Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) (10 page)

Chapter 18

On Friday evening, Darcy stood in a trendy Chelsea art gallery in front of an enormous black canvas painted with a single white dot in the very center. The plaque below it read: MAN’S QUEST FOR ENLIGHTENMENT
.

Huh.
Taking a sip of her wine, she tilted her head.
Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t feel enlightened.
A warm hand settled on her shoulder.

“Do you like this one?” Blake asked, gesturing with his wine glass. “I’m looking for a piece for my study.”

“Um, well, I think we should keep looking.” There had to be something here that made sense to her. She glanced around, past the eccentric artists, with their multi-colored hair, and the chichi art-collector types, at the display of pricey paintings, most featuring unrecognizable objects, hoping to spot something that resembled art in her mind.

And definitely
not
the one semi-recognizable behemoth that looked suspiciously like a magnified male anatomical part, which should definitely
not
be on display at a children’s charity fundraiser. The plaque under that one read: CAREFUL. OBJECTS IN THIS PAINTING MAY APPEAR LARGER THAN THEY ARE.

Whew. So glad they cleared that up.
Where was a nice Renoir when you needed one?

While admittedly Philistine, she didn’t allow her opinion of the art, and she used that term loosely, to taint her endorsement of the charitable purpose of the showing. A percentage of the proceeds raised from that night’s sale of the art would benefit the Art for Art’s Sake program, which supported children’s art courses at the city’s many after-school programs.

Thus, if in the end, Blake chose to purchase The Dot, at least a portion of the cool six-digit selling price would go to a worthwhile cause.

“Mongrel is an up-and-coming artist.” Blake drew Darcy’s attention back to The Dot. “Critics are calling his work emotional and intense.”

“Mongrel? Seriously? His mother must have
really
hated him.”

Blake laughed. “It’s a moniker.”

“I knew that,” she said with a sheepish grin. But really, who
willingly
chooses a synonym for mutt as a nickname?

“Mark my words, one day his work will sell for millions.”

Darcy just chose to smile in response.
If you say so.
Her gaze traveled back to The Dot. If that was emotional and intense, she’d hate to see dispassionate and listless.

Blake droppe
d the equivalent of her mortgage on two paintings, including Mongrel’s Dot, and another painting of a gray square amid a background of violent purple, called BLANK SLATE
.

After arranging for the delivery of his purchases to his apartment, they took a romantic stroll along the High Line. Built on an old freight line above Manhattan’s Westside streets, the High Line offered a low-flying bird’s-eye view of the Hudson and New York’s skyline.

On a soft spring evening, they ambled, hand in hand, through the Chelsea Grasslands with its many and varied flowers in bloom, toward the Meatpacking District, a one-time destination of the historic elevated trains that once traveled the thirty-foot high tracks.  

With no destination in mind and no particular time to get there, they stopped frequently for a closer look at the flowers, to point out this landmark or that tableau on the street below, or for no other reason than to kiss. The practice was definitely paying off. The goal of the Perfect Kiss seemed imminently attainable.    

Blake gently cradled Darcy’s face in his brilliant surgeon’s hands, and gazed into her eyes. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Yes,” Darcy breathed. Mesmerized by the indigo blue of his eyes, she struggled to cobble together a subject and verb to form a sentence. “But you can tell me again if you like. I’m not one of those picky women who mind if you repeat yourself.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “All right.” His hands slid to either side of her neck, their warmth sending tingles down her spine. “You are so beautiful. You were the only true work of art in that gallery tonight.”

Darcy blinked.
Wow.
G
ood one.
That line was definitely going in the next book.

Putting the finishi
ng touches on the chocolate chip mascarpone cupcakes topped with rich chocolate ganache frosting she’d made for Cindy’s bridal shower, Darcy realized for the first time in her adult life, she wasn’t looking for the flaws in her current, dare she say it?, boyfriend. As if she’d find any. The fact that she’d even gotten beyond a first date said a lot about her feelings for Blake. But then again, he
was
made to order.  

After dinner at a swanky restaurant in the Meatpacking District, Blake had taken her to his elegantly furnished penthouse, ostensibly to show her where he planned to hang his recent purchases. The old ‘would you like to come up and see my etchings’ ploy.

She had fully expected him to put the moves on her once the excuse for the visit was out of the way. And let’s face it, she wouldn’t have stopped him if he had. But instead, he’d offered her a fine tawny port and a stunning view of Central Park from his basketball-court-sized terrace.

Even so, she had welcomed the opportunity to check out his place. While not her taste, his décor suited his persona, and fit the image she’d had in mind when she’d written him. All clean lines, sleek surfaces, and muted colors. Very tidy and masculine. 

He had eclectic taste in art. Everything from abstract modern pieces similar to what he’d purchased at the gallery to Picasso-like cubist works, and chaotic drip paintings not unlike Pollock’s. Only, to her astonishment, upon closer inspection she’d discovered that the Picasso-
like
painting was, in fact, a Picasso.

Admittedly, she’d been disappointed at first by his honorable intentions, and while her ego had suffered a minor ding, looking back, she appreciated his gentlemanly restraint. Maybe a little old-fashioned, practically prehistoric by Laura’s standards, and certainly out of step with the more adventurous heroines she created, Darcy preferred a strong emotional connection before taking the relationship up a notch, or five. 

That wasn’t to say things didn’t get a little amorous beneath the stars. She smiled at the memory, and licking the creamy chocolate from her fingers, placed a lid on the cupcake carrier, grabbed her gift, her purse, and her keys, and walked out to her stoop to wait for Laura to pick her up.

Notwithstanding the pretentious patrons at the art gallery, well, that, and the missed foul ball opportunity the previous week, Blake was batting a thousand on his dates. 

But with the upcoming release of
The Doctor’s Dilemma
inching closer every day, and the promotional activities she’d undertake soon, she had her own thorny dilemma. As Laura slid up to the curb in her flashy red Fiat 500 (she’d worked on their latest ad campaign), Darcy wondered how she was going to explain to him, and everyone else, how the guy she’s been dating came to be the hero in her latest novel. Or worse yet, vice versa.

Amid the champagne punch, elegant wedding-
themed wrapping paper, frilly bows, and feminine laughter, Darcy watched wistfully as Cindy, seated in the chair of honor, wearing a sketchy Halloween-costume-of-a-bridal-veil, opened her gifts. She let her imagination take over, and suddenly it was her bridal shower. And the lucky groom? Why, Blake, of course.

The real bride-to-be blushed fifty shades of red when she pulled the
Fifty Shades of Grey
trilogy from the chic white gift bag.

Darcy rolled her eyes. She didn’t have to ask who gave her that as a gift. “Jeez, Laura.”

“What? I think of it as a how-to manual. Except in my world the roles are reversed.”

Hoots of approval, followed by howls of laughter, only made Cindy blush all the more. But Darcy thought she looked beautiful. She leaned over and whispered that exact sentiment to Laura, who glanced over at Cindy and waved her hand in the air as she replied. “She does have that certain . . .
je ne sais quoi
.”

Darcy drew back with a snort. “Let me guess, a Frenchman this time.”

“
Oui.
François
.” Laura sipped from her champagne glass. “He’s a sculptor. And looks like Michelangelo’s
David
.”

“What do you do? Hang out in front of the U.N.?”

“No, but that’s not a bad idea, actually. Anyway, François says he wants to sculpt me.” Laura’s face split into a wide dreamy grin.

“I bet he does.”

“So, what’s the story on you and Dr. Perfect? You two playing doctor yet?”

“If we were, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Liar. And you just did.”

“What do you mean?”

“The fact that you didn’t blush the same shade as our bride over there when you answered.” Laura popped a delicate petit four into her mouth then shot Darcy a knowing smirk.

“Remind me again why I’ve stayed friends with you since kindergarten?”

“Aw, come on. You know it’s because we have a life-long
womance
going.” She gave Darcy a friendly shoulder bump.

“Who are you? Elmer Fudd? What the hell’s a
womance
?”

“You know, a girl-crush. A straight female romance—the female version of a
bromance
.” At Darcy’s continued skeptical expression, Laura said, “I love you, girlfriend.”

And at the exact moment of Laura’s declaration, a lull in the party chatter turned into a stunned silence, before the chocolate-and-champagne-buzzed gaggle erupted into a schmaltzy chorus of “Aws.”

Chapter 19

The remainder of May flew by in a blur. Between Blake’s busy social calendar and Darcy’s busy promotion schedule, work on her next novel suffered. Even on the occasions Blake had to leave for parts unknown to perform surgery, she had difficulty keeping her mind on her work. Dominic, the dashing rough-around-the-edges daredevil stunt-man with the tortured past, began taking on Blake’s more polished characteristics. She’d used the delete key so often that the word ‘Delete’ had rubbed off.

Add to that the somewhat strained relationship with Josh, and she had a lot on her mind. Her work wasn’t the only thing suffering from her busy schedule. Josh had called several times about grabbing some dinner or walking through Brooklyn and into Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass (popularly referred to as Dumbo) and meeting her, one of their favorite pastimes—next to watching the Yankees, that is—but she’d already had plans with Blake.

Last time Blake was out of town, she’d called Josh to ask if he wanted to catch a movie or something, but he’d brushed her off with some excuse about working late. Not that she blamed him. She hadn’t exactly been available for him. Turns out it was tough juggling work, a boyfriend,
and
friends.

Laura was no exception. With François out of the picture—apparently sculptors were
very
tactile, and enjoyed touching things, especially beautiful women . . . lots of them—she was lonely. As a serial monogamist, Laura also demanded the same from her lovers, even for her short-term relationships. Darcy had had little time to be there for her until the next prey,
er
, hunk came along to take her mind off François.

And now she had no idea if Blake would be home for Memorial Weekend, which was only two days away. Well, at least she’d have time to see her friends. If they’d have her.

A contentious conversation with Gloria that morning about an interview with the
Today Show
hadn’t helped her state of mind. She didn’t oppose the interview, even though she dreaded it. Not when it would sell more books. She just hadn’t figured out how to talk about the hero, especially since she happened to be dating him.

Feeling pissy and generally out of sorts, she abandoned her writing for more relaxing pursuits: shopping and an afternoon at Elizabeth Arden.

Early Saturday morn
ing found Darcy on her hands and knees in her little backyard, elbow-deep in garden soil, planting bright red petunias. When the house phone rang, she’d almost decided to let it go to voicemail, before she realized it could be Blake, and kicked it into high gear. Yanking off the gardening gloves, and taking her back steps two at a time, she answered the phone with a breathless, “Hello.”

“Darcy, are you all right?”

Darcy tried to hide her disappoint. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

“Well, don’t sound so excited.”

“Sorry, I was hoping it was—”

“Blake?”

“Yes,” she said, stunned. “How’d you know?”

“Since my own daughter won’t tell me she’s seeing someone, I had to hear it from Gloria.” Her mother sighed gustily on the other end.

“I was going to. I’ve just been so busy.”
Busy keeping Blake a secret until I could work out a plan.

“Uh-huh. With Blake.”

“And the new book promotion, and my work-in-progress,” Darcy added in a defensive tone.

“When am I going to meet this Blake?”

“Soon.” Darcy’s phone beeped, notifying her of another call. “Mom, I’ve got to go. That’s Blake calling now. Love you. Bye.” She clicked over to Blake.

“Blake?”

“I just arrived in New York late last night. Have any plans today?”

“Um, no.”

“I’m thinking about lobster tonight.”

“Sounds great! Where should we go?”

“Maine.”

“Say what?”

“When you’re in the mood for lobster, where better to go than Maine?”

Darcy just laughed. “Where, indeed.”

Never having flown on a private
jet, Darcy didn’t know what to expect, but the luxurious accommodations didn’t disappoint. Buff leather captain’s chairs, plush carpet, even a corner sofa, completed the interior. The friendly flight attendant offered chilled mimosas and hors d’oeuvres, while the pilot delivered a smooth flight. Darcy could definitely get used to this pampered lifestyle.  

She’d fussed with her appearance for over an hour, trying to decide what to wear. A private jet seemed to call for something a little dressy, but a lobster dinner in Maine seemed to call for something breezy and casual. In the end, she’d compromised with a pair of black pedal pushers, a sunny yellow top, and a white jacket, with some hip jewelry she’d picked up at the GreenFlea Market to dress it up.

For his part, Blake wore khaki slacks, a blue button-down shirt, expensive Italian loafers, and a lightweight navy jacket,
à la
Ralph Lauren.
Yummy.
They were quite the fashion-plate couple if she did say so herself. 

A sleek silver convertible Mercedes Roadster waited on the tarmac for the twenty-minute drive into Boothbay Harbor. They drove the Boothbay/Wiscasset Road, the early afternoon sun warm on her face, the cool breeze blowing her heretofore carefully styled hair.

“You warm enough?” Blake asked, his hair fluttering in the breeze. “I can put the top up if you’re chilly.”

“No, it’s great.” What the hell, she’d pull her hair back in a ponytail once they arrived at their destination.

The picturesque seaside community of Boothbay Harbor lay nestled amid a craggy stretch of inlets and boasted pretty winding streets lined with quaint B&B’s, cafés and restaurants, craft and art galleries, boutiques, and jewelry stores. The sidewalks teemed with tourists, while the shops did a brisk business with the Memorial Weekend traffic.

After strolling down the east side of Commercial Street, perusing shops and galleries, Darcy and Blake relaxed on a bench enjoying a tasty ice cream, soaking up the warm sunshine, and catching the cooling breezes off the Atlantic.

“Having a good time?” Blake asked as he offered her a bite of his butter pecan ice cream.

“Mmm. Yes!” She didn’t need a mirror to know that her eyes sparkled with joy. She could read her happiness in Blake’s eyes.

He leaned over and kissed her, licking his lips afterwards as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. That small gesture sent a frisson of desire coursing through her. Maybe she could join the mile-high club on the flight back.

“What?” Blake interrupted the gutterly flow of her thoughts.

“What, what?” Darcy blinked.

“What’s that look for?”

Whoops.
Using her napkin to wipe the apparent look of lust off her face, Darcy hedged, “Just thinking about that lobster dinner. Can’t wait.”

The smirk on his face told her he didn’t believe a word she’d said.