DRAKE'S POV
I sped off on the bike, successfully leaving Heather's bodyguards behind. I knew she'd texted them, but my plan was to take her on an adventure free from interference, and I was glad she was on board. Our first stop was Rosario Mall to switch into disguises; we couldn't be seen all over town in high-end outfits.
Heather's face lit up with smiles as she surveyed the clothes on the racks. I couldn't help but be amused by her delight over such a simple thing. Catherine, on the other hand, would throw a fit if I ever took her to a place like this.
I checked my watch; it was already 10:30 AM. While she browsed the women's section, I quickly grabbed a black polo shirt, Levi's jeans, a black leather biker jacket, and Gucci sunglasses. When I emerged from the men's dressing room, I caught Heather staring at me, though she quickly averted her gaze. In that moment, even if she never admitted it, I knew she found me handsome.
I walked over to the saleslady attending to us and handed her my card. "I'll pay for everything," I told her, "both mine and her's."
She smiled, swiping the card. The transaction went through. I was ready to leave, but then she asked, "Is she your girlfriend? She looks stunning!"
"No," I replied, "she's my best friend." I secretly wished she would be my girlfriend if I ever asked.
The lady playfully shook her head. "That's a pity. She's been staring at you since you walked in. I could see the signs in her eyes."
I scoffed, then laughed at her remark. "If you want to be a matchmaker," I said politely, "then I'll let you plan our first date if Heather says yes."
Again, I glanced back at Heather, and she was looking at me. We chatted for a few minutes, and she headed into the women's dressing room to change into her perfect disguise: a white turtleneck tank top, high-waist Fendi jeans, Dior 2615 sunglasses, and a denim handbag. When she emerged, she looked stunning and, at the same time, nothing like her usual self. I loved the way her golden hair bounced over her shoulder, clearly showing its Afro trait.
We left the mall on my bike, after I had swapped out the license plate to avoid suspicion and maintain our cover.
At the museum, we stood admiring the bold logo that read, "THE NATIONAL MUSEUM FOR AMERICAN HISTORY." Heather's smile was evident until we both spotted her bodyguards. These men were serious about finding her. We quickly hid our faces and slipped into the building.
Once inside, we sighed, ducking behind a large pillar. I tilted my head, checking for the bodyguards, but they were nowhere in sight. I took Heather's hand, silently leading her toward the museum director's office.
Inside, Mr. Jackson Larry, the museum director, was ecstatic to see me. He reached out and shook my hand as if he were meeting a god for the very first time—perhaps due to my family's significant contributions and continuous support for the museum's upkeep.
Heather, shocked, whispered in my ear, "How do you know the museum director?"
I quickly told her, "My dad and him are best friends," and Mr. Larry nodded in agreement, putting her at ease.
The museum director remarked, "It's been a long time since I last saw you."
But I replied, "I'm only here for the American bridge, and I need it specifically for my presentation."
He smiled, reminding me, "The civil engineering bridges exhibition has been closed since late 2002."
I persisted, "I want to see the bridges," before sliding a black card onto his desk.
He sighed upon seeing it and finally led us through a back door in his office. After navigating through tunnels, we arrived in a safe room where everything related to American bridges was displayed, secluded from the outside world.
Heather smiled and began observing the items before her. She asked me, "Are any of these real?"
I whispered, "They are."
"But why did you have to bribe the museum director to show us this?" she asked.
I replied softly, "That was the only way to get in. This is how other rich men view it without alerting the thieves who'd come for all the paintings and artifacts."
She helped me sort through all the paintings and artifacts, not missing a single detail, while I took notes on everything she said. I pulled out my drawing pad, sketching each design, and also seized the chance to sketch her face as she sat on a stool near the first American railway bridge.
She looked at me awkwardly, asking, "Why are you staring at me instead of the painting?"
I denied the charges, saying, "I wasn't, but I couldn't help but find you beautiful."
She laughed, declaring, "I'm the most beautiful girl you'll ever lay your eyes on."
I chuckled, "There's no doubt about that."
After hours of intense work and inspection of the paintings, we left the museum. Her bodyguards were gone. She was stunned and whispered, "They left!"
"It's obvious they're at the library," I said. "So, maybe we should ditch the library and go to an art museum."
At the art museum, she pulled me straight to the Mona Lisa painting, imitating every move the lady in the painting made. I laughed at her goofy attitude, and then she posed before moving on to the George Washington painting, then to Charles Darwin, and finally to the Marie Antoinette painting.
She explained how she found Marie "beautiful and resilient, just like her."
I hugged her from behind, telling her, "You're way smarter and more beautiful than the woman in the painting."
She turned, asking me, "Do you mean it?" before looking back at the painting.
"Yes, you are," I said, then stared back at the painting myself.
I glanced at my watch; it was already 1:59 PM. We should head back, but not before she had her lunch. She agreed, and we drove off to McDonald's, both of us standing face to face with the McDonald's signboard.
I told her, "Let's go in," and she stretched out her right hand to me. I led her inside the restaurant. We both sat down, and a young waitress walked up to us, asking what we'd order. I looked up at the menu, telling her I wanted a lasagna, a steak, and an Italian sauce. Heather looked at the waitress and ordered a bowl of South Korean noodles, kimchi, and extra-large mussels.
The waitress smiled at us before walking away with our orders, and we sat chatting about how exciting the journey had been. Soon, the waitress brought our food, and Heather was excited, ready to dig in. But then she smiled, as if an idea had hit her.
She pulled out her phone, which she had switched off at the mall, and turned it back on, taking a selfie of the food. I told her, "Don't do that, the bodyguards will know your location."
"But wasn't the adventure over already?" she replied.
"Yes, it was," I said, "but you could just enjoy the scenery for now."
She countered, "If I don't provide my location ASAP, my parents might return, and I'll be homeschooled."
I wasn't quite pleased with the idea of homeschooling, and as we savored our dishes, the restaurant door burst open. Magnus, Gabriel, and Uriel, her bodyguards, stormed in, clearly unhappy to see me.
She told them, "Calm down and don't attract the attention of the customers. My parents will fire you if you're seen online."
They calmed down, and Magnus told her, "Never wander off again."
I tried to speak to them, assuring them of her safety, but Uriel's face was contorted with anger. He told me, "This will be the last time I see you around Heather." But I smiled in my heart, knowing this most certainly wouldn't be the last time.
She waved to me before walking out with her bodyguards, and I didn't hesitate to blow her a kiss, which seemed to tick off Gabriel. As they left the premises, a black limousine pulled over. Aaron, my right-hand man and personal bodyguard, rushed out of the car and helped me open the door. I sank inside the car before he rushed in and drove off.