Page 74 of Lorenzo

“Where are we going?”

“The Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“Art …” Lorenzo’s never impressed me as a patron of the arts type. “What’s there?”

His dark eyes twinkle. “You’ll see.”

CHAPTER 32

EMILY

“Where are we going?” I say as Lorenzo ushers me into the waiting limousine.

“A secret for now,” he says, putting his hand on my knee and giving it a little squeeze.

At Lorenzo’s signal, Ernesto pulls the limo into traffic.

Once again, I feel a sense of unease as Ernesto meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.

Something about the chauffeur still unsettles me. Those broad shoulders and careful eyes belong to a man who has done more serious things than ferry people to dinner or shopping.

When the car stops in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I look at Lorenzo in surprise.

“You’re taking me to a museum? That’s the secret?”

“It’s a very special exhibition I’d like you to see.”

A spark of excitement moves through me. “Interesting. What’s the subject?”

“You’ll see, carina,” he says, as we get out of the car.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art looks just as it did in The Devil Wears Prada.

At least from the outside.

Those scenes were filmed during the red carpet MET Gala. Seeing it now, it’s something of a disappointment with tourists eating hot dogs on the steps.

It’s not as glamorous as my imagination.

As we approach the entrance, a man in an elegant suit comes up to us and shakes Lorenzo’s hand.

“Good evening, Mr Ricci, Mrs. Ricci. Please allow me to escort you to the exhibition.”

“Nice. White glove service,” I whisper to Lorenzo as we follow him.

The escort stops at an exhibition on the second floor where a museum guard sits on a fold-up chair. Near him is a red rope and red velvet curtain.

“Here you are,” our guide says.

“The exhibition hasn’t opened to the public yet. You’ll have the gallery to yourselves.”

The guide bows to Lorenzo and leaves.

I smile up at Lorenzo, impressed by how much power he must wield at this lofty museum, before glancing at the giant placard before the red curtain.

Bound: Art, Power, and Desire from Sade to the Surrealists.

“Wow. Sounds … enticing,” I say.