“Okay…” I didn’t want to spend any extra time with this man. Not even a second. “I just live two blocks this way.” I walked out first and reached the sidewalk.
He emerged behind me, his arm muscles flexing slightly as he held the weight of the painting. There were very few people on the street, so it seemed like just the two of us in this big city.
Together, we walked forward, side by side.
I could barely breathe. My chest ached. So much guilt washed over me. I didn’t like being this close to him, being alone with a man like him. It seemed like I was doing something wrong, betraying the man I loved just by being a few inches away from this one.
“Where are you going to put it?” Antonio asked as he walked beside me, over a foot taller than me.
“In my living room.”
“I’m flattered.” He smiled in a genuine way, the kind that reached his eyes. He looked handsome when he smiled and handsome when he didn’t. It didn’t matter what his expression was, his beauty never changed.
Instead of letting the silence make things more awkward, I blurted something out. “I grew up in Tuscany, so your painting really touched me. I walked past your gallery last night, and when I saw your painting, I had to come back and get it.”
“Again, I’m flattered.” He possessed a deep and masculine voice, and his words flowed like honey. Confident and relaxed, he was comfortable in his own skin.
After two blocks had passed, we stopped at the gallery. “This is me.”
He looked at the gallery before his eyebrows rose up his forehead.
“I live in the apartment above the gallery.” I didn’t walk up the stairs on the side to my apartment, not wanting him to follow me inside my home. This was the farthest I was going to take him.
“Really?” He stared at the gallery for a few more seconds, his brow furrowed like he was trying to piece the puzzle together. “Do you own the gallery?”
“Yeah.” I realized he had no idea the painting he bought was mine. He must have thought I was only some woman working behind the counter, just like the woman in his shop. A part of me wanted to lie and pretend the artwork wasn’t mine, to deny a connection that we obviously shared. But my lie would catch up with me…sooner or later.
He finally turned back to me, his concentrated expression gone and his handsome smile wide. “That’s wonderful. How long have you been here?”
“Only about two months.” I took the painting from his hands, wanting to make sure he had no reason to come into my apartment. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with a man behind closed doors. I didn’t think anything would happen between us, but it felt too soon—even for that. “Thank you for giving me a hand with this. You’re right.” I tested the weight. “It’s a bit heavy.”
He slid his hands into his pockets and didn’t offer to carry it up the stairs to my apartment. He must have sensed the boundary I’d placed between us and didn’t try to press his chivalry any further.
I wanted to turn away and end this conversation now, before he asked the question I didn’t want to answer. “I guess I’ll see you around, Mr. Tassone.” Keeping it formal was smart. It would keep the distance between us.
“Antonio,” he said, the corner of his mouth rising in a smile. “What kind of artists do you carry here? I’d never heard of Vanessa Barsetti before I purchased your painting. Is she a new artist? Her work is remarkable. I don’t buy paintings very often, but the moment I saw hers…I felt something.”
I forgot to breathe because his compliment meant so much to me. This amazing artist just complimented me…an amateur. I’d dropped out of university to pursue this, but I never really believed in myself. Now this talented man was complimenting me, having no idea I was the one who painted the piece. The second I laid eyes on his painting, I knew I needed to hang it in my home. His work was inspiring, beautiful, and mesmerizing. The fact that someone who created the paintings he did thought my work was any good…was surreal. “She’s the only artist that I carry…because she is me. And thank you for your kind words…I’m very touched.”
His smile faded away instantly, and the look that replaced it was one I’d never seen before, not on him or anyone else. His coffee-colored eyes stared at me, looking at me in a new way, like he was seeing me for the very first time. His gaze intense and deep, he stared at me like he could see past my face and to everything underneath.