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“Just wait, printsessa. We’ll be there in half an hour if the traffic isn’t bad.”

I check the road ahead. Things look promising, and it’s Sunday afternoon. Theoretically, the traffic should be fine, but this is New York. It can be just as horrendous as on the weekdays at any given time. We may just not have reached it yet.

“Okay, you win.” Gabrielle sighs. “I’m just… excited to go out with you.”

I look at her again. This is us now. This version where she actually enjoys my company and doesn’t want to kill me, and she feels like a part of me. It’s hard to believe we began with a blood contract and I, essentially, stole her from another man.

Well, that last part isn’t that hard to believe. I’d do it again.

“Much more in store for you, malyshka.” I reach across and tap the inside of her thigh, making her blush.

I’ll do more than that later. This trip is for her. Our bedtime activities are for me.

Something catches her attention out the window, and she becomes fascinated. I realize it’s just the landscape. Seeing her like this makes me wonder how sheltered she must have been while living with her parents.

She went to the charity, but that’s about it. It doesn’t seem as if she went anywhere else, at least not without them being around.

It takes exactly thirty minutes to reach our destination—the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

As we approach the building, Gabrielle’s hand flies to her mouth, and the awe in her eyes is so intense, I expect her to burst into tears.

We pull into the museum garage, and she looks from me to the museum entrance as if she can’t believe we’re really here.

“Oh my God. No way,” she mutters.

“Thought you would like this.”

She places a hand to her heart. “I love it! Thank you so much. I can’t believe we’re here. I’ve never been here before.”

That surprises me. “Never?”

She shakes her head. “Mama wanted to take me, but we just never got around to it.”

That sounds like it was more of a Corrado thing. “Well, we’re here now.”

Her eyes sparkle. “This is the best.”

I help her out, and while the valet takes the car, I take my wife’s hand.

Once we walk inside the museum, Gabrielle is like a kid at Christmas. I’ve actually never seen anyone look so excited before.

We move from the Great Hall into the Egyptian Art galleries, and Gabrielle lights up.

I find myself enjoying it, too. Even though this isn’t my sort of thing, I grew up around art.

My mother adored it, collected every- and anything she could. It was part of her even though she couldn’t do it.

My father kept all her collections, many worth millions. He couldn’t part with a single piece because they reminded him of her.

I took them all when he passed. I didn’t trust my brothers not to sell them.

It seems like I found one more connection with art today.

We spend over an hour in the Egyptian Art galleries before moving on to the other floors.

When we reach the third, Gabrielle spots a banner for an upcoming exhibition by Mara Vezcovy called Drawn from Memory, and she stops mid-stride.

Her hands go up to her cheeks and her eyes widen. Just as I’ve never seen anyone as excited as she’s been to be here, I’ve never seen her look so moved.