A Prize Beyond Jewels

‘I don’t recall your having asked me to go out with you again,’ Nina drawled derisively. ‘But you’re quite right in assuming my answer would have been no if you had,’ she continued firmly as he would have spoken. ‘It’s time to get back to the real world.’

‘And your real world doesn’t have a place in it for me?’

The only place Nina wanted Rafe in her life was one she could never have, and nor was it one he was interested in occupying. Rafe had never pretended to be anything other than what he was: a thirty-four-year-old very eligible and handsome bachelor, who enjoyed women—lots of them.

Unfortunately Nina knew she wasn’t made that way—which was why it was better, for both of them, if this ended now. She had to end this before she lost her pride as well as her heart.

She raised her chin determinedly. ‘Not at this point in time, no.’

He raised dark brows. ‘And do you ever see a time when that might change …?’

‘No.’

One night was all they would have.

All they’d had …

Because Nina had left him in no doubt that she considered the two of them already to be in the past tense …

THE DEVILISH D’ANGELOS

Sinners named for saints …

Known around the world for the prestigious Archangel auction houses and galleries in London, New York and Paris, the D’Angelo brothers are notorious for their prowess in the art world … and even more so for their exploits in their personal lives.

These Italian heartthrobs might have been named for angels, but their ruthless natures and powerful personas make them anything but angelic …

Soar to LONDON for Gabriel D’Angelo’s story in: A BARGAIN WITH THE ENEMY February 2014

Sail to NEW YORK for Raphael D’Angelo’s story in: A PRIZE BEYOND JEWELS March 2014

Fly to PARIS for Michael D ‘Angelo’s story in: A D’ANGELO LIKE NO OTHER April 2014

Enter the exclusive world of the D’Angelo’s in this dazzling new trilogy from Carole Mortimer!

A Prize Beyond Jewels

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’ Carole loves to hear from her readers. She can be reached at contact@carolemortimer.co.uk, or her website www.carolemortimer.co.uk

Recent titles by the same author:

A BARGAIN WITH THE ENEMY

(The Devilish D ‘Angelos) RUMOURS ON THE RED CARPET (Scandal in the Spotlight) A TOUCH OF NOTORIETY A TASTE OF THE FORBIDDEN (Buenos Aires Nights)

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Peter, as always.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

St Mary’s Church, London.

‘IT’S NOT TOO late, Gabe,’ Rafe drawled softly. The church was packed with his brother’s softly chatting wedding guests as they waited for the bride to arrive.

‘I checked earlier. There’s a door at the back of the vestry where you can escape...’

‘Shut up, Rafe.’ His two brothers, one seated either side of Rafe, spoke together; Gabriel with the tension of the anxious bridegroom, and Michael with his customary terseness.

‘Hush, Rafe.’ Their father spoke with soft warning from the pew behind them.

Rafe grinned unrepentantly. ‘The jet is just sitting there on the tarmac at the airport, Gabe, and instead of flying off to the Caribbean for your honeymoon, you could just get the hell out of Dodge.’

‘Will you just stop?’ Gabriel turned to glare at him, his face white and strained as he waited for the start of the organ music that would announce the arrival of his bride at the church. Bryn was already five minutes late, and each minute had seemed like an hour, deepening the lines of tension in his brow.

Rafe’s grin widened as he relaxed back in the pew, having long considered teasing both of his brothers as being part of his role in life.

‘You and Michael would never have had any adventures at all if it weren’t for me!’

‘Marriage to Bryn is going to be biggest adventure of my life,’ Gabriel assured him with certainty.

Rafe was aware of how many years his brother had been in love with Bryn, a love his brother had believed was doomed to remain unrequited until just a short month ago.

‘She’s gorgeous, I’ll admit that.’

‘Rafe, will you just stop winding him up?’ Michael, the eldest of the three brothers, clipped abruptly as Gabriel’s hands clenched and unclenched. ‘We don’t need a fist fight between the groom and one of the best men to liven up the proceedings!’

‘I was only—’ Rafe broke off as the ringtone of his mobile jarred loudly in the relative silence of the church.

‘I told you to switch that damned thing off before you came into the church!’ Gabriel turned on him fiercely, obviously relieved to have something tangible to vent his tension on.

‘I thought I had.’ Rafe grimaced as he pulled the slim mobile from the breast pocket of his morning jacket and quickly turned it to silent mode before slipping it back in his pocket. ‘But seriously, Gabe, you still have time to slip out the back of the church and make your escape before anyone is any the wiser.’

‘Raphael Charles D’Angelo!’

Rafe winced, having absolutely no idea how his mother, very petite at all of five feet tall, still managed to silence each and every one of her three six-foot-plus sons, all aged in their thirties, with just their full name spoken in that particularly reproving tone of voice!

Although he was thankfully saved from having to turn and face further admonishment from her as the organ played out the wedding march, announcing Bryn’s arrival.

The tension instantly eased from Gabriel’s shoulders as the three brothers stood up.

Rafe winced as he felt the vibration of his mobile against his chest to announce another incoming call. He chose to ignore it as he turned to look at Bryn as she walked slowly down the aisle on her stepfather’s arm.

‘Oh, wow, Gabe, Bryn looks absolutely stunning,’ he breathed sincerely. Bryn a vision in white lace and satin, the glow of her smile as she looked down the aisle at Gabriel enough to light up the whole church.

‘Of course she does,’ Gabriel murmured smugly, an expression of adoration on his face as he gazed at the woman he loved more than life itself.

* * *

‘Who the hell would be crass enough to phone you during your own brother’s wedding?’ Michael demanded critically as he joined Rafe to one side of where the wedding guests now stood outside the church in the summer sunshine, watching indulgently as the bride and groom were photographed together. Both Gabriel and Bryn were glowing with happiness.

Rafe grimaced as he looked up from checking his mobile; this was the first occasion he’d had to look for any messages. ‘Just a friend calling to warn me that Monique is on the warpath since she found out I won’t be returning to Paris after the wedding.’

The three brothers rotated the management of the three privately owned and world-renowned Archangel galleries and auction houses. Michael would be taking over from Rafe at the Paris gallery on Monday, Gabe was to be based in London once he had returned from his honeymoon, and Rafe was flying to New York tomorrow to take over the gallery there.

‘You couldn’t have just told her that before you left?’ Michael barked irritably.

Rafe shrugged. ‘I thought I had.’

‘Obviously she didn’t get the message.’ Michael scowled before turning to look over at Gabriel and Bryn between narrowed lids. ‘Can you believe our little brother is now a married man?’

Rafe gave an affectionate grin as he also looked over at the happy couple. ‘And obviously loving every minute of it!’ And Gabriel wasn’t such a ‘little’ brother to them either, only two years younger than Michael’s thirty-five, and one year younger than Rafe’s thirty-four.

As well as being close in age, the three brothers were alike in their appearance and colouring: all tall and ruggedly handsome, with ebony-dark hair, brown eyes, and olive-toned skin, all courtesy of their Italian grandfather.

Michael was the remote and austere brother, preferring to keep his ebony hair styled short, his eyes so deep brown they appeared piercing black, and just as unfathomable as the man behind those eyes.

Gabriel was quietly but lethally determined, his hair curling about his ears and nape, his eyes a warm chocolate-brown.

Meanwhile Rafe kept his hair styled well below his collar, and much longer than either of his two brothers, and his eyes were so light brown that they glowed with the gold of a predator. He was also considered by most to be the least serious of the three D’Angelo brothers. At least by those who didn’t really know him well; those that did were fully aware that Rafe was just as steely as his two brothers beneath that outwardly flirtatious and teasing manner.

Michael raised mocking brows. ‘I take it that Monique wasn’t the one for you, any more than the rest of the legion of women you’ve been involved with over the last fifteen years?’

Rafe gave his brother a pitying look. ‘I’m not looking for “the one”, thank you very much!’

Michael smiled slightly. ‘One of these days she might just find you!’

‘Hah, in your dreams.’ Rafe chuckled. ‘I accept that Gabe is ecstatically happy with Bryn, but I don’t for one minute believe in that “one love of your life” thing when it comes to myself. Any more than you do,’ he added knowingly.

‘No,’ his brother confirmed emphatically, his eyes an unreadable black. ‘I’m not going to be plagued with telephone calls and visits from this Monique woman when I get to Paris, am I, pleading with me to tell her where you are and how she can contact you?’

‘I hope not.’ Rafe sighed wearily. ‘We had fun for a few weeks, but now it’s over.’

Michael gave a shake of his head, his expression one of irritation.

‘She doesn’t seem to realise that.’ He gave Rafe a hard stare. ‘Perhaps you could turn your charm onto something more useful once you get to New York? Dmitri Palitov’s daughter will be coming to the gallery on Tuesday,’ he explained at Rafe’s questioning look. ‘She’s personally overseeing the installation of the display cabinets she designed for her father’s jewellery exhibition at the gallery next weekend. She will be staying for the duration of the exhibition, along with Palitov’s own security.’

Rafe’s eyes widened disbelievingly. ‘What the hell?’

‘Palitov wanting his own security is understandable.’ His brother gave a brief shrug. ‘Allowing his daughter to design the display cabinets and her continued presence at the gallery before and during the exhibition were also conditions for Palitov agreeing to there being an exhibition at all.’

Rafe was as aware as Michael that it was a coup for the Archangel gallery that the reclusive Russian billionaire had agreed to allow his private collection to be exhibited at all. No one but Dmitri Palitov had seen the majority of that jewellery for decades, some of it reputed to have belonged to the Tsarina herself, after it had disappeared from Russia last century.

‘I’m relying on you to keep the daughter sweet for the next few weeks,’ Michael added.

‘What exactly does that mean?’ Rafe frowned incredulously. ‘Palitov is pushing eighty, so how old is his daughter?’

‘Does it matter how old she is?’ Michael dismissed uninterestedly. ‘I’m not asking you to sleep with her, just use some of that lethal Raphael D’Angelo charm on her,’ his brother drawled mockingly before giving Rafe a patronising pat on the back and strolling away to join their parents.

Rafe gave a disgusted huff, not at all happy at being expected to use his charm on the middle-aged daughter of a reclusive Russian billionaire.

CHAPTER ONE

Three days later. The Archangel gallery, New York.

‘WOULD YOU MIND moving? I’m afraid you’re in the way.’

Rafe straightened in the doorway of the east gallery of Archangel, where he had been standing for the past few minutes observing the installation of the glass and bronze cabinets being brought in for the displaying of the Palitov jewellery collection. He turned now to look at the young lad who had just spoken to him so abruptly.

He seemed to be in his teens, and a couple of inches under six feet tall, dressed in the same faded denims and bulky black sweatshirt as the other workers, and wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face.

A face that was a little too pretty for a boy, Rafe realised: arched dark brows above eyes the green of fresh moss, and surrounded by long and thick dark lashes, a pert nose with a light smattering of freckles, high cheekbones above hollow cheeks, with full and lush lips above a pointed and determined chin.

Yes, he was a bit too pretty, Rafe acknowledged ruefully, although he didn’t seem to be having any trouble helping to wheel the display cases into place.

Rafe had arrived at the gallery at eight-thirty as usual, only to learn from his assistant manager that the Palitov crew had been here since eight o’clock. ‘I was just looking for—’

‘If you wouldn’t mind moving now?’ the boy repeated huskily. ‘We really need to bring in the rest of the display cabinets.’ Two of the more burly workmen had moved to stand beside and slightly behind the younger man, as if to emphasise the point.

Rafe frowned his irritation with that muscled presence; where the hell was Dmitri Palitov’s daughter?

Those green eyes widened as Rafe still made no effort to shift out of the doorway. ‘I don’t believe your employer would approve of your lack of cooperation.’

‘It so happens I’m only here because I’m looking for your employer,’ Rafe replied in frustration.

A wary expression now entered those long-lashed dark green eyes. ‘You are?’

‘I am,’ Rafe confirmed with a hard smile. ‘It was my understanding that Miss Palitov would be here herself this morning to oversee the installation of the display cabinets.’ He raised mocking and pointed brows.

The boy looked even less certain of himself now. ‘And you are?’

His mouth thinned with satisfaction. ‘Raphael D’Angelo.’

The boy winced. ‘I had a feeling you might be.’ The youth straightened. ‘Good morning, Mr D’Angelo. I’m Nina Palitov,’ she added as he made no effort to take her outstretched hand.

Nina had the satisfaction of seeing the man she now knew to be Raphael D’Angelo, one of the three brothers who owned the prestigious Archangel galleries, briefly lose some of his obviously inborn arrogance as those golden eyes widened with disbelief, the sculptured lips parting in surprise.

It gave Nina the chance to study the man standing in front of her. He was probably in his mid-thirties, or possibly a little younger, with long and silky ebony-dark hair styled rakishly to just below his shoulders, and with the face of a fallen angel. He had predatory golden eyes, sharp blades for cheekbones beneath that olive-toned skin, his nose long and aristocratic, sensuous lips that looked as if they had been lovingly chiselled by a sculptor, his jaw square—and at the moment tilted at an arrogantly challenging angle.

The perfectly tailored charcoal-grey suit and snowy white shirt did nothing to hide the muscled perfection of his taller than average frame—rather, it had no doubt been tailored to emphasise that masculinity! A suit that Nina belatedly realised had probably cost as much as a month’s rent on any number of exclusive Manhattan penthouse apartments. The white shirt was of the finest silk, as was the pale silver tie knotted so meticulously at his throat, and his black leather shoes were obviously of the finest Italian leather.

As if all of that weren’t enough of an indication of who he was, that softly modulated and educated English accent should have been the giveaway, added to which this man’s olive complexion showed he was obviously of Italian descent.

Nina’s gaze swept back up to that arrogant—and breathtakingly handsome—face. ‘I’m guessing from your expression that I’m not quite what you were expecting, Mr D’Angelo?’ she murmured ruefully.

Not what Rafe was expecting?

That had to be the understatement of the decade; it was bad enough that he had thought he was talking to a too-pretty boy, but discovering that boy was in fact a beautiful young woman, and Dmitri Palitov’s daughter, was a little hard to accept. Palitov was almost eighty years old, and the woman now claiming to be Nina Palitov could only be in her mid-twenties at the most.

Or maybe Nina was Palitov’s granddaughter, and for some reason was here in place of her mother?

Rafe forced the tension to ease from his shoulders.

‘Not what, who,’ he excused lightly, deciding to keep the ‘pretty boy’ mistake to himself as he finally briefly shook the hand she held out to him. A warm and artistically slender hand, the fingers long and delicately tapered, the nails kept short.

She looked up at him quizzically with those moss-green eyes. ‘And exactly who were you expecting, Mr D’Angelo?’

‘Your mother, probably,’ Rafe dismissed dryly. ‘Or possibly your aunt?’

She gave a rueful smile. ‘My mother is dead, and I don’t have an aunt. Or an uncle, either,’ she added dryly as Rafe would have spoken again. ‘Or any other family apart from my father,’ she said softly.

Rafe blinked, eyes narrowing as he attempted to process the information this woman had just given him. No mother, no aunts or uncles, just her father. Which meant...

‘I’m the Miss Palitov you were told to expect, Mr D’Angelo,’ she confirmed huskily. ‘I believe I’m what some people might describe as being a child born in the autumn years of my father’s life.’

And Rafe would be one of those people!

He’d had no idea that Dmitri Palitov’s daughter would be so young. Had Michael known? Probably not, otherwise his brother would never have suggested that Rafe charm her! It was unusual for his big brother not to have all the facts, but this just went to prove that not even the meticulous Michael was infallible.

And this woman’s identity probably also explained those two muscle-bound men now standing as silent and watchful sentinels at Nina Palitov’s back. No doubt Daddy Palitov kept a very close guard over his young and beautiful daughter.

As if those bodyguards, and the information that this young woman was Dmitri Palitov’s daughter, weren’t disconcerting enough, she now reached up and swept the baseball cap from her head, releasing a waterfall of fiery red curls that framed the beauty of her face and cascaded over the slenderness of her shoulders before flowing riotously down almost to her waist.

And leaving Rafe in absolutely no doubt that she was a woman.

Rafe’s preference in women had always been towards pocket-sized blondes, but as he saw the rueful amusement—at his expense—in those moss-green eyes, the slightly mocking curve to those lushly full lips, evidence, no doubt, that Nina Palitov found his discomfort amusing, he knew that he would enjoy nothing more at this moment than to take this beautiful woman in his arms before kissing that amusement from the sweet curve of those lush and pouting lips.

A move on his part that would no doubt cause those two muscle-bound sentinels to move with lightning speed in her defence.

Nina eyed Raphael D’Angelo beneath lowered lashes, knowing, by the glance he briefly gave at Rich and Andy as they stood behind her, that he had now realised helping to move display cases wasn’t their only reason for being at the Archangel gallery.

She had been surrounded by the same bodyguards for most of her life, had grown so accustomed to having at least two of them watch over her day and night that she rarely noticed they were there any more. She now treated the eight men who made up her security detail more like friends than people employed by her father to ensure her safety.

Which was a sad reflection on what her life had become, Nina realised with a frown.

Admittedly her father was a wealthy and powerful man, and Nina knew better than most that with that wealth and power came enemies. But she had often thought wistfully of how nice it would be to be able to do as other people her age did, and just pop out to collect the newspaper or a carton of milk in the mornings, or a takeaway for dinner from a fast-food restaurant, or share a fun evening out with several girlfriends, without her bodyguards having to check out the venue first.

Or maybe go out for a date with an arrogant and decadently handsome man with the face of a fallen angel.

And exactly where had that ridiculous thought come from?

The long years of her father’s protection meant that Nina was usually extremely shy when it came to talking to men; she certainly never had erotic fantasies about them the first time she met them!

She frowned up at Raphael D’Angelo, a man who could never be considered as being anything other than an arrogant and decadently handsome man with the face of a fallen angel.

‘I have a lot to do here today, Mr D’Angelo,’ she told him, hiding her shyness behind the briskness of her tone. ‘So if there was nothing else?’

Rafe knew when he was being dismissed. And he also knew when he didn’t like it!

He was in charge of the New York gallery at the moment, and it was time that Miss Nina Palitov and those muscle-bound goons standing behind her were made aware of that fact.

‘There are a few things I would like to discuss with you first, if you would care to accompany me up to my office on the third floor?’

The blinking of those long dark lashes was the only evidence that she was surprised by his request. No doubt Daddy’s money and power ensured that Miss Nina Palitov rarely, if ever, acceded to anyone’s request for her to do anything.

Her expression was wistful as she gave a predictable shake of her head, causing that long cascade of fiery red hair to shimmer like a living flame in the sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her.

‘I obviously don’t have time at the moment. Perhaps later on this morning?’

Rafe’s mouth tightened.

‘I have several other appointments to deal with today.’ But none, he knew, that Michael, at least, wouldn’t expect him to cancel in favour of meeting with Dmitri Palitov’s daughter, whenever it was convenient for her.

But Michael wasn’t here right now, Rafe was, and—

Hell, just admit it, Rafe—the reason you’re so damned irritated is because Nina Palitov is utterly gorgeous. And under other circumstances, in a different location—the two of them naked together in a silk-sheeted bed came to mind—he might even enjoy the challenge she represented, both sexually and to his authority.

But they weren’t in a bed, that lush mouth wasn’t his for the taking, and when it came to Archangel he was the one in charge.

She shrugged dismissively. ‘In that case, I’m afraid the discussion will have to wait until tomorrow.’

Rafe took a step closer to her, only to find that the two men standing behind Nina Palitov took that same step forward, flanking her closely now as they both watched him between narrowed eyes.

‘Call off your watchdogs,’ he advised harshly.

She eyed him frowningly for several long seconds before slowly turning her head to look at the two men. ‘I’m sure Mr D’Angelo poses absolutely no threat to me,’ she assured them wryly before turning back to once again look challengingly at Rafe.

As if she believed his wealth and power also rendered him over-indulged and wimpish, a man who wouldn’t stand a chance against these two muscle-bound men if they were to take exception to something he said or did.

Admittedly, the two of them together might be pushing it a bit, but Rafe had no doubts that in a one-on-one fight his hours at the gym, and his training in several of the martial arts, would ensure he could best either one of these two men, whether they chose to fight dirty or fair—and their threatening poses indicated it would probably be the former.

He forced the tension from his shoulders as he gave a deliberately wolfish smile as his appreciative gaze swept slowly over Nina Palitov.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I posed absolutely no threat to you, Miss Palitov,’ he purred softly, his tone deliberately provocative.

Those beautiful moss-green eyes widened noticeably, a delicate blush creeping into her peaches-and-cream cheeks, and succeeding in making the endearing freckles on the bridge of her nose appear more prominent. At the same time her tongue flicked out nervously to moisten the lushness of those delectably plump lips. Lips that had no need for lip gloss to enhance their fullness or deliciously peach colour.

Those lips thinned now, as if Nina Palitov was well aware that Rafe was playing with her, and she didn’t appreciate it.

‘Would eleven o’clock be convenient to you, Mr D’Angelo?’ she bit out huskily.

‘I’ll make sure that it is,’ he drawled softly.

Nina was very aware that somewhere during the course of this exchange Raphael D’Angelo had taken control of the conversation—and her? His air of lazy confidence and power implied that he preferred always to be in control.

Even when he was in bed with a woman?

Nina felt the colour warm her cheeks for a second time in as many minutes as she realised that Raphael D’Angelo was responsible for bringing those totally inappropriate thoughts into her head.

Why were they so inappropriate?

She was twenty-four years old, with a slender figure, and the way men looked at her told her she wasn’t unattractive. And Raphael D’Angelo was dangerously, overwhelmingly handsome in a swarthily Latin way that she realised made her nerve-endings sizzle. They were both over twenty-one, so why shouldn’t she indulge in a little light flirtation with him?

Because it wasn’t something she was accustomed to doing, came the instant, and sad, reply. Her father was very protective of her, claustrophobically so at times, and it was a little difficult to enjoy a flirtation with an attractive man with two bodyguards always standing at her back. Especially when those same two bodyguards would no doubt report that behaviour back to her father if necessary.

Besides, she might have only just met him for the first time, but it was long enough to know that Raphael D’Angelo really was too dangerous a man for Nina to practise her relatively inexperienced flirtation skills on.

She knew his reputation, of course; even she had heard the New York gossip about this particular D’Angelo brother, enough to know that Raphael D’Angelo’s relationships with women were brief and numerous, and that there was no such thing as a light flirtation where this particular man was concerned.

‘Do that.’ Nina nodded abruptly, her defensive hackles rising.

Those golden eyes narrowed to steely slits. ‘I believe, as it seems we will be required to spend a certain amount of time together over the next few weeks, that you will find me to be much more amenable to your needs if our relationship is one based on mutual respect.’

Nina blinked. ‘It’s been my experience that respect is earned rather than a given.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Meaning?’

Nina kept her expression deliberately blank. ‘I don’t believe there was any hidden meaning to my comment, Mr D’Angelo, merely a statement of fact.’

Rafe doubted that very much.

Damn, but this woman was irritating. Cool, detached—and damned irritating!

She was also beautiful, in an exotically unusual way; a man could drown in those deep moss-green eyes, become lost in caressing the smooth softness of her skin, and as for those lush and kissable lips? Rafe had no idea what her breasts were like, of course, hidden as they were beneath that bulky black sweatshirt, but her hips and thighs were slender, her legs so long they seemed to go on for ever. As for that abundance of long and curling silkily soft hair, Rafe couldn’t ever remember seeing hair of quite that fiery colour before, natural golden and russet highlights visible amongst the red as her sunlit hair surrounded her face like a halo.

Yes, Nina Palitov was all of those things: irritating, beautiful, and desirable—and completely out of any man’s reach, if the two heavies standing guard behind her were any indication. And they so obviously were; both men were still eyeing him suspiciously.

She was also, most tellingly of all, the daughter of Dmitri Palitov, the powerful billionaire who took the term reclusive to a whole new level!

She nodded now. ‘Obviously I would like the gallery’s security to be part of our conversation.’