Chapter 8 #2
Angel would never see them, I thought, with a touch of bitterness.
Finally, I packed my travel art kit, with sketching pencils, paint, brushes, A4 canvases, and a foldaway easel.
Taking a moment, I sent a quick text to my boss Toni at Art Nouveau, the gallery where I worked.
I already had a week off work, but I explained that due to family circumstances, I needed at least 3 more weeks, and I was happy to take them unpaid.
Hell, I’d no choice.
Still, Toni was an awesome boss, and I hoped she’d find someone to cover for me from the art curators team.
Shrugging on a jacket, I exited, wheeling my bag to find Angel leaning one hip on the back of my thrift-store sofa, scrolling through his phone with a frown.
I surveyed the living area, which was now orderly, not a stray cup or plate in sight, neatened to a fault.
Blinking in surprise, I declared, ‘I’m ready.’
‘Got your passport, Rox?’ Angel rasped, his gravelly intonation cutting through my shock.
‘Yes, it’s right here in my purse,’ I murmured.
When I reached for my rolling suitcase, he intercepted me, taking over from me to guide it along despite my immediate protest.
‘I’ve got it. Let’s move.’
My chest tightened at the timbre of his voice, and also at his take-charge instinct, which always melted my defenses.
‘I need to swing by my place, too,’ he muttered as he loaded my bag downstairs into his Defender’s back seat.
We drove toward Bellmont-Hillsboro, a laid-back neighborhood in south Nashville.
Close to Vanderbilt University, it was packed with trendy boutiques and delicious restaurants, clustered around 12th Avenue.
The neighborhood was full of historic homes with breathtaking architecture, and we pulled into the gravel driveway of one.
In all his years dating my half-sister, I never once received an invitation to his house.
We always met at the Rosedale estate, at Evangeline’s townhouse, or out on the town.
Angel parked in his vast underground garage.
He led me inside without ceremony as I tamped my awe, while at the same time trying to glean every detail about his private world.
Angel’s sprawling home was stunning, far removed from my little one-bedder.
The interior walls were cream, the decor standing out in a midnight-and-beige color palette.
Custom statement furniture sat well appointed in the expansive open floor plan.
At Angel’s gesture, I sat on a charcoal Chesterfield designer sofa that took pride of place in the lounge room.
Next to it was a white grand piano.
Beyond was an extensive kitchen adjacent to a voluminous dining room, where a contemporary concrete table stood paired with eight studded leather chairs.
My breath caught as my eyes drifted to the wall.
One of my own oil paintings hung above a side console, making a bold, dramatic statement in the space.
I spun around, biting my lip as I pointed at the canvas.
‘Where did you get that, Angel?’
He tracked my gesture, and for a second, his expression softened.
‘Don’t remember, Rox?’ Angel muttered, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. ‘I bought it at your last showing downtown.’
‘Toni, my boss, said it was an anonymous buyer,’ I stammered, my head spinning. ‘I never followed up to find out the name.’
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
‘I came for that show, if you remember, with Evangeline. I loved the energy in the image. I had to have it in my house because it’s stunning.’
I blinked, stunned by his secretive support.
He had no clue that the inky, melancholic palette of that specific artwork reflected one of my darkest seasons of despair; a visual ode to my unrequited love for him.
‘It’s a perfect complement to the room,’ he rasped, blind to the emotional storm raging in my heart.
I sank deeper into his sofa, absorbing his words, eyes locked on my painting in his house, while he walked down the hall to finish his own packing.
He emerged ten minutes later, rolling a silver suitcase and carrying his battered acoustic guitar case.
He’d changed into a pair of dark, faded jeans that hugged his muscled thighs.
Plus a black vintage T-shirt that stretched over his ripped chest and a leather jacket.
He was majestic, masculine, and imposing, all rockstar edge and armor.
‘Ready to join the hordes who’ve bought into the hype of Capri?’
My mood perked up a little at his wry, wan smile.
‘Have you been?’ I asked him.
‘A couple of times,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s crowded, busy, and never quite lives up to its billing. I’m not a fan of tourist masses.’
‘Did you know you and Evangeline were honeymooning there?’ I murmured.
Angel winced at the sound of her name, and I regretted speaking it aloud.
‘I was running on fumes with the tour schedule,’ Angel rasped. ‘I let her and her planner handle all the prep and bookings while I signed the checks. Turns out I wasn’t locked in enough.’
I caught the bitter note in his timbre.
My heart broke for him, and we fell into a prickly silence until he raised his chin at me.
I got the memo and rose, tracking to the door.
He gestured for me to precede him out of his house and back toward the waiting car.
I took an inhale and suppressed a shudder.
Heaven help me.