Ellie had gone to bed soon after Martina, but she hadn’t slept well.
Are you in love with him?
Fourteen hours later and the question was still echoing inside her head.
Ellie closed her eyes, blocking out her view of the ridiculously slow-moving clock. Was she in love with Garek? She didn’t think so. And yet, she’d never felt like this before, not even with Rafe. With Rafe, she’d felt an odd mix of excitement, curiosity and rebellion. With Garek, she felt excitement, too, but it was fueled more by a genuine liking of him as a person. Rafe had talked a lot, but rarely backed up his speeches with action. Garek, on the other hand, spoke very little, but he accomplished everything he set out to do. Rafe had ridiculed her interest in art and music. Garek wasn’t necessarily a devotee of either, but he obviously recognized the importance of both and shared her deep commitment to supporting artists and the arts. Rafe hadn’t cared about his disabled father and ailing mother—she hadn’t even known of their existence until he broke up with her. Garek obviously cared deeply about his family—he supported his sister and gave her loving, thoughtful gifts. Like the necklace. And the art foundation…
If she let the relationship continue on its natural course, if she went to his apartment and had sex with him, she would probably fall in love w
ith him. But would he love her in return?
Martina seemed to think so. But Ellie wasn’t so sure. She thought about how badly Rafe had hurt her. She didn’t want to go through that again.
And yet, in more ways than one, she’d been hiding ever since she came to Chicago. She couldn’t live the rest of her life this way. At some point she was going to have to take a risk on someone.
Maybe it was time to take that risk…
She looked at the clock.
Four fifty-seven. Four fifty-eight. Only two more minutes…
The door opened and a woman entered. She wore a royal-blue designer suit, her hair fresh-from-the-salon styled and tinted, a large diamond on her finger. She had that too-perfect look of plastic surgery and could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty years old.
Usually Ellie would have been delighted at the arrival of a customer, no matter how close to closing time. But today she only wanted to hurry home and get ready to go to Garek’s.
With an effort, she hid her impatience. “May I help you?”
“I am Doreen Tarrington,” the woman announced.
Doreen Tarrington…Garek’s sister?
Ellie smiled, warmth curling inside her. Had he sent his sister to meet her? “Mrs. Tarrington! How nice to finally meet you. I’m Ellie Hernandez, and this is Vogel’s Gallery.”
Doreen did not smile back. Nor did she take Ellie’s outstretchedhand. Haughty gray eyes gazed disdainfully around the room, and as she looked at several of Ellie’s newest purchases, a horrified expression settled on the woman’s features. “I knew it. I knew it!” she said bitterly.
Ellie’s hand dropped to her side. The warmth inside her faded. “Is something wrong?”
“I would certainly say so—this place is ghastly! This isn’t real art! What will the Palermos and the Branwells think? He did this on purpose. I know he did!”
“Who?” Ellie asked.
“Garek.” Loathing filled Doreen’s voice. “My brother. He picked this gallery to humiliate me. The wretch. The terrible wretch!”
Ellie’s stomach knotted. “Mrs. Tarrington, you don’t know what you’re saying. Garek did this for you—”
Doreen laughed cynically. “Is that what he told you? You obviously don’t know him very well. Or do you?” The piercing gray gaze, suddenly looking very much like Garek’s, swept over her. “He’s sleeping with you, isn’t he? A common sales clerk! I can’t believe Ethel was taken in by you—or Garek, either. But of course he wasn’t. I see it all now. I make a perfectly reasonable request that he start an art foundation for me, and what does he do? He seeks out the trashiest gallery he can find just to annoy me. How like him. How very like him!”
Ellie opened her mouth to say something—anything—but Doreen continued, her anger as biting and unstoppable as the wind over Lake Michigan.
“And you—I suppose you’re the ‘suitable girl’ I asked him to find.” Doreen’s hard gaze swept over her again. “How much did he pay you to play this horrible trick on me? Or did you do it for free, thinking he really cared about you? I hope you weren’t that naive. The only thing my brother cares about is himself. And money, of course.”
Without another word, Doreen turned on her heel and left the gallery. Ellie, feeling dazed, went into her little office and sat down. She stared at the canvas over her desk. It showed an artist drawing the barren landscape outside his window—only in his rendition everything was green and in flower.
Ellie had always liked the painting. It reminded her to look on the bright side. But now it seemed to have a totally different meaning.
Had she been looking at everything through rose-colored glasses—seeing only what she wanted to see?
She picked up a pitcher of water, but her hands were shaking so badly, she put it back down.