Sweet Hope (Sweet Home 3)

The man’s shoulders stiffened.

Craning my head, I tried to get a better look at him, but he seemed to anticipate the move and stepped further away from my sight.

“The gallery is closed to visitors. You really shouldn’t be here,” I added, nervously.

In a second, the man released his hand from the broken wing of the sculpture like it nearly killed him to do so. With his head firmly cast down, he turned and ran out of the gallery.

My heart pounded as I watched him retreat.

What the hell was that? Why did it suddenly feel like I was standing in a vacuum, the air from my lungs dissipated? And more to the point, why was he here this late at night, breaking down in front of the angel?

Shaking myself vigorously, I clutched my notepad and purse, and walked toward the security desk where Christoph was monitoring the screens.

“Christoph?” I called, and he looked up. I sighed and leaned on the desk. “You can’t let students sneak into the museum after hours, especially my gallery. Many people want to see these pieces up close and will do anything to get a sneak peek.”

Christoph frowned. “I assure you, Ms. Lucia, no students are getting in or have been getting in.”

I closed my eyes in a brief moment of exasperation. “Christoph, they did just now. I just this minute caught a student in the gallery, and he was touching the main sculpture. What if he’d broken it?”

Christoph got to his feet and leaned on the black granite countertop opposite me, confusion still clearly etched on his face. He lifted the sign-in book and read down the names on the page. “No, it was just the two of you who’ve been here this late.”

I was set to argue when his words finally sank into my brain. “The two of us?” I questioned, not understanding to whom he was referring.

Christoph checked the sheet again. “Yeah, you and the artist.”

My head jerked to the book he held. “El… Elpidio?” I spluttered in shock.

Something akin to butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I struggled to talk. “Elpidio the artist whose exhibition I’m curating was here?”

Christoph looked at me as if I was insane. I was starting to concern myself with that too.

“Ms. Lucia, Elpidio has been coming in every night around this time to check on the progress. I thought you knew. Vin Galanti cleared it before you both arrived in Seattle.”

The notepad in my hand was shaking in time with my trembling, and I placed it down. Elpidio had been coming in every night?

That meant…

“Christoph, was he wearing all black tonight? Does he have dark long hair?”

Christoph nodded. “He always wears black. Never says anything.” Christoph leaned forward. “Real dark brooding artist type. And honestly, he scares the shit out of me. He’s one intimidating guy.”

“Oh my God…” I whispered. I’d just seen him… He was here… He’d been coming here and I’d not known…

Abruptly, I covered Christoph’s hand with my own. “Christoph, which way did Elpidio go?”

“Out the back door to the staff parking lot. It’s where he parks every night.”

I immediately began running to the staff exit door. As I swung the door open to the cool night, I watched helplessly as a black muscle car pulled out of the parking lot and raced away from the museum.

As I stood there letting the cool breeze caress my flushed face and soothe my frantic heart, I squeezed my eyes shut. I pictured him standing beside the sculpture, head down, back tense, with his hand gripping the angel’s wing as though its touch was the only thing stopping him from dropping to the ground.

My gaze followed the fading lights of his car, and I whispered aloud, “What has happened in your life to make you so broken?”

Chapter Six

Ally

No one could ever know of this moment. This one moment of pure insanity, I had to keep to myself.

It was bordering on ridiculous. Regardless, I found myself in the bathroom of the museum, spreading on a pale-pink shade of lip-gloss on my lips, and brushing out my long dark hair until it fell against my waist. I was dressed simply in an off-the-shoulder gray T-shirt that skimmed my figure and skinny black jeans. I never dressed up to curate a gallery, too much dust and mess. What I was wearing wasn’t beyond what I’d ordinarily wear. But there was no doubt, that at thirty minutes past midnight on a weeknight, I normally wouldn’t be applying makeup on the off chance a reclusive artist would show his face.

That reclusive artist I couldn’t get out of my head. That reclusive artist I dreamt about last night. That reclusive artist who had been weeping while holding on to a marble angel’s broken wing. That tall, broad, sullen artist who had fled at the very sound of my voice.

I was a bag of nerves simply thinking about what it would be like to meet Elpidio in person. I prayed to all that was holy that he wouldn’t be a pompous ass. I didn’t want my dream of this man shattered.

Checking one last time that I looked good, I walked back toward the gallery, glancing to the security desk to see if Christoph was there. He wasn’t. Which probably meant Elpidio was a no-show.

Dammit. Seeing me must have scared him off last night. If only I’d known he’d been coming at night, I could have introduced myself… I could have finally met the man whose work had stolen my heart.

Head down in disappointment, I walked slowly to the gallery and moved the dark curtains aside, entering the private workspace. Bridgette, the Museum Director, had arranged to put the curtains up this afternoon after my many complaints about art students and visitors trying to take in an early showing.