Reject My Alpha President (Iris and Arthur) novel Chapter 92

Iris

That night, I receive a text from Alice regarding the lecture series with Abbott Gallery. She’s attending a tour tomorrow afternoon and asks me to come, which I agree to. When I tell Arthur about it, he insists on watching Miles himself, as he has the day off. I hesitate at first, but I know he’ll take good care of Miles, and it makes Miles excited, so I relent.

The following day, I pull up to the gallery to find her waving excitedly, wearing a lime green mini dress with pink tights and matching pumps. She looks like she stepped out of a 60s magazine.

“Flora, I’m so glad you came!” she says, giving me a hug as I approach. “I didn’t want to do this alone.”

I offer her a smile, especially appreciative of her use of my pseudonym in public, and we head inside.

The Abbot Gallery is larger than Marsiel, but instead of a sleek, contemporary space with white walls and tile floors, it’s far older and more historic. The stone walls are ornately carved with various depictions of wolves and historical figures, and the marble floors make my heels echo through the entire space as we make our way inside.

We meet a smiling docent at the front desk, where a group of other artists and visitors has already gathered. I quickly recognize another Ordan artist here, a woman known in the art community as ‘Bella‘. Unlike me, I’m pretty sure Bella is her real name. She glances at me as I walk up to her.

“You’re Bella, right?” I ask, extending my hand. “I’m Flora, I love your work.”

Bella’s eyes flick to my hand. She hesitates for a moment before shaking her, her grip weak and insincere. ” Pleasure,” she says, and quickly turns away.

Alice and I exchange confused glances, but both shrug. Artists can sometimes be… aloof, especially if they’re from the city of Ordan. Back in Bo’Arrocan, people refer to Ordan artists in not–so–nice terms, often saying that they think their ‘shit doesn’t stink‘ like everyone else’s.

Therefore, I don’t think it’s personal that Bella isn’t a conversationalist, and I quickly brush it off as the tour begins.

The gallery is even more beautiful the further we move into the space, the walls adorned with gilded frames and stunning artwork. Alice and I quietly point out the beautiful architecture and art as we follow the tour group. I even recognize some of the art, and bristle excitedly over the thought of my own work potentially being shown in here someday.

After touring the main gallery space, the docent then takes us to the auditorium, which is spacious and smells like plush seating and old wood. The stage creaks under our feet as we walk across it, and my heart hums with excitement as I think about giving a lecture here as part of the series.

By the time the tour is finished, the sun is beginning to set and my stomach is grumbling. Alice turns to me as we head into the lobby.

“Hungry?” she asks, patting her belly. “I could use a sandwich, if you want to grab a bite together.”