ARABELLA

CHAPTER2

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER

Eva's POV

"He called this morning and asked if we are open and he said he has a 'challenge' to complete." Sophie smiled. "I also read society pages; you were photographed together last night at the Blackwood gala. The title of the article from Page Six reads, ‘Mystery Woman Captivates Manhattan’s Most Eligible Bachelor’." My stomach dropped. "Were we photographed?"

"Yes, we were photographed multiple times, and the champagne incident made several blogs." She added, "Don’t worry-you look great, and he looks completely smitten.” She stopped and asked, “Although, Xander Blackwood? Is he a bit too well-known for whatever you’re doing?"

Madame Selene had thoroughly researched Sophie and knew she would be loyal, discreet, and willing to ignore some things for the right price.

“Too well-known is exactly what I need,” I replied.

By now, the gallery door opened and we both turned to see who came in.

Xander Blackwood entered and the energy changed in the room. He was wearing dark-washed jeans (priced higher than many monthly rents), a crisp white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a charcoal-colored blazer accentuating his large frame. His dark hair was a bit disheveled as if he ran his hand through it, and those incredible blue eyes scanned the gallery until they landed on me.

He offered me a slow, appreciative smile. "Hi, Ms. Sterling."

"Hello Mr. Blackwood." I did not budge from my spot in front of the Marcus Chen painting.

"You’re early," I said.

"I told you – I’m an early riser," he said while walking towards me with a confidence that wasn’t arrogance. "And I believe I said it’s Xander."

"It is," I replied, gesturing to the gallery. "Welcome to Sterling Gallery.” I can see why we specialize in emerging artists —

"Emerging artists — they're either just starting out, or someone has broken them." He had taken his eyes from the painting behind me — the blue and red colors were violent. "For example, this piece is — it's angry."

"It is called Aftermath, I said softly. "He lost his family in a house fire as a child — this is his representation of the aftermath."

I watched for an Xander reaction — would he connect the dots on the parallel? Was some unconscious guilt going to rise up?

Instead, his face showed real empathy. "That is both beautiful and devastating." He took a step closer to study the brush strokes. "And the red — it isn't just fire; it's anger. And the blue..."

"Guilt," I finished quietly.

"Guilt," he repeated. He turned to look at me — and there was something about his eyes that caught my breath. "You relate to this piece personally, don't you?"

I didn't expect that — I didn't expect him to see right through me like he did.

"I relate to loss," I said carefully. "I think most people do — in their own way."

"Not most people channel their feelings into something as powerful as this." He looked at the painting again. "Is this your favorite piece — the one with the hidden signature?"

"Maybe," I said moving next to him — close enough for me to smell his cologne again — that cedar and darkness that haunted me all night. "Keep looking."

"May I?" He nodded toward the rest of the gallery.

"Please."

I watched as he explored — noting how he spent a good amount of time with each piece — reading the artist statements — studying the technique. He wasn't putting on a show — this wasn't for my entertainment. He actually loves art.

"What do you think about this?" he said as he stopped in front of a very colorful abstract painting in orange and yellow hues. "Why art? What makes you choose this over a career in finance or technology and all the many careers that will attract ambitious young women to New York City?"

"Why would you say I am ambitious?"

He chuckled at his own smile. "Well, Eva Sterling opened an art gallery in SoHo 6 months ago. And within 3 months of opening, you are hosting some high-profile shows and attracting big-name collectors. By month 5, you are appearing in Art Forum magazine. And by month 6, you are attending the highest profile party in Manhattan and managed to get past the security people who require either a pedigree or a Forbes listing to attend." He moved closer to me. "So, let me try that again— why art?"

I looked up at him and held his stare firmly. "Art is honest. There isn't anything else in this world that can't be bought or manipulated. You either like something and feel something when you view it or you don't. There is no price tag on true feelings."

"Do you think you are trying to find real emotions?"

"Don't you think we are all?"

The two of us stood there for a long time with that strange energy pulsating between us. This had been meant to be easy—seduce him, use him and ruin his family. But, seeing the intelligence and unexpected depth in his eyes as we stood here, I could already tell that I had made a mistake and the plan was going to be much harder than I thought.

"Saw it," Xander said abruptly and motioned to a small watercolor painting of the crescent moon hanging over the blackness of the ocean in the corner. "Your favorite."

I walked over to the painting, truly shocked. "How did you know?"

"That's because it's located so you can see it from your desk." He gestured to my office in the back."Which means you look at it constantly. And the signature—" He leaned in, pointing to the bottom right corner where, hidden in the waves, the artist had painted tiny letters. "There. 'To Arabella, who taught me to see the moon even in darkness.'"

My heart stopped. "Arabella" was what my parents had called me. This piece was from Marcus Chen, one of the artists Madame Selene supported. She'd commissioned it for me two years ago, when I'd been drowning in darkness and rage and training. The crescent moon—my birthmark, Celine's birthmark, our connection.

"Arabella," Xander said softly. "Is that your real name?"