and unleashed his grin. “I called and told him that he wasn’t welcome at the gallery from now on.”

  She blinked at him for a second. Although the words were clear, their meaning was hard to take in. “What?” she finally said. It wasn’t the most coherent response, but it was all she could manage. “You kicked out Max—your friend, the father of the gallery’s most profitable artist?”

  “Hey!”

  “Second-most profitable after you, of course.”

  His shrug was much too casual after dropping that bombshell. “Yeah. What’s the point of owning a gallery if I can’t ban people from it?”

  As she continued to stare at him, his expression turned quizzical.

  “What?” he finally asked. “Are you upset I kicked him out? He’s apologized, so he’s back in again, although you need to let me know if he does something when I’m not around.”

  “I’m not upset.” She clasped her hands together in front of her in order to keep them from reaching out. “I’m trying very hard not to hug the stuffing out of you.”

  His smile shifted, becoming sweeter as he eyed her. “You don’t have to resist. I understand my huggable-ness.”

  Touching him would be wonderful, but it would be a very bad idea that would toss her down the slippery slope of lust and groping. Although she managed to keep her hands to herself, resisting the siren call of Louis’s broad shoulders and sturdy chest, she had to convey to him how much it meant to her that he’d kicked out Max. She struggled with finding the right words, and the ones she finally settled on were sadly insufficient. “You’re a very good boss.”

  “You’re a very good employee.” He pointed one of his paintbrushes at her in emphasis. “Max acted like a very big dick. You shouldn’t have to be around someone who behaves like that, and I’m sorry I left you in that position, especially after you warned me about him. Tell me if he says or does anything you don’t like again. Promise?”

  “I promise.” Even as she firmed her chin and kept the sappiness out of her expression with extreme effort, her stomach melted into liquid goo. Louis made it impossible not to love him. “Do you promise to literally toss him out of the gallery if he does?”

  “Promise.” Louis gave her a wicked grin. “I’ve never done that before. It might be fun.”

  Her gaze dropped to his painting as she laughed, still feeling quivery inside from his show of loyalty. “How’s this going?” She needed a change of subject to smother all the squishy love feelings she had for him.

  His groan was long and melodramatic, but she sensed a true note of frustration. “It’s not. I’m fully stuck.”

  “Why don’t you start something new?” She tapped the open space next to the partially finished painting. “Even if it’s just for fun, it might shove you over your speed bump.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment. “That’s an excellent idea.”

  “That’s the only kind I have, really.” Annabelle placed a hand on her chest with mock modesty, and Louis started to laugh, even as he grabbed a piece of heavy watercolor paper from the rack behind him.

  “Remember when you thought it’d be a good idea to have those kids come here on a field trip?”

  Knowing better than to stick around for one of Louis’s strolls down memory lane, she started toward the gallery, giving him a wave over her shoulder. “Time for me to get back to work.”

  “And there were fifty of the little bastards running around putting their hands on everything? Remember the booger one of them wiped on the back of my Blue Devil print? Do you remember that brilliant idea of yours, Annabelle Shay?” Even though she rushed, his voice followed her out of the studio.

  As she pulled up her email, she couldn’t help but smile, her earlier cranky mood forgotten. Louis had kicked out Max—rich, powerful, influential Max—because he’d been rude to her. Even if she hadn’t already been in love with him, this would’ve catapulted her right over the wall into Louis-land. Never before had a boss risked losing a sale or a customer in order to defend her.

  He really was the best.

  Chapter Four

  Annabelle screwed in the small LED bulb, and the display lamp glowed, illuminating the oil painting. She took a second to admire the piece. The artist, Desi, had an ultra-realistic style that always tempted Annabelle to touch the surface of the canvas to see if she could actually feel the heat of the steam rising off the sweating horse or the rough texture of the log it was pulling.

  Although she’d been sad to take down Yun-seo’s work earlier in the day in preparation for the new show, filling the gallery with Desi’s paintings more than made up for it. The two artists’ styles were completely different, but equally compelling, and Annabelle loved that she was able to experience both of them. Her job really was amazing. She couldn’t sculpt to save her life, and even a kindergartner could draw a better stick figure than Annabelle could, but she was good at managing the gallery, and working for Louis allowed her to spend her days wallowing neck-deep in art.

  Climbing off the stepladder, she glanced around the gallery, looking for any other issues. It seemed like the trigger for a lightbulb to stop working or a cobweb to appear on the ceiling was the second she put away the ladder. Everything looked good, the vibrant, realistic paintings illuminated perfectly... Well, everything looked good except for the hyperventilating artist standing in the corner.

  After stowing the stepladder, she closed the closet door and walked over to pat the artist’s shoulder encouragingly. “Desi, your work is amazing. How do you keep getting better and better?”

  Desi gave her a sad attempt at a smile, but the sickly color underlying her dark skin made Annabelle a little nervous. She’d rather not start the night by cleaning up a nervous artist’s vomit. She gently ushered Desi toward her desk in the corner—which was also conveniently close to the bathroom, just in case—and urged her to sit in the chair.

  “It’s goin
g to go well, I promise.” Annabelle pulled a bottle of water from her bag and offered it to Desi, who took it gratefully. “Just think of how your first two showings went. Everyone looooved you.” Desi’s smile became a bit more authentic, but she still looked like she was seconds from losing her lunch, so Annabelle continued talking in what was hopefully a soothing tone. “If you want, you can hide in Louis’s studio until you’re ready to mingle.”

  Although she looked tempted, Desi shook her head. “That’d be too pathetic. This is my third show. Shouldn’t I be over the nerves? Why does my stomach still feel like it’s trying to eat itself?”

  “Hate to break it to you,” Louis said as he walked into the gallery, “but I still hide in my studio before—and during—my shows, and I’ve been doing this for years.”

  Desi grimaced. “That’s not encouraging.” Her glance at him turned into a horrified stare. “What in God’s name are you wearing?”

  “What?” Louis looked down at his baggy, brightly colored pants. “You don’t like them?”

  “Those pants are...a bold choice.” It always amazed Annabelle that Louis could be so good at art and so bad about dressing himself. “What happened to your favorite black ones?”

  He slapped his prosthetic leg. “Rubbed a hole in them.”

  That happened a lot. As Annabelle eyed the splashy orange-and-purple pattern, she could only hope that these latest pants wouldn’t last very long. “Where’d you find those?”

  “The yoga store down the street.” He held out the fabric at his thighs, showing that he could’ve fit a whole second Louis in there.

  Annabelle met Desi’s amused gaze and sighed. At least Louis’s unfortunate fashion choice had distracted the artist from her nerves. “They look...comfortable?”

  “Very.” Louis grinned at her, and Annabelle knew that not only would he carry off the orange-and-purple pants with aplomb, but he’d probably start a trend. “They’re called harem pants.” He batted his ridiculously long eyelashes at them. “Do they make you want to put me in your harem?”

  Yes. The answer popped into Annabelle’s head, and she tried to push away tempting thoughts of having Louis as her harem boy. Swallowing a groan when her imagination refused to stop showing her the enticing images, she glanced at the clock and then focused on Desi. “I need to unlock the door in a couple of minutes. What do you think? Hide or show off that amazing dress?”

  The ugly-pants distraction worked, because Desi laughed and didn’t look like she was going to heave at any second anymore. “If Louis can brave the crowd wearing that—” she pointed her finger at him and ticked it up and down “—then I can handle it.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’ll be hearing all the accolades.” Giving Desi an approving arm squeeze, Annabelle headed for the small kitchen in the back where the caterer had set up. Gwen and her three employees bustled around making last-minute adjustments. “All set?”

  Without even looking up from the tray she was arranging, Gwen gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Great.” Annabelle wasn’t surprised that everything was under control, since Gwen was the most competent person she’d ever met. “I’m going to open the door, then.”

  “Go for it,” Gwen said.

  As Annabelle passed through the gallery on her way to the door, Louis’s pants caught her eye again, and she gave a soft laugh. She had a feeling that a big part of the reason he’d worn them was to distract Desi from her panicked state—that, and because Louis didn’t seem to feel embarrassed...ever. She was envious of that freedom—but not of his new pants. Those were irredeemably hideous.

  As she unlocked the door and turned on the front window display lights, she felt a ripple of nerves. It was the same before every show, that worry of not having anyone come. Desi was both sweet and talented, so Annabelle hoped extra hard that it would be a good crowd and that many of the pieces would sell.

  After returning the keys to her desk, she smoothed her dress. It was her usual outfit for a show—understated and modest and boring—something that made her into a backdrop rather than the artwork on display. She understood the importance of the uniform, but she wished for a moment that she could wear something flashy and daring for once. Even when she went with Louis to social events, she always felt as if she were in work mode and was representing the gallery. She’d love to go on an actual date where she could choose what she wanted to wear and be the center of attention—at least in her date’s eyes.

  Her gaze drifted over to find Louis again, and she shook off her wistful thoughts. This wasn’t the time. She had a showing to manage. Straightening her shoulders and wiggling her toes in her practical heels, she moved to greet the first guests.

  The gallery quickly filled, the initial low murmurs of conversation and laughter building into a steady roar as drinks flowed and the crowd grew larger. Annabelle moved from group to group, keeping a careful eye on Desi. The artist seemed to be over her nervousness, helped by a couple of glasses of wine and lots of well-deserved fawning attention. Now she glowed with excitement and happiness, and Annabelle couldn’t help but smile every time she glanced over there. She took some photos and posted to the gallery’s social media accounts before tucking her phone back into the pocket of her dress.

  “Where’d your phone go?” Louis asked from behind her.

  “My pocket.” She couldn’t hold back a smug smile.

  “What?” He moved around in front of her, looking suitably impressed by her achievement. “You found one?”

  “I did.” Dramatically, she tucked her hands into the pockets sewn into the swishy folds of her knee-length skirt. The movement made her smile as a bubble of satisfied warmth filled her chest. “It wasn’t easy, but I actually found a gallery dress that has usable pockets.”

  “Amazing.” He looked just as excited about her find as she had, and suddenly she appreciated her boring, plain dress a lot more. Maybe it wasn’t flashy or dramatic, but it was handy. His mouth turned down at the corners in a fake frown. “My harem pants don’t have any pockets.”

  She studied his lower half critically. “I don’t know why not. There’s plenty of room. You could fit the entire contents of your toolbox in there if you did have pockets.”

  Looking down at himself, he said, “True, but the weight might be too much for the elastic waistband.”

  That struck Annabelle as very funny, and a giggle snuck out before she could stop it. “Those pants, Louis...”

  “They are pretty marvelous, aren’t they?”

  “They’re something.”

  Before he could respond to her sarcasm, Regina Gladsbury joined them. After inheriting a great deal of money from her late grandmother, Regina started a high-end interior decorating business in Bozeman and was known for her excellent taste in art. Her personal collection would make a museum curator drool. Her dark hair was coiled into a sleek twist and her model-worthy body was draped in a dress that very likely cost a hundred times more than Annabelle had ever spent on any piece of clothing. Annabelle comforted herself with the thought that Regina’s dress didn’t have convenient pockets.

  “Louis!” Regina gave him a kiss on each cheek, seemingly oblivious to his stiff pose and the fact that he did not reciprocate. Annabelle attempted to slip away, but his hand shot out and caught her by the wrist. With a sigh, she settled in next to him, putting on her best polite face.

  “Good to see you, Regina.” Annabelle offered her hand. Although she was fairly certain that no kisses would be coming her way, she wanted to head Regina off at the pass. Annabelle could act professionally friendly for the sake of a gallery opening, but she’d rather keep a little distance. After all, she was pretty certain that Regina couldn’t stand her.

  “Annabelle, dear.” Her voice chilled, getting a slightly brittle edge as she shook Annabelle’s hand with the very tips of her fingers for the bare minimum amount of time. “Aren’t you looking...sp
orty.”

  That, of course, amused Louis, and Annabelle was very careful not to glance at him as she held on to her polite smile. “Thank you, Regina. My dress is a rare find. Louis and I were just discussing how hard it is to find one with pockets.”

  “Pockets?” Giving a laugh that could only be described as tinkling, Regina managed to convey how silly she thought that idea was with the slightest lift of one eyebrow and a flick of a glance toward Louis, as if asking him to join her in her condescending amusement. Despite the woman’s general unpleasantness, Annabelle had to be impressed with the woman’s highbrow mean-girl skills. “Why on earth would you want to ruin the line of a dress that way? Just have your escort carry anything that doesn’t fit in your purse.” She lifted her tiny clutch as if it was a visual aid.

  She was caught halfway between amusement and offense, but a surreptitious poke from Louis sent her over to the humor side. The knowledge that they’d laugh about this later reminded her that they were a team, and the warm glow from that thought overwhelmed the tiny bit of annoyance at Regina’s rudeness.

  “Everything should have pockets,” she said cheerfully. “They’re so convenient when I’m working and need both hands free. I’ll have to leave it to you to bring the glamour.” She gestured toward Regina’s admittedly gorgeous gown.

  With a wordless murmur of what sounded like agreement, Regina turned to Louis. “Speaking of fashion, what are you wearing? You artists are always on the cutting edge.” She brushed her fingers against his left hip, and he shifted away.

  The move must’ve unbalanced him, and he gave a small hop. Annabelle automatically moved closer, offering her arm, and he caught her elbow. Recovering from his bobble only took a second or two, but he didn’t release her once he’d regained his balance. Instead, he caught her hand and switched their position so that her fingers were resting in the crook of his elbow, instead. Since she’d never turn down the opportunity to touch one of Louis’s massive, well-defined arms, she wasn’t bothered by this at all. Having him right there next to her was reassuring, and her slightly crumpled self-confidence recovered its full strength.