The Art of Curating Romance - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Fine Lines

Natalie hadn't meant to go.

In fact, she'd told herself twice out loud and an endless number of times in her head that it was a waste of an afternoon. She had emails to catch up on, an acquisition proposal to polish, and a mounting wall of exhibition logistics waiting in her inbox. But somehow, as she stood near the back of the museum’s auditorium, eyes scanning the stage, she realized she had been drawn very much... there.

Martin’s name was still fresh in her mind from their last exchange. He hadn't stopped by at the gallery today.

When she glanced at the flyer adorning the door to the auditorium, it dawned upon her that he was supposed to be speaking about something related to their discussion last night, in a sense. “The Allegorical Body: Spatial Disruption in Botticelli’s Later Mythologies.”

Of course he was talking about spatial disruption. And of course it was the kind of title that sounded like it had been written solely to impress an editorial board.

Natalie entered quietly and sat in the very back row, cloaked in the dark as Helen gave an introductory speech, welcoming their visiting professor Martin Laurent, PhD, Oxford University. There were staff, random members of the community, and a decently-sized flock of students huddled in the front rows. It was more than usual, likely because apparently, students could get bonus points on some assignment for attending. That, and judging by last night, Martin Laurent was considered a professor who was very pleasing to look at. The predominantly-female art history majors certainly seemed to have enjoyed ogling him last night.

But when Martin stepped onto the small stage, all lean precision in a grey-blue button down and that effortlessly rumpled academic air, Natalie realized that there was another reason he was beloved by students. Not just because he was apparently good looking (not that she would fully concede to that fact), but also because he was a genuinely charismatic, passionate lecturer. 

He spoke without notes. And with every word, she could see the sparks lighting up his eyes, even from all the way from the back of the room. 

“As Botticelli’s compositions evolve,” he said, voice calm and sure, “we begin to see not a decay of classical harmony, as often assumed, but a deliberate disruption of space. Almost a psychic rupture. Take The Calumny of Apelles. The architectural framing isn’t passive. It exerts pressure. It corners the figures, forces a kind of moral claustrophobia.”

His hands moved as he spoke. Measured, like he was sculpting the ideas in the air.

And on top of that, she had to admit that it was insightful. This wasn’t about Primavera or The Birth of Venus, the crowd-pleasers. No, this was late Botticelli, moody Botticelli. Less divine perfection, more inner storm.

And Martin presented it well. So well, in fact, that it made her wonder why anyone ever paid attention to those crowd-pleasers when Botticelli had so many other intriguing, alluring works. It made her remember why she loved art history. Why she'd loved this era of European art.

She didn’t realize he’d seen her until the end, when he stepped away from the lectern, and their eyes locked — briefly yet unmistakably — over the clapping crowd.

-

She slipped out before the polite applause faded completely, but not fast enough.

“Natalie.” His voice stopped her just before she reached the north stairwell.

She turned, blinking at the sudden closeness. “Martin. Shouldn't you be doing the Q&A?”

"It's over," he said. They stood on a landing between stairs, alone in a soft wedge of golden light from the high windows.

"Already?" she said, skeptical.

He smirked. "I explained it so well that no one had any questions."

"Really, now. There were some parts of your lecture that I certainly found questionable." Which was a lie that didn't even sound convincing to herself. It was a wonderful, well-done lecture and she was almost envious of his ability to give a speech like that.

He stepped into her space like he was claiming it, but didn’t touch her. “Didn’t peg you for someone so interested in allegorical bodies.”

“Maybe I’m expanding my horizons,” she said lightly, trying to keep the atmosphere casual. “Or maybe I just enjoy watching people use ten-dollar words to talk about nude Florentines.”

His mouth quirked into a smile. “Is that what you get a buzz out of then?"

She tilted her head. “Maybe.”

There was a pause, stretching between them like something elastic and taut. Voices from the lecture hall filtered out, muffled now. 

Martin’s gaze lingered on her a moment too long. “Why did you come, really? You said you hadn't the time.”

Natalie shrugged, but her voice was softer. “I was free."

"The busy bee curator was free for once? I don't believe it."

Her cheeks flushed a bit at that. "I guess... well, it's because you’re not boring, so I figured the lecture would be a good way to kill some time.”

He huffed a laugh. “High praise, coming from you.”

She crossed her arms defensively, fingers curled slightly at the sleeves of her sweater. “You were good.”

He stepped closer, and the air felt warmer with each step. “You didn’t stay to ask a question, even though you found my work apparently questionable.”

She tried to muster up a smirk, but all she could think about was how stiff she felt, and how hot the air between them suddenly was. “I thought I’d give your ego a rest.”

“I think you just wanted to see me.”

He stepped forward again, this time slower, more deliberate. Now they were inches apart, the space charged and electric. The hallway was empty, the last of the crowd probably now having trickled out. She didn’t move away.

“You don’t intimidate me,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to intimidate you.”

“Then what do you want?”

His answer was in the way his gaze dropped again to her mouth. Then stayed there. And when he leaned in, there was no hesitation.

His lips met hers like a match to dry tinder. It was hot, hungry. Something that felt overdue. Natalie’s back hit the wall with a quiet thud. She didn’t care. Her hands slid into his shirt, gripping the fabric of his waist. This kiss was different from before. It was like the way that he argued. Confident, relentless, completely focused on her... utterly intoxicating.

She bit his lower lip lightly, just to tease, and he groaned against her mouth, pressing closer, his hands braced on either side of her against the wall. Her body arched into his without thinking, and she felt delicious pressure as she pressed into his hips.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her jaw, lips trailing heat down her neck. “Absolute trouble.”

“I'm the troublemaker? You kissed me,” she said breathlessly, tugging him back to her mouth.

“You came to my lecture,” he countered, one hand tangling in her hair, the other sliding to her waist. “And don’t pretend like the first time wasn't you.”

"It was mutual," she countered.

At that, he kissed her again, deeper this time, and she let herself melt into it, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin. He pressed into her, and she felt the tent of his trousers pressing against her. He was grinding up against her, his leg in between hers, pushing her into the wall with more force. She felt warmness and tension between her own legs, and moaned into their kiss as he rubbed up against just the right spot...

Then footsteps echoed down the corridor.

They froze.

Martin pulled back, breath hot against her cheek. Natalie swallowed hard, heart pounding.

“Was this,” he said, breathless, “another mistake?”

She caught her breath, feeling small and dizzy. “I... um...”

And suddenly, she felt like an idiot. He was just a visiting professor, and this wasn't anything meaningful for either of them. He could be married, for all she knew. 

"I think that's out of my system now," she told him. 

Martin rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. Right, okay. I'm going to..."

"Go back to being a repressed academic?" she offered.

He grinned. "Why, yes. And you're going to go back to the gallery and pretend your exhibition labels aren't three hundreds words too long."

She gasped, mock-offended. "They are not. I already cut it down so much."

They didn't move.

Finally, she spoke. "We'll both go back to what we were doing. It's not appropriate to be doing things like this among colleagues. But before we do that... my question."

He blinked. "Your question?"

"What you said about The Calumny of Apelles..." she began. "You described it as a painting about performance. How every figure is locked in a role. And... how the victim was the only one who looked real."

"I did."

She turned her gaze back to him. “Why?”

Martin took a breath. “Because he’s the only one who seems to not know he’s in a painting.”

Her brow furrowed faintly. She'd never been a fan of meta critiques, but she let him go on.

“The others,” he continued, “they’re allegory. Theatrical. Intentional. But the victim, he’s reacting. Caught in the act of being ruined by something he doesn’t fully understand. That’s what makes him real. And the bearer of truth in this moment.”

Natalie was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: “So then the truth only appears in pain. How sad."

“No,” Martin said, his voice low. “Truth appears when you stop performing. When you’re exposed. Whether you like it or not.”

Their eyes locked one last time. The moment shifted. The staircase corridor, the very earth and their surroundings, seemed to fall away.

But before all that could be lost again, she gave him a small hum, and then turned quickly to flee back out the door.

Author's Note: We're adding a new section to some of these posts! And we're so back, baby ;) After a long summer break, uploading more of my work to this site again. We're continuing this story, which has a lot of fun Easter Eggs about Renaissance Art. A disclaimer that I'm absolutely in no way an art historian, but I loved the art history courses I took at uni and want to share these stories stuck in my mind. Also note that I am introducing a paid member option to access the spicy bits of otherwise sweet-romance stories. There will of course still be free spice on this site available, but it would be extremely appreciated if you supported my writing. Thank you so much!