Page 84 of The Prize

“That’s a little cold.”

“Maybe that’s where you come in?”

“How?”

“I’m the science and you’re the art and this was what da Vinci was trying to tell us. That without one the other cannot exist.”

I swooned at his words, wanting to confess my feelings for him and blurt out that I’d fallen in love with him, but the sting of rejection would cut too deep. I wasn’t ready for him to push me away and remind me he “didn’t do love.”

This will have to be enough.

We hurried from exhibit to exhibit, and Tobias relaxed more and lit up with happiness when he came to a hands-on section of virtual reality where he could show off his tech genius. It was as though a switch had flipped on and my serious alpha had morphed into a playful boy who loved to laugh.

Tobias showed me the room with the large hoverboard and helped me climb onto it before the surface rose a foot off the ground. The board felt unstable beneath my feet and I fought for my balance, half listening to him explain the mechanism of fighting gravity. I giggled as I clung on to him. This was so damn fun and I loved this side of Wilder, the same side that had inspired him to set up crazy golf in the garden and give us some much-needed downtime.

This place showcased the most recent innovations in math, science, technology and engineering, and these subjects were so much fun when seen through Wilder’s eyes. I loved every second with him as he led me around with a renewed enthusiasm, making me forget this pause in our high-risk day.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said.

I rubbed my stomach to hint I was hungry, though the thought of more time in the car made me antsy.

Tobias grinned. “Come see.”

I followed him out the back of the building to an open plan area of concrete where there were a few more exhibits, and jolted to a stop—there, on the tarmac, was a sleek-looking helicopter. “Is that for us?”

“Otherwise we’ll be fighting traffic.” Tobias made it sound like this had been easy to arrange and led me toward the helicopter.

Marshall climbed out and, after a few minutes of talking, he guarded our departure from the ground to keep the eager tourists at a safe distance as they took photos of our ascent. I was impressed with how Tobias took us up into the air with the ease of an experienced pilot. He’d once told me he also flew his own jet from time to time and I was again reminded Tobias was good at so many things.

Kind of intimidating, I silently mused, staring out at the incredible view as we banked over the city.

We landed at the downtown Manhattan heliport and a stretch limo was waiting for us. The drive along the scenic route of the FDR Drive had a view of the east river and Tobias told me this was a pretty sight at night. Within half an hour I saw the gorgeous architecture of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and hoped that was our destination.

When the limo pulled up to the curb I almost squealed with joy. “Seriously?” I asked him, my heart pounding with excitement.

He beamed at me. “Yes.”

We hurried up the stone steps and I could hardly wait to enter. However, as we entered the main foyer, a wave of doubt settled in my stomach that being here was a bad idea. Those cameras would follow our every move.

“Shouldn’t we be staying away from art galleries?” I whispered. “They have face recognition software.”

“Zara, we have nothing to hide.”

“What if the FBI warned the museum about you?”

“That would be slander,” he replied with confidence. “Which is a crime.”

Suppressing my frown, I didn’t want to spoil the moment and blurt the obvious. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“I know the curator. Sarah Belle’s expecting us.”

“She is?”

“Yes. We’re free to enjoy the Met.”

Being here soothed my soul and I couldn’t wait to explore the gallery. I turned to look at Tobias, reminding myself not to let my guard down and to keep an eye on him.

He neared me. “You go into withdrawal if you’re away from art for more than twenty-four hours.”