Alessio didn’t say a word as he guided me through the hallways of the venue, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. It was as though he had some secret plan, one he wasn’t ready to share just yet.
We stopped in front of an unmarked door. He opened it with a keycard, motioning for me to step inside first.
The air was cooler here, almost reverent, and I immediately noticed the shift in ambiance. The room was vast, dimly lit, with golden spotlights casting soft glows onto large, empty frames. The smell of aged wood and faint oil paint lingered in the air, telling a story of time and craftsmanship.
I turned slowly, taking it all in.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice soft.
Alessio stepped beside me, his hands in his pockets, his sharp suit catching the faint light. “It is,” he
