Around them, many visitors who loved art but couldn’t afford to buy any could only admire the works on display. When they saw what Rockwell was doing for Solenne, they couldn’t help but cast envious glances her way.
“She’s so lucky,” someone murmured. “That man must love her so much to buy all those expensive paintings just for her.”
“Every single painting here costs at least a million,” someone else whispered. “And he’s already bought more than a dozen!”
Solenne heard all the quiet, admiring whispers—but felt nothing.
Maybe the funniest joke she’d ever heard in her life… was that Rockwell loved her.
After about an hour, she had seen the entire exhibit. She told Rockwell she was going to the restroom.
But when she came back, she saw Rockwell locked in a fight with a French guy in his late 30s or early 40s.
The blue-gray-eyed guy with dark brown hair had already taken a brutal punch to the face—his cheek was swollen.
All she heard was Rockwell’s threatening voice. “If you dare slander Chesca again, I swear I’ll beat you to death!”