He carries me inside and deposits me on the couch. One drawback of these events is standing in heels. I can barely walk by the end of the night.

Pollux lifts my feet to his lap. “Does this feel better?” he asks, massaging my soles with his skilled hands.

“Ahh, yes. I’ve never had anyone give me a foot massage.” Sure, during pedicures, but never has a man done this for me.

Travis couldn’t be bothered with me. With him, I was more of an accessory. Arm candy. The perfect little trophy wife.

Until, one day, I couldn’t do it anymore.

“Your ex never did this?”

“No, he didn’t like me much.” And that’s the truth. “Our divorce was rough. But, I’m happier,” I say, leaning back into the softness of the sofa.

“He married you. I don’t think he’d marry you if he didn’t like you.” His eyes are so earnest, like he actually believes in the fairy tale. Unfortunately, I know they don't exist.

“Oh, please. He liked my social standing. He liked my background. He thought we’d make a good fit.”

“And he didn’t like that you painted?”

“No. But, I love it.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Have you ever thought about opening your own gallery. I bet you’d be amazing.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I just think you’d love it. Do you love working for Masters?”

I stare at him for a moment. “I thought I did. But, now I’m not so sure.”

A smile appears on his handsome face. “I think you’d be happier painting. Maybe you should think about it.”

I run my finger over my bottom lip, and his eyes glaze over, watching the movement. I love the way he stares at me. It makes my insides warm. “Honestly, when I first left my husband, Travis, I was so worried about what people thought of me. I wanted to prove myself to everyone I could do it.”

“Do what?”

“Be a success.”

“Katy, I don’t think you even know how to fail.”

“Thanks. I don’t know why I let him get to me so bad.”

“It’s natural to want to show off to an ex. But, I think you’ve proven yourself. Fuck him. I’m sure your family is very proud.”

I smile, wide. I can’t contain the tingles racing atop my skin. “Yeah, probably so. I was a good wife to the wrong man. I bet if I had the right man, I’d be a great wife.”

He hisses, low. “You’d be an amazing wife.”

“Well, look at you, Mr. Rub My Feet All Night Long, you’d make a mighty fine husband,” I say, laughing.

“Well, this is all new to me. I’ve never had a serious relationship.”

My breath hitches. Are we in a relationship? I want to be. I smile, trying to keep it to myself as my insides flutter with happiness. I feel like a school-aged girl.

He doesn’t notice, and I change the subject. “Where do you live? I’m sure your home isn’t the Plaza.”

He smiles. “No, I don’t live at the Plaza. I’m currently working out of Chicago.”

“What do you do?”

He stops rubbing, taking a moment to answer. “I run a company there.”

It must be some company for him to be as successful as he is. “Why are you in New York?”

“Just scoping things out for business.” He moves on to my other foot, kneading it in the same fashion as the other.

His hands are magic, relaxing me, and I close my eyes. My thoughts drift to opening a gallery.

It would be unbelievable.

Why had I never thought of this before?

A gallery.

I already know a ton of vendors and could host my own gallery events.

And as far as the artwork, well, I have more than enough art to make any gallery shine.

But, fear sets in.

Putting myself out there? Letting random strangers see a piece of my soul? Critique it? It's not the same as being evaluated at how I close a business deal. My art is personal. Could I do that?

Maybe. I don't know.

Later that night, when he’s deep inside me, his eyes never leave mine.

He gazes at me as he thrusts into me, slowly. It’s different than before. More connection. More passion. My mind swims with possibilities.

And after we finish, and in the deepest hour of the night, he holds me so close. Tighter than he ever has before. He whispers sweet nothings in my ear, making me feel things I never thought possible.

And before I succumb to the night, when my eyelids are heavy, he tells me he needs me. He tells me I’m the only person to make him feel anything again.

I fall asleep, praying for the fairy tale.

* * *

The next morning, Pollux surprises me with breakfast in bed.

“Don’t think I cooked any of this. I ordered in,” he says, smiling, as he sets a silver tray, laden with pancakes, fruit, and eggs on my lap.

“This is so sweet,” I tell him.

“I have a few errands to run, but can I come back by later?” he asks, leaning in to kiss my forehead.

“Sure.”

He pops a strawberry slice in his mouth. “Not quite as sweet as your pussy. But it'll do.”

He winks and takes off for the door, and I miss him before he's even gone.

* * *

Later that afternoon, I step foot in Delia’s Diner, and see Houston already waiting for me in a corner booth. He texted, saying he needed to see me.

“Hey, big brother, what’s up?”

“Hey.” He stands to give me a hug before we both sit and order our coffee from Irene.

“Why do you look like you're about to jump out of your skin?” I ask, watching his thumb tap the table.

“I wanted your opinion on something.” He pulls out a black jewelry box from his pocket and sets it on the table.

My eyes widen. “Oh, my God. Is that what I think it is?” I grab the box and open it. Inside sits a shimmery diamond ring. I’m speechless. And ecstatic for him.

“Yeah. Do you think Marley will like it? It’s three carats.”

I gaze at the sparkly princess cut ring and smile. “She’ll love it. She loves you. She wouldn't care if it was an actual carrot in this box.”

He grins. “Yeah, I am pretty lucky. I don’t know when or how I’m going to ask her.”

An idea forms. “Why don't you ask her at my company holiday party. You can take her out on the terrace, overlooking Manhattan. It’d be breathtaking.”

“When is it?”

I tell him the dates, and he agrees to come.

Now it's my turn, and I'm more nervous than I care to admit. “I’d like for you to meet Pollux,” I say.

He slips the ring box back in his pocket. “Oh yeah? That still going on?”

Why am I so nervous? Our coffees arrive, and I add a packet of sugar to stall before answering, “I really like him, Houston.”

His dark eyes narrow. “And him? How does he feel?”

I smile wide. “He likes me too.” And I’m confident in saying this.

“Well, I’m looking forward to meeting him. I’ll be sure to have a lot of questions ready for him.” He brushes a hand through his thick dark hair.

“Please don’t. Be nice.” I laugh.

After a quick lunch, and lots of talk about the holidays and our parents, I head back home. My phone dings, and I smile.

I stand on the sidewalk, smiling, with a throng of people weaving around me. I really really like him.

At six pm sharp, Pollux is at my door. He sucks in a breath when he sees me, and I blush.

“You’re hideous.” He cracks a smile.

I slap his arm, smiling.

“Come on, I’m kidding. You know you’re gorgeous, and there’s no need to even pretend I’m lying.” He pulls me in, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

“Thank you.” I smile. “You ready?”

“Yes. I was debating on what to get the girl who has everything for Christmas,” he says, walking down the hall.

I stop. “You don’t need to get me anything.”

He just smiles, the sexy smile I like so much, and keeps walking.

We hail a cab, and it takes off down the busy street.

Pollux, practically shining with anticipation, holds me close. I’ve never been good with gifts. Travis used to give me an expense account for my presents. Real romantic.

“I love the city during the holidays,” he whispers beside me.

“Me too. It’s magical.” I nestle in closer to him.

“Harper used to love Christmas.” He gazes out the window.

I squeeze him into a hug. “I wish she could be here.” And I do. It isn’t easy to lose someone. I was a wreck after Nathan died.

“Me too,” he says, kissing the top of my forehead.

A few minutes later, the cab driver parks, and we step out in front of an abandoned building in Chelsea.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“This is your present.” He holds his arms wide, and I take a look around.

“Ok.” I shrug, laughing slightly. “What is?”

He fishes a set of keys from his pocket. Moving to the building, he turns the lock.

We step inside the empty space. “This is,” he says, sheepishly. I thought you could turn it into an art gallery.”

I'm stunned. My mind races with possibilities.

I can see it all perfectly.

Recessed lighting over this wall. My paintings hanging here. I could put a nice bar there.

I know tons of vendors. I could hold gallery exhibits and high-class functions. I spin around. “Pollux, wow. I love it.” I rush over to him and wrap my arms around his neck.

He lifts me off my feet and kisses me.

“There’s an office through these doors,” he says, setting me back down, then taking my hand to show me.

“Pollux, I love it. But, there’s no way I can let you do this for me.”

His eyes soften, then the faint appearance of crow’s feet light his face as he smiles. “Too late. Even if you never open this present, it’s still yours. You can hold your artwork here.”

I’m flabbergasted as to what to say or do. A gallery. He bought me a gallery. Wow.

My chest warms as I gaze at him on the way to dinner later.

And when we’ve gone back to my apartment, and made love under the stars on the rooftop, I almost tell him those three little words. I almost open my heart to him. I want to.

I smile as I watch his restless body sleep beside me. His deep dark hair. His inked arm under his head. The way he takes each breath evenly.

I snuggle him and fall asleep a happy woman. A woman who has never been this happy in all her life. Happier than I’ve ever known could be possible.

A gallery.