Chapter 12
twelve
VAL
Iswept my gaze over the crowded Vanderbilt Hall. Museum guests mingled under soft, candescent blue lights as though underwater.
I tipped my head back, watching the projected mirage of waves rippling against the ceiling. Blythe’s idea of chilled champagne glasses was a nice touch, so I begrudgingly gave her mental credit.
Wrapping my fingers around one’s stem, I sipped once as I meandered the Vanderbilt hall. Kendra had already instructed me to direct potential donors to the forms at the hall entrance.
So, I smoothed my tuxedo and exchanged polite, albeit forced, conversations with the guests. A beefy older woman with silver curls had barely begun speaking to me when my knees unexpectedly buckled.
An angel from heaven, or a temptress from hell, I wasn’t sure.
Across the hall, Amantha skimmed over the floor in a fiery red silk gown, her distracting curves on display for anyone to see.
Her bare shoulders edged the flaming straps of her dress.
Scorching folds of silk wrapped taut around her waist before falling to the floor.
I wondered what the silky waistline would feel like if I wrapped my hands around it.
The neck of my tuxedo refused to budge.
Completely unaware of my presence—which didn’t seem fair—Amantha turned around to chat with a guest.
My fingers tightened around my glass.
The gown was also backless. Her shoulder blades lent way to the arch of her spine, trailing down to right above the none-of-my-business area.
The noose of my tuxedo notched tighter.
No way that dress was Amantha’s idea. She seemed to prefer simple, classic clothing, and that gown had flashy, annoying Kate written all over it. A frustrated noise slipped out of me, though the large woman blabbering to me didn’t notice.
I ought to oil the floors by Kate’s desk and sit back to watch.
Irritated, I brought my champagne glass to my lips and then stopped.
The last thing my crumbling resolve needed was lowered inhibitions. I sighed and held the glass down by my lapel. After a few too many moments, the lady said farewell and moved on.
As Amantha moved throughout the exhibition, it felt like an invisible force strung me along.
The enigma lingered at each painting much, much longer than those around her.
So unexpected. So Amantha. I couldn’t help but wish I could perceive the art through her eyes. It seemed more beautiful that way.
Or maybe it was Amantha that held the beauty, the art merely reflecting it.
Again, her mystery felt like sand slipping through my fingers.
Later that evening, my observations confirmed one of my theories. As I watched from the shadows like a pathetic creep, one of her mannerisms became more pronounced. Each time Amantha was drawn into conversation with someone, she would shyly duck her head and tuck her hair behind her ear.
The duck and tuck.
A nervous tell of sorts—her body language conveying what her words refused to.
She had aimed that exact mannerism at me during the Vanderbilt hall set-up. I had unsettled her somehow.
Was she as affected by me as I was by her?
I blew out a long breath, weary of how invested I was in the answer to that question.
But even if she was, how would that change anything?
AMANTHA
I was rendered speechless as I roamed the Vanderbilt wing. Waves lapped overhead, amplifying the watery ambiance. The pièce de résistance was, after all, Attersee Bei Sonnenuntergang, my absolute favorite painting. Lake Attersee at Sunset.
The event designers had outdone themselves. It was as though the entire space had been submerged in the lake waters of Attersee themselves.
The featured painting hung illuminated by a spotlight on one of the freestanding walls near the entrance. I fought a slight grin, remembering Val’s lopsided smile before we placed that wall last week.
The narrow silk screens Val had set billowed from the ceiling on each side. Images of Felix Andreas and a brief synopsis of his life and work undulated across them, thanks to the well-placed overhead projectors.
My hands slid nervously over my gown, crimson silk slipping easily beneath them. I still could not believe I let Kate talk me into this monstrosity of a dress.
Last week, my cunning friend had trapped me in yet another dressing room, sending Kate-approved gown after gown over the dressing room door. After my eyes roved over the more scandalous choices, I decided to try on the lesser of the three evils.
I unlocked the door so Kate could step in and zip me up, then turned to the mirror and promptly had a small anxiety attack. If there was a mascot for all the imposters in the world, it was me in this dress. For heaven’s sake, I was a PTA member and a soccer mom. A divorced soccer mom.
My stomach had contracted so hard, I was entirely convinced it would never relax again.
“I can’t do this, Kate. I’m a mom. This isn’t me.”
“That’s weird, because I’m pretty sure you’re you, and you happen to look like a walking felony in this dress. You’re buying it.”
“I don’t think bringing up criminal offenses is gonna help here, Kate,” I said.
“Since when did you decide to put yourself in a box and throw away the key? Why can’t you be a mom and a sexy single woman in her thirties?”
I met my gray eyes in the mirror and frowned. Hadn’t I been trying to climb out of the box Ryan had caged me in this whole time?
So, I bought the dress.
And the red lipstick Kate suggested too.
Maybe my previous boss, Barbara Gaines, had been right this whole time. Perhaps red lipstick was the key to confidence after all.
While I nodded amicably at passing gala guests, I did a double take toward the entrance. My jaw dropped. The woman herself, my long-lost mentor and lipstick connoisseur, happened to walk into my field of view. Seeing Barbara striding through the museum again was like turning back the clock.
“Ms. Gaines!” I couldn’t help calling toward Barbara, lifting the long hem of my gown as I walked. “Hello!”
Barbara hadn’t aged a bit, besides perhaps a slight deepening of the fine lines in her ebony skin. Her coiled black hair was swept high on her head in an intricately braided bun, a forest green gown dripping off her shoulders. That ever-present red lipstick shone against her bright smile.
“Amantha? Is that you?” Her amber eyes dipped over me. “What a wonderful surprise! What are you doing here?”
Breathless from surprise and slight intimidation, I accepted her small hug and said, “I, uh, work here now. Again.” I laughed. “I started back six months ago.”
“That’s fabulous! Good for you. You were so talented; I was sad to see you go. How old is your son now?”
“Anthony is ten.” I couldn’t stop staring. “I tried to find you when I came back to the museum, but they said you had left.”
Barbara chuckled, low and silky. “That’s sweet of you, Amantha.
I chose to move on from here a few years back.
Unfortunately, I needed more opportunities than this place could offer.
I guess you could say I’m a freelance curator now.
In fact, my latest collaboration was with the Abstract Impressions Museum in New York. ”
“That’s incredible, Ms. Gaines!” I always knew she was destined for greatness.
“Thank you, Amantha. It was some of my best work, I believe.” Barbara smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just seen someone I must talk with, but please keep in touch. It was wonderful to see you again.” She placed a glossy business card in my palm before gliding away.
I watched her head straight for Kendra as I slipped the card into my small, jeweled clutch.
“Amantha!” Kate’s bright voice rang out.
I turned to see my raven-haired friend slinking over in a strapless, curve-hugging black gown. Her long hair had been plaited into a complicated heavy braid that draped over one shoulder. The thigh-high slit in Kate’s dress parted as a stiletto poked through.
“You wore the lipstick!” Kate beamed, her coal-dark eyes shining.
“I did!” I lowered my voice, leaning closer to whisper, “Except, I still feel weird in this dress. And I didn’t even know that backless bras were a thing!”
“Technology, am I right?” Kate shimmied her shoulders at me.
“Kate!” I admonished with a laugh. “Have you forgotten we’re at work?”
Kate responded by sweeping two glasses of sparkling champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
“Yeah, but with booze!” She handed me a glass. “Kendra assigned me to shmooze potential donors, so I’m gonna need at least two of these to survive that much small talk.”
I laughed, shaking my head at her. “Well, you look incredible. That dress is amazing.”
Kate swept her heavy braid over her shoulder and aimed a clinical expression at her black satin gown.
“Yeah, I guess. Grandma Chen would probably be laughing in her grave if she could see me.” A devious grin tipped her mouth. “But only because my mom would be having a heart attack, the prude.”
Kate grasped my hand, turning me around to check all angles of my gown. “Fire. Complete fire. If you don’t end tonight with a guy following you around, I’ve failed you.” She waggled her eyebrows seductively and sauntered away.
If Kate had intended to boost my confidence, it backfired. I wasn’t ready for romance by any means. Red lipstick or not, I still was a hot mess mom underneath it all—a mom whose son was far across the Atlantic with my cheating ex-husband and his mistress.
I tipped the rest of my champagne down my throat.
As I wandered the hall, my mind relaxed and my anxiety softened. I couldn’t be sure if the effects were from the alcohol or the art.
Felix Andreas had been born in the early eighteen hundreds. An artistic expression soon swept across Europe, where artists became motivated to capture real life, not strictly nobility or religion. Felix had been one of the most notable realists of his time.