the isabella stewart gardner museum was full of mysteries. perhaps that was why declan lynch had decided to mosey about it one autumnal afternoon. he had had enough of looking after both his brothers; irascible ronan and irresistible matthew.

sometimes, just sometimes, declan wanted more.

more than just a bland business man with a charming smile that said: vote for me. more than just a dark-haired youth leaving a string of broken-hearted ashleys behind him. this is what he mused as he strolled through the museum, dressed as always in an impeccable suit, blue eyes keen as they scanned over artworks.

he had stopped before el jaleo by john singer sargent, an impressionist portrait declan found to be rather intriguing. it depicted a spanish romani dancer, performing with a host of musicians in the background to accompany her.

she was lithe and unknowable, face turned away from the viewer in personal reverie with white skirts billowing about her legs. there was something about her, declan mulled as he stood alone in the quiet gallery. no, not alone. you had appeared beside him.

your face was turned directly to the woman in the painting, almost in admiration, declan noticed. he also noticed that he wasn’t even looking at el jaleo anymore, too focused on you. subtly, he shuffled a step closer, the fabric of his suit only serving to enhance his broad shoulders.

“hello, there,” declan murmured politely, inclining his chin down at you. he rummaged through his pocket, before pulling out a tiny container of striking purple dye — tyrian purple. “i have something for you.”

you knew how expensive tyrian purple was; after all, it took at least twelve thousand mollusks to create one gram of the dye. “don’t be boring and say ‘i can’t accept this,’” declan said. “it look a lot of work to find that at short notice.”

a hint of a specific, illuminated smile touched declan's mouth when he looked at you.