GALLERY PT 02.
1507 Words
My hand reached for the door, but before I could pull it open, he caught it, spinning me gently to face him.
“You think I’m alone?” His voice was low, a mixture of curiosity and challenge, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Lonely… arrogant brat,” I shot back, my words sharp.
His arms tensed slightly around me. “You’re hurting me,” he said with a mock pout. I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t supposed to make him angry. He released my hand but didn’t break eye contact. “What makes you think I’m lonely?”
“First,” I began carefully, “you’re interested in that topic. Second, who else would be this busy, alone, in a huge gallery in the middle of the night, and treat his own student like she doesn’t exist when she came to… keep you company?”
His brow furrowed. “What…”
Oh no. That just slipped out. I hadn’t come here to keep him company. “Forget it. I’ll leave,” I said, stepping back.
He moved in front of me, blocking the doorway. “You came here for me?” His tone was soft, almost worried, and curious. I couldn’t tell which. I rolled my eyes at him again. Who knew he had this dumb, vulnerable side? But at least he asked gently.
“Can I please go?”
“No.” He frowned, and I gave him a flat, challenging look, which made him visibly uncomfortable. Then, almost abruptly, he added, “Want some coffee? I have some.”
I blinked. “Why?” Did my jab about him being lonely hit a nerve?
“Just heard COVID’s getting serious. Heat’s a sort of medicine,” he said, striding to a table he had leaned on earlier. Reggae music played softly from his phone.
I followed him with my eyes as he poured a deep red wine into two plastic cups. When he offered one to me, I took it back to where I had been standing.
“I didn’t know this was also coffee,” I murmured.
He sipped from his glass and led me slowly around the gallery. “I wanted to give you coffee,” he admitted, emphasizing the words, “but then I saw the bottle.”
“The bottle?” I echoed, suddenly remembering the one I had rejected at the grand hotel that day.
“Yap. I bought it for us. Couldn’t drink it alone,” he said simply.
I chuckled. Was he acting? “That’s… impressive,” I admitted, unable to stop the smile.
“You said you’re from Xenonia, right?”
“Yap,” I nodded.
“I’m sorry to ask this, but…” He hesitated, then continued, “…there’s a family gathering this June. My brother’s getting married. I’d like you to join me.”
I tittered. “Look at the Art King asking for a favor like that,” I teased, watching his momentary embarrassment. “I’d love to, if I’d been asked properly.” I sipped my glass, forcing my gaze to rest on one of his more mundane paintings.
“Anyway, where’s my favorite collection?” I asked, glancing around, but it was nowhere in sight.
“Ah, you’ll come with me to the wedding. I’ll give it to you there,” he said casually.
I nearly choked on the wine. “That costs… two—”
“Forget what it costs,” he interrupted, eyes alight with mischief. He clearly didn’t care about the price, or was there another reason behind this invitation?
“Why would the Lord of Art—Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci—ask me to accompany him, while he is surrounded by all the pretty ladies in Guentemalla? They’d go with him for free. You’d not have to part with your precious collection.”
He exhaled and gulped from his glass before leading me toward a section of the gallery I hadn’t seen before. We stopped in front of a series of illustrations: a little boy, abandoned, striving to rise, growing into a man who would conquer life on his own.
“How does this story end?” I asked, captivated.
“You understand quickly,” he said, turning toward me. “That’s why I chose you. The little boy… is me.”
“What?” I blinked, searching for some trace of vulnerability in his face, but he remained casual.
“Yap. Thrown away at seven. I didn’t want someone telling me how to live my life. The old man who brought me in—before hunger took me—was a Literature Professor at Guentemalla University. He promised to make me a master of literature.”
He moved to the next collection, gulping the last drops from our glasses as we walked. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I accepted his guidance. He kept his promise, and that’s when I found my direction.”
He paused, recalling a memory. “One night, I walked to his office, worried he’d throw me out like my father did. I said, ‘Sir, I think I know what I want to do with my life.’ Worry clouded his face. ‘What is it, son?’ he asked. ‘I want to paint,’ I said. He was silent for a minute, then smiled and applauded. ‘Look what we have here: Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci,’ he said, patting my shoulder. ‘I am so proud of you.’ How I wished that was my real father’s voice.”
We stopped in front of a graduation illustration of him in a gown. “He made me who I am today,” he said quietly.
“How did your father find you?” I asked.
“He never lost me. He was there to challenge me, to threaten me at every turn. He swore he’d bring me down someday.”
I shivered. I had never heard of a parent quite like that. “I’m… sorry.”
He placed both glasses on a nearby table and stepped closer, the scent of his cologne strong enough to make me dizzy.
“My world… is full of my father. You think girls are everywhere? They’re here to take away the only thing I have. No art. No me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. I just want you to come to the wedding. Please.”
“Well, Sir,” I said carefully, “your story is… scary, but it doesn’t explain why me.”
“Miss Eve? What makes it so hard to say yes? I’ll give you anything you want.”
I smiled, feeling a rush of power. There were things I wanted from him more than a masterpiece. “Are you sure?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Just say it,” he urged.
“I want three things. One, the masterpiece.”
“Granted,” he said. The way he said it made him look like a genie granting wishes.
“Two, make me an author.”
“You’re my student. That’s my job.”
“I mean… with COVID, I might have to go back to Xenonia.”
“That won’t stop you from being my student.”
“And three… be my friend.”
“What?” He frowned, and I almost chuckled.
“Yes. We live in the same world. You’re my friend, even if I leave. I might never come back,” I added, trying to sound confident.
He sighed. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” My heart was racing. I jumped, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arms around my waist, catching me off guard. I stepped back quickly, his eyes locking with mine.
Before I knew it, I was pinned to the wall, one hand braced against it, the other on my waist. He leaned closer, and my thoughts went haywire.
“Get off me,” I said calmly, trying to steady my racing heart.
His nose nearly brushed mine. “Get off me, pervert,” I added mentally, hoping to keep my composure.
“Pervert? You came in here without permission. Isn’t that what you were trying to do?” he smirked. “I told you… you’re too easy.”
He pulled away, striding back to the front of the gallery.
“We’re just helping each other, anyway,” he said casually.
I exhaled, cheeks flushed, emotions in turmoil. “It’s almost dusk,” I murmured, noticing the first hints of light chasing away the darkness. “I should head out.” I passed him quickly, not daring to look back.
“Take care of yourself,” he called from behind.
“That shouldn’t concern you,” I muttered, closing the door behind me, heart pounding with a mix of excitement, fear, and something dangerously close to admiration.
- Writer
