Whatever paintings or sculptures or mind-bending creations were in this room, George didn't see them. There was just the woman looking up at him. She was art. Not those splashes of paint or chiseled bits of rock.
"I'd gotten that impression," he replied quietly. He thought he knew what she meant. He hoped he knew what she meant. He tugged her hand to pull her close, resting his free one on her lower back. He leaned in, lips barely touching. "I really do adore you, too."