Blood rushes through my veins as I recognize the arch of my widow’s peak, my lips, my breasts.
She’s me, a depiction of beautiful agony.
Pain makes the best art, right? Pollock, Van Gogh ...
“This is how I recall you,” he says.
In pain? I remember our love, but it seems so unimportant now.
My heart twinges for Tuck, and I glance around, as if expecting him to appear.
“Do you remember?” Levi says, and I finally turn to him. Yes, this. I focus on this ... art.
I nod. “She’s very real. Quite a statement piece. What’s it called?”
“Virgin.”
“Original,” I mutter. “Is there more?” I hope not. While I appreciate his talent, I feel as if everyone in the room knows it’s me. It’s as if he peeled me open, and I’ve had enough of that lately.
He lets out a laugh, a frustrated sound. “Isn’t this enough? It’s what I’ve been working on for over a year. Painstakingly. It’s taken up all my time.”
I shake my head. “But why immortalize me? I don’t get it.”
“Because I took your innocence, then deserted you. I ruined you.”
He pauses and clears his throat, maybe at what’s on my face. “Although you’ve recovered quite well.”
“That’s right.” I nod.
“I created this for me to remember.” He gives me a puzzled look. “I truly adored you, Francesca. I was in pain too. I messed up with you. If I hadn’t listened to my mother, we could have made it.”
I keep my face expressionless. Dude. Not in a million years ...
Gianna does a hair flick. “This all sounds truly awesome, and the fake Francesca is gorgeous, but my feet hurt, and I need some champagne. Where’s a waiter when you need one?”
“Waiter, waiter, we need you,” chimes in Cece as she waves her champagne glass.
Valentina snaps her fingers, and a server rushes over. Gianna squeals and hands a champagne glass to Cece.
“What do you think, Francesca?” Levi says, still hanging on my sleeve. “Do you love it?”
It is beautiful.
And I hate it.
“How much is it?” Valentina inquires. Wearing a red sheath dress, she inches closer to us, sliding between me and Levi.
He tells her an exorbitant sum with six zeros, and my eyes bulge.
She doesn’t even twitch. “I’ll take it.” She leans into my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll find somewhere to store it so no one ever sees it. After all, it does look a lot like me too.”
My eyes want to leak. I smile at her. “You really don’t have to.”
“No, it’s a baby gift.”
I laugh. “Odd, but ...”
“Francesca,” says a husky voice behind us.