Chapter 12 #2
Perhaps that was what spoke so deeply to me.
Felix’s paintings were scenes from his own life, people he knew, and things he simply found beautiful.
Instead of distortions or mere suggestions of the subject, his paintings were precise in their accuracy.
He seemed so real to me, like a kindred spirit born in a different century.
I passed my empty champagne glass to a vested waiter as I approached the back of the exhibition. The hall was darker here, though each painting still shone under individual spotlights. Felix’s art swept me into its quiet, peaceful current, carrying me from painting to painting.
The windswept face of a woman. An infant wrapped in a shawl. A snow-covered barn.
I wanted to stay here forever.
A dark figure emerged from the shadows to my right.
Swathed in a fitted black tuxedo, Val held his own glass full of champagne.
Of course he would look perfectly at ease in formal wear.
His rich brown curls brushed the top of his brows as a slight shadow slid across his jawline.
He could have easily walked off the set of a ritzy cologne commercial and I’d believe it.
My eyes caught on the small pamphlet protruding from his chest pocket.
Last night, the office villain had selflessly sat for hours, folding them beside me until well after midnight. I still couldn’t get the sound of his laugh out of my head.
“Hello, Adams.” Val’s dark gaze swept over me, flushing me with heat. “You look…nice.”
“Thanks, Russo. You look nice too, I guess.”
His smile lifted. “Wow, look at us being so civil. Who would have thought?”
“Not me.” I laughed awkwardly. For some reason, this side of Val almost felt more dangerous than his prickly one.
Silence ensued, turning us to the painting. A blistering sun bore down on a weathered man, presumably a farmer. His face was pained and dripping with sweat.
Beautiful.
As the minutes passed, however, the nervous tingle in my stomach intensified. Even though he stayed silent, Val was distracting me. The exhibition was large—plenty to see elsewhere. Did he have to stand here? I moved on to the next portrait. Val followed.
Maybe he did get a lobotomy after all.
I squared my shoulders at him, deciding to put an end to whatever was happening. “Did you need something, Russo?”
Val shrugged. “No, I just like this painting, that’s all.”
“This one? In particular? Why?” I crossed my arms over my chest and nodded toward the painting. “Tell me about it.”
Val’s eyes widened before a cocky smile rounded his lips. He traced the golden nameplate beside the painting.
Wanderndes M?dchen (Wandering Girl), Felix Andreas, oil on canvas.
A mischievous young girl smiled over her shoulder at us, walking barefoot down a dusty path.
Her long auburn hair was unkempt, and a smudge of dirt lined the adorable crease of her smile.
Two apron strings trailed behind her in the dust, never quite able to keep up with her.
Val said, “This piece is rumored to be of Felix’s little sister. It was his first widely acclaimed painting, mostly because he hadn’t shown all his work to the public before this one.”
My lips tightened to conceal my grin while I allowed Val to finish his half-baked story. Once he finished, I flashed him a saccharine smile.
“Nice try, buddy. This wasn’t his first acclaimed painting; it was his second.
Lake Attersee was his first. And this isn’t Felix’s sister—it’s his niece.
I mean, correct me if I’m wrong. After all, you’re the curator.
..” With a sigh, I pretended to inspect my fingernails. “And I’m just an assistant.”
Val’s gaze met mine, seeming both amused and annoyed.
“No, you’re more than an assistant, and you know it. You’re a sassy know-it-all with a stubborn streak to match.”
“Watch it, Russo. That almost sounded like a compliment. You need to be more careful.”
“Careful? What?” Val walked right into my trap with a confused expression.
My wicked laugh brought me to my full, unimpressive height as I used his words from last night against him.
“Well, we wouldn’t want you falling for me and my sassy stubbornness, now would we?”
Val’s shocked laughter eventually faded into something almost contemplative. He stared down at me beneath his furrowed brows like I was a riddle he wanted to solve.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” he whispered.
Silence stretched between us as that unrecognizable stir began deep in my belly again.
I ducked my head and shoved an escaped curl behind my ear.
“Okay, then…Um, enjoy the rest of your evening.” Walking back the way I came, I cast one last glance over my shoulder.
For that split second, my gaze caught his. A thousand questions burned in his russet eyes—and now, there were a million in mine.
The evening drew late as guests began to leave the gala. The Chicago Tribune interviewed Kendra, Blythe, and then Val. I averted my gaze from the cameras and microphones, scanning the rest of the Vanderbilt hall.
Kate stood near the back of the exhibition, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised that she was surrounded by three tall tuxedos. Barbara Gaines seemed to have left already. My shoulders fell, my face doing the same. I wished I had gotten more time to reconnect with her.
Deciding to take advantage of the thinning crowd, I greedily planted myself in front of the featured painting.
Lake Attersee’s waters were clear as glass, reflecting the orange and red sunset above. Rocks bordered the lake, giving way to plush grass. A wooden dock jutted out, stilting over the lake.
Serenity filled my soul like a fresh breeze off the water. A faint rippling on the far side of the lake centered around a floating lilypad. That lilypad was my favorite part: a small piece of blossoming whimsy. Although tiny, I could make out the minuscule lily’s petals fluttering in the air.
Seeing the painting again was akin to visiting an old friend. In college, I’d fallen in love with this specific piece of Felix’s long before I saw it in person. It inspired me so much that I wrote my entire master’s thesis on Lake Attersee and the effect it had on the realist movement.
When I’d first worked with Barbara, the news of its acquisition at a neighboring museum sent me squealing to tell Ryan.
I even dragged him with me to its unveiling, shedding a few tears as I saw it for the first time.
I spent many of my lunch breaks commuting just to sit beside it for a few minutes.
I wasn’t here when the Chicago Legacy Art Museum acquired Lake Attersee years ago—I had been busy chasing Anthony around in diapers.
Once I got hired again, I almost cried when I found it had been taken down.
Blythe explained that its storage in the basement archives was temporary but required to build anticipation for Felix’s exhibition.
Checking I didn’t obscure anyone else’s view, I stepped as close to the velvet-rope barrier as humanly possible. My eyes roamed the painting in greater detail, admiring its intricacy. My heart skipped a beat, then stopped.
No, that couldn’t be.
I rubbed my eyes.
Frowning, I squinted at the lilypad. The lily’s petals weren’t ivory, having yellowed with time. No, that minuscule flower was white—stark white.
I shook my head, trying to confirm that the champagne hadn’t altered my vision.
The corner of the wooden dock sent a snaking shiver down my spine.
Visible brush strokes.
While some brush strokes were inevitable, Felix preferred to use smaller brushes to smooth out any ridges of residual paint. The technique contributed to the realistic quality of his paintings. He occasionally used a loose brush stroke for texture, but I had memorized this corner of the dock.
It wasn’t supposed to have one.
I clapped my hand over my gasp and stumbled away.
I knew this painting. I knew Felix. This wasn’t his work.
I was looking at a forgery.