8.

                                    

                                          
I got a taste for men who are older
It's always been, so it's no surprise
—Lana Del Rey/Cola
I look at the masterpiece before me in intense fascination. A painting from 15th century by Raphael. The Marriage of the Virgin. I adore the fact that even though it has gone through many restorations, it still stands grand and beautiful.
"You love it more than Le Rêve." The man beside me states the obvious. I almost forget his presence, caught up in my own world.
We are now at Pinacoteca di Brera. He has booked the entire gallery so we can enjoy these art pieces undisturbed. For the sake of peace and privacy, he says. 
So here we are, standing in nearly empty hallway and admiring famous artworks.
"You pay attention." I smile, glancing from my peripheral. 
"Obviously." He quirks his eyebrow. Yeah, I am aware of how he always proceeds to remember or catch little details of me. What I like or despise. What gains my attention the most. It's rare for a man to care. But again, I didn't see enough to tell enough.
"We should see Raphael Rooms someday if you love Raphael so much." His suggestion makes me turn to him for the first time since we're walking down this hallway. He realizes it too because now he's grinning.
"It's in Vatican." I say.
"Okay?" He tilts his head, not getting the big deal of it. I shake my head dumbly. Of course he has the access. I bet he has even met the Pope.
"You really spoil me." I reply instead, walking to see another painting.
The man tails behind me, following like a shadow. "It's rare to see a woman with same interest as me." He shrugs. I stop and stare at The Kiss, instantly captivated.
"You think so highly of me, Mr. Spencer." I comment while capturing details on the canvas. If only I have the talent, I'll spend my whole life painting.
"You have not yet let me down." His hand lingers on my back. 
"Really? I thought my lifestyle disappoints you." It's out of my mouth before I can stop it. This is not the topic I actually want to bring up. We know how much he hates talking about it. 
I can feel his body stiffen. "Great. Now I get pictures on my mind, Violet." He scoffs, stepping away from me. "Why do you keep bringing up other men to our conversation?"
"I don't. I said lifestyle." I argue, reluctantly turning around to face him.
"Which involved men." He crosses his arms over his chest. 
"I don't know why you're so bothered by it."
"You keep shoving it down my throat."
"I don't—" He walks away. "Fine. I am sorry." I say, trying to catch up with him in these heels.
"Forgiven." He says dismissively. Words contradict action. I roll my eyes. Such a man-child.
I grab his elbow, forcing him to stop. "Hey. I didn't mean to upset you." I give him the saddest puppy eyes because I admit I kinda feel bad to ruin his mood. Or this perfect date.