27. Casanova Takes No Prisoners #3
This side of the piece was a living, breathing visual that represented the ever-changing dance of grief and joy. A push-pull that would probably never stop being part of my life.
Carter was quiet, and I nervously filled in the space. “The piece will continue to change over time, because that’s how grief works.”
“And this blank canvas?” He asked, adorably intrigued by the small white canvas at the center of the colorful display.
“It’s not blank.” I grinned nervously.
He leaned in, finding my handwriting all over the canvas in white.
“This is the final journey of the mother-daughter relationship.” I explained as he puzzled over it.
“When the daughter becomes a mother.” A slow smile crept onto his face.
“It’s not filled with color yet, because I haven’t gotten that far—I don’t know what the color of motherhood is yet.
” I didn’t bother adding that I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be a mother anymore.
“And it’s the third strand in the braid.
” I explained. “The triple goddess. Mother, maiden, crone— queen .” I amended because I’d always liked that version better.
He shook his head in awe. “I love it.” He wrapped his arms around me, picking me up as he spun me around, and for a moment, I didn’t care who was watching. I laughed freely for the first time in a long while, and Carter moved us to a quiet corner, setting me down behind a pillar.
His hands hit the wall behind me. “I’m so proud of you, Sara.”
I shyly looked away. “You’re just saying that. Everyone is just saying that.”
He tipped my chin up. “You want to bet? I’m telling you, I’m incredibly impressed.
This is real inspired art, Sara. It makes you think, and feel, and the more you look, the more you find,” he said passionately.
“You have a real gift, don’t doubt that, not even for a second.
” He stared at me in awe, and I blushed at the praise.
“What you did, the concept, the lived-in practicality of it all, the vulnerability you showed. It’s commendable. ”
I swallowed hard. “You think?”
“I know. In fact, I already bid on the piece.”
“You bid?” I gasped. “You hadn’t even seen it yet.”
“This is going to be worth a fortune.” He mused, sounding like a pleased investor. “This will continue to gain value as you develop as an artist. I mean, the fact that this is your debut collection is wild. Not to mention, there is so much potential for subsequent connected collections.”
His wheels were turning, and I could see his work-brain turning on.
That’s how I knew he really liked it because now he wasn’t busy spinning up flowery compliments.
No, he had gone full-out investor mode. It made me feel the slightest bit better to realize he genuinely believed that the piece had value—he of all people would know.
I shifted nervously. “What if I don’t want you to own it?”
“Why not?” He asked gently, reading my anxiety, already locked in, right there with me.
“Because I think I need to let this one go. My professor’s assignment, this piece, it was about going through the process. The process of letting go, and I don’t think I could look at it every day because I need to let it go.”
He nodded, concealing a small smile.
“What?” I asked, feeling embarrassment flush my cheeks as my confession seemed to miss the mark.
“You just said every day.”
“What? No, I didn’t.” I swallowed involuntarily, realizing I in-fact had. I wished I could melt into the wall behind me, but there was nowhere to hide from my mistake.
He grinned, “ Yes, you did. ”
“Well, I just meant?—”
Carter leaned in even closer, his lips nearly grazing mine, breath dusting across my mouth as he uttered, “ My, my, my, pretty girl, aren’t you just full of bright ide ?—”
Suddenly, there was an explosion —Carter’s eyes blew wide, and before I could even gasp, he grabbed me.
Screams erupted across the gallery as the strength of his arms wrapped around me so tightly, it knocked the breath from my lungs.
It was all happening in slow motion, as more strange and horrifying sounds rang out—I was falling, and he was with me, but my arms were pinned against his body as the room went sideways, and I braced as the ground closed in.
Carter’s arm shot out and took the brunt of the impact as we hit the floor, and the weight of his body over mine was unyielding as I disappeared beneath him, disoriented and panicked.
My scream was muffled against his chest as the floor vibrated with every continuing explosion.
“I’ve got you.” He frantically promised, wrapping himself even more tightly around me, cocooning me beneath his broad frame.
Panic and confusion slashed through me, but his body stayed against mine, solid, steady, and sure.
When the explosions finally stopped, I was shaking like a leaf, and my stomach churned at the eerie crackling and tinkling noise that now filled the air.
“Stay down.” Carter commanded, and I’d never heard him sound like that before as his wide hand tucked my head back down the second I’d lifted it.
People started quietly murmuring all around us, and trembling, I slowly came to the realization that we were okay.
I shakily peered around his arm, discovering there was colorful broken glass everywhere —I covered my mouth in horror, suddenly realizing what had happened. One of the artists had an elaborate collection of glass sculptures, and the entire thing had fallen from the ceiling.
“ No, ” I breathed, nausea flooding me for an entirely new reason.
I gaped at the mess, feeling devastated for the artist. It had been a massive, incredibly intricate collection of pieces that they’d spent over a year on.
The fact that it had fallen, that the display mount had failed— was utterly sickening.
I dizzily tried to sit up, but I was surprised when Carter’s weight stayed against me, feeling oddly firm, as he scanned the gallery a final time, and lying beneath him—my breath quickened for an entirely different reason.
“Carter?” I murmured, and his gaze finally dropped to mine, his face looming just above me, as my pulse spiked again.
“Are you okay?” he panted, eyes wild and worried as his chest pulsed against mine with every heavy breath.
“Yeah,” I murmured breathily. “You?”
“Yeah.” He nodded and slid his arm beneath me.
As he hauled us up in a quick motion, his fingers slid around my waist, and I swallowed hard as he scanned around us one last time. When he finally looked down at me, he had a strange look in his eyes that made my chest tighten.
His gaze suddenly softened, returning to that warm brown color, and he almost reverently grazed the backs of his knuckles down my cheek.
My eyes might have shuttered as he followed the line of my throat, rather intimately , and then gently pushed my hair over my shoulder, before his hand slid all the way down to the small of my back, pulling me into an embrace.
My breath caught at that hug for some reason. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“How long do you want to stay?” he murmured, and I could feel him looking around again .
“Why?” I whispered, wondering why he was so on edge. Why he’d dropped me to the ground like that, clearly expecting the worst—though I supposed in his line of work, those kinds of sounds were typically life-threatening, and something about that made my heart ache for him.
“I made us dinner reservations.” He reminded me cooly, a little smirk finally tugging at his mouth as he finally gazed down at me again.
I nodded. “Let me talk to the gallery owner, and then I’m ready.” It was finally time to let the piece go. It had served its purpose.
“I’m so proud of you, Sarafina.” Carter said, his eyes soft and shimmering all at once. Carter reluctantly let go of me as I headed towards the gallery desk.
“I’ll be right back.” I said over my shoulder.
“Take your time, just know I’m waiting in great anticipation .”
I caught his eyes traveling down the back of me as I walked away, and I smiled to myself.