“Amelia.” Maya’s voice went soft, careful, the way it always did right before she said something she thought I might not want to hear. “Has it occurred to you that a man like that could buy any painting he wanted? From anywhere. Any gallery, any artist, any name people actually recognize. And instead he’s standing in a room watching you work and telling you he wants yours.”
I sat back down on the little stool, turning that over in my head. “Maybe he was just being nice, Maya. He’s rich. Rich people buy things to be generous sometimes. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“Does it though?” I could hear the smile creeping into her voice, the one that meant she’d already made up her mind about something. “Men like Leonardo Mor
