All Chapters of I Slept With His Uncle And I Liked It: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

LucienI had arranged the private viewing before we left the hotel.The gallery had agreed to open a little earlier than usual, which meant we would have the space mostly to ourselves. I preferred it that way. There was little value in trying to examine a collection while moving around groups of people who stopped in front of paintings without looking at them properly.Elara disagreed.She had been standing in front of the first painting for almost three minutes when she turned to me.“You’re doing it again.”I looked at her. “Doing what, exactly?”“Critiquing everything.”“I am not critiquing everything. I am assessing the presentation of the work, which is part of the reason we came.”She raised an eyebrow.I looked back at the painting. “The spacing between the pieces in this section is poor. The works are competing with each other instead of allowing each one space to be considered properly.”Her mouth twitched. “You just proved my point.”“The spacing is still poor, regardless of

ElaraBy the time we finished at the café, I had almost forgotten about the folded note in my bag.Almost.I had spent the better part of the short walk back discussing everything except the thing Lucien had written on it. We talked about the gallery, the provenance issue, the books I had seen in the shop window, and the ridiculous amount of money some collectors were willing to spend on paintings they barely understood. He listened to most of it, occasionally correcting a detail or offering an observation that made me roll my eyes, and somehow that easy back-and-forth made it simpler not to think too hard about what he had planned.If I thought too much about the fact that he had chosen an activity for me, I would start wondering exactly what he expected, and I was not ready for that spiral yet.When we stopped outside the bookshop we had passed earlier on the walk down to the café, Lucien checked his phone and made a short call.“Bring the car to our current location, please. We are

ElaraThe first thing I remembered when I woke up wasn’t the sex, or even the way the night had ended. It was the dance.I covered my face with both hands as the memory came rushing back—the ridiculous confidence two sips of whiskey had given me, the way I had kept checking Lucien’s expression until I stopped caring whether he approved, and then the moment I had simply walked into the pool. A quiet groan escaped me, followed by a laugh. Apparently I had possessed myself.When I finally lowered my hands, Lucien was already awake. He was lying beside me, propped slightly against the headboard, watching me with the calm expression of a man who had been awake long enough to observe the entire progression of my embarrassment.“What has you in high spirits?” he asked.I turned onto my side and looked at him properly. His hair was slightly dishevelled from sleep, and the hard lines of his face seemed softer in the morning light. Without a suit, without his watch, without the usual controlled

ElaraI woke up with the taste of last night still in my mouth.The moment outside the hotel when Sebastian said my name and everything that had felt private for three days suddenly wasn’t. For a second I thought I was still standing on the pavement. Then the low hum of the engines settled in, and the pale light against the window told me I was already somewhere else.Paris was gone.I kept my eyes closed a little longer, as if that might delay the rest of it. Lucien had barely acknowledged the awkwardness. Once we were back inside the hotel he slipped into the version of himself I knew from work. The easy familiarity of the previous days vanished so quickly I almost wondered if I had imagined it. Over what remained of last night he told me my work in France was finished and that I should return to London the following morning. He and Sebastian would stay behind; they were leaving for Egypt on Friday. I was expected back at Beaumont Holdings to finish the Valmont project with Clara.

ElaraThe exhibition had gone better than I had allowed myself to hope.By the time the last guest left and the staff began clearing glasses from the reception area, I was tired enough to feel it in my bones, but there was a particular kind of satisfaction that made the exhaustion feel worthwhile. The final installation had held together beautifully, the turnout had exceeded our expectations, and several of the people whose opinions actually mattered had stayed long enough to ask intelligent questions instead of wandering through the space for ten minutes before leaving with a drink in hand.Clara and Mr. Moreau had spent months working on it. They had argued over artists, placement, lighting, acquisition details, transport schedules and more spreadsheets than I wanted to remember. In the week leading up to the event, there had been moments when I was convinced we were going to kill each other, particularly whenever Clara decided my carefully constructed timeline was an attack on her