But I enjoyed mingling with the tourists and locals who stopped by.
And to my surprise, people really did love my paintings.
Couples talked about their favorites, people asked about the prices, and a few even bought one before they left.
Before lunchtime arrived, I’d made over ten thousand euros.
I couldn’t believe it.
I walked over to a table with two young gentlemen who seemed to be brothers, based on the way they were causally insulting each other. I poured the wine and noticed they’d been drinking quicker than anyone else in the group. “So, which is your favorite?”
“The 2008 was great,” the one on the right said.
“2014 was better.” The one on the left was dressed in a white t-shirt with a gray blazer. He had light skin and an American accent, so it didn’t seem like he was a local. Maybe they were visiting with family. He had an indifferent demeanor, like nothing was good enough for him. “We were just at the Burtolli Vineyards. Now that’s excellent wine.”
I couldn’t care less what this jerk thought, but I didn’t appreciate the casual way he insulted the hard work of my family. “Then maybe you should go back.” I poured the wine a little too fast and purposely spilled it on the sleeve of his jacket.
“Hey.” He dotted the stain away with a napkin. “Watch what you’re doing.”
“I was.” I smiled then walked off, helping another table that actually had some manners. I spent the next twenty minutes mingling and asking where everyone was from. My mom did a great job doing the tastings because she was from America, like most of the tourists. So she had visited the places where they were from and gave people a sense of familiarity.
As the customers started to taper off for lunch, Mom left early to join my father for their date. I stayed behind and finished off the final bottles and cleaned the glasses. The two jerks from earlier were still there, and now they were staring at my paintings.
I ignored them, waiting until they finally left so I could never think about them again. I wiped off all the tables with a rag and then rinsed the glasses people had drunk from before placing them in the dishwasher. We bought all our cheeses from the local village, so everything was fresh and authentic.
“Three thousand euros?” the man in the gray blazer asked. “This looks terrible. Did a five-year-old make this?” His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked at the paintings like they were trash.
I refused to let his opinion bother me. He was just some entitled asshole.
“Yeah,” his brother agreed. “Amateur and pathetic. They had much better artwork in Milan. You know, by real artists.”
The man in the gray blazer squinted at my name in the corner. “Vanessa Barsetti…no wonder it sucks. It sucks just like their wine.” He seemed to say it loudly on purpose—for my benefit. After they thoroughly destroyed my day, they walked out and thankfully left.
Now I was finally alone…
His last words lingering in my mind.
I shouldn’t let it bother me, let it tear me down. He was just one asshole, and everyone else loved my work. I wouldn’t have sold four paintings that afternoon if I didn’t have any talent.
I kept trying to convince myself his words didn’t matter, but the fact that I had to try to convince myself at all told me his words did bother me.
Made me doubt myself.
Hurt me.
I stood at the counter with my eyes averted, making an effort to keep my breathing regular. I felt the emotion creep up on me, felt it filter through my veins. My eyes started to well up, and I did my best to keep them back. My strength waned the longer I had to fight against my reaction, because it just made me feel weaker.
I felt pathetic for letting it bother me.
Heavy footsteps sounded against the cobblestone floor. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
I looked up to see the stunning blue eyes that contained my whole world. Strong and powerful, he invigorated me with strength just by looking at me. The t-shirt he wore had been soaked with sweat around his neck and armpits because he’d been working hard in the warehouse. A line of sweat covered his brow. When he was hot and sweaty, he looked even sexier than usual.
I came around the bar and moved into his chest, feeling my lifeline right under my fingertips. He was my strength as well as my weakness. He was my rock, the crutch I leaned on when I needed it most.
His hand moved to the back of my neck, and he stared down at me, concern in his eyes.
I thought I heard footsteps again, and I feared that asshole was coming back to insult me once more. But then I realized it didn’t matter if he were…because Bones would kill him. And I wouldn’t stop it from happening.