One Night, Endless Secrets

Chapter 2: A Night to Remember

The environment changed gradually as they walked through the gallery, the desire to get closer becoming even denser when they smiled at each other and whispered. I am sure Isla hadn’t laughed this much in weeks, the stiffness of the evening dissipating further as Roman carefully continued the flow of conversation. They talked about art, dreams and how the two are completely different worlds most of the time.

Romantic stories of his past life, his deep, persuasive sounding voice, and Isla gradually began to hear the shells, so to speak. She shared her stories, she shared how she always had dreams of exhibiting her artworks in better and bigger galleries, and the pains of relapses of fear that gets with her every time she feels closer to actualizing such dreams. Roman heard her patiently, his sharp, blue eyes staring deeply into her eyes, forcing her to speak.

Although she was delighted at the idea of dressing up in the evening, Isla got bored soon enough. She felt there was something he was holding back from her. He was smiling, which she knew was a facade. The man beneath that politeness had skeletons that could break the trust they were building. She tried to rid herself of the thought but could only center her attention on the effect his laughter had on her rapid beating heart.

‘Oh Isla, what would you say is your worst nightmare?’ The tone in Roman’s voice as he asked his sudden question was rather serious.

Isla paused, taken aback, and not expecting that kind of question. Years of creating a cocoon around herself made any try at being vulnerable quite risky. But the real expression in Roman’s eyes made her feel that it is much better to be truthful.

“My biggest fear?” she said aloud, trying to recall the correct term for that emotion. And I believe that … Well, advocacy is thought to be left unfulfilled. All my life I have experienced a sense of erasure, as though I am unable to register as a presence in the environment through which I move. This is something that I want to produce and something that can make an impact, but at the same time, nobody will have a chance to see it.”

Roman seemed to understand what was happening, slowly beginning to smile at her. “I get that. Occasionally, one gets the impression that they are crying out in the wilderness. But in order to produce artwork, you have to believe that your artwork can affect people. It is rather simple, you just have to keep moving forward.”

Isla looked right into the eyes of Isla, and she unconsciously realized that she had never been so near to anybody else in her life. “And what about you? What do you fear?”

He stopped and for a moment he looked less certain than he had been before. “I fear losing control. In the profession I am in, it’s all that is believed and involved: power and who you know. It is not possible to let go of as far as I am concerned. It is tiring sometimes trying to keep all these aspects going.”

Love grew between them as they talked; they confided their problems and aspirations, and such rapport was inspiring – and terrifying. With time, the pressure semantically shifted from being simply palpable as the night went on. The feeling that their sparks help them to unite at a chemical level intensified with every passing minute.

And, at last, when it seemed that the two were too exhausted from giggling and hysterical bellowing to continue, Roman whispered hoarsely. Do you want to escape this place? I know a place where we can calmly discuss things without all…this. He pointed across the way at the nearby gallery and men and women that came to identify as artists and socialites.

At the thought of it Isla felt the beginning of that heady sprinter’s excitement. One side of her wanted to run as fast as she could in the other direction, warning her that taking on a man like Roman wasn’t exactly safe for an American girl in a small country town in Ireland. “Alright,” she said, managing to shock herself with her consent.