Gemotions

The gallery buzzed with chatter, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with the faint aroma of fresh paint. He navigated the crowd with an easy confidence, sipping his wine, and nodding politely at the compliments. He listened to the praise directed at *her*, the supposed author of the article, and allowed the grin to widen.

He was the conductor, and she, the instrument. A beautifully tuned instrument, indeed. He made his way to the buffet table. The hors d'oeuvres looked delicious. Another toast was in order.