“And don’t feel bad about saying no to anything,” her mother chimed in, her smile saying she’d read his mind. Or perhaps the shift of his feet. “Art is subjective, and some pieces just don’t suit a particular style. You’ll want to be a bit choosy for your foundation pieces.”

He pressed his lips against another smile. “Forgive me. I never imagined having foundational pieces. I confess that while I appreciate art, I have never given it much thought.”

Lily grinned. “Don’t worry. We’ll remedy that in minutes.”

“Beginning with this photograph from Paris that Lily took.” Mrs. Blackwell presented a large framed print of a view from the base of the Eiffel Tower, looking up to its tip. The perspective was intriguing, the lighting extraordinary. But what made his brows knit was the fact that it had color to it. “How did you manage to capture the hue?”

On that trip to Paris with his family, he thought he’d been prepared for the sight of the tower—but what had surprised him hadn’t been the magnitude or the vertigo he experienced by looking up at it. It had been that he’d been expecting it to be iron grey and instead it was a warm bronze shade.

Lily motioned to the photograph. “I actually painted with watercolor on the photograph.”

“Remarkable. And beautiful.”

“Perhaps when you look at it, it will be a reminder of that holiday. And a prayer.” Her voice as soft as a Parisian spring, Lily gripped whatever framed painting she had chosen without turning it around.

He ran a hand down the frame of the photograph and nodded. “I would be honored to display this in my flat.”

A grin bloomed over her lips. “I don’t know how much honor is involved. Now, this one, on the other hand.” She made a show of flipping the large frame around to reveal a stunning oil painting in shades of blue. Sky, flowers, water, even the grass had a blue tint, as did the silhouette of two children in the distance. “Fit for a museum, I say.”

Mrs. Blackwell laughed. “But apparently not for the marquis who had commissioned it. And then failed to come and pick it up some five years ago.”

“His loss. And your gain, Mr. Marin, if you choose to accept it.”

He had no idea why some other lucky friend or family member hadn’t claimed it already, but he had to admit that the blues were appealing. It was enormous, big enough to fill the space between the two windows in his sitting room. “I certainly could not refuse the loan of such a work of art.”