Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Thank you for seeing me,” I tell her.
“Oh, no problem at all.” She waves me off. “Declan was raving about your paintings, and he had me keen to see them. Only, I said to him, ‘If this girl is so good, then why the hell didn’t you tell me about her before?’” She laughs, and I do, too. “Men, eh?” she adds, and I agree.
“Well, I’m just glad I bumped into him,” I tell Moira.
She smiles and nods. “Come on then, let’s not waste any more time; show me these paintings of yours.”
I swallow hard as I reach for my bag. I move it in front of me, leaning it against her desk, and open the zipper on the bag.
Moira comes from behind the desk to stand next to me.
“I only brought two paintings with me,” I tell her. “I don’t have a car at the moment, and they’re pretty heavy to carry.”
I lift the first painting from the bag, and I hear her take in a sharp breath.
Shit. She hates it.
It’s the one of Ares and me.
I glance up at her and start to tell her that the other painting is much different than this, if this one isn’t to her taste, but the look on her face tells me that she doesn’t actually hate it.
“Can I?” She reaches for the painting.
“Of course.” I hand it to her.
She moves across the room with it, sitting it on an empty easel, and then stands back, looking at it.
I move to stand beside her.
“Jesus, Ari…this is good. Really good.” She glances at me. “I thought Declan was exaggerating about your talent, but…” She reaches out a hand, a finger tracing the painting without touching. “The lines here, the detail…I can feel the absolute passion in this picture.”
I feel a lump rise in my throat. “Thank you,” I tell her.
“I’m guessing this is from memory and not a still life?” She looks at me again, a grin in her eyes.
“It’s from memory.”
“It’s personal to you though, yes?”
“Yes,” I exhale.
“And how would you feel, showing this? I know all art is personal, but this one runs deep; I can tell,” she says, finger moving over the painting again.
“I…it…well, I would show it, but…it belongs to someone else,” I hear myself saying. Like my heart.
I didn’t realize it until this moment. I’d thought I could part with this painting. But I can’t. Not to her. It belongs to Ares.
Whether he still wants it or not, it’s his to do with as he wants.
Because he gave this back to me. It was him who gave me back the ability to paint. The inspiration I needed. And I owe him for that.
Jesus, I miss him.
I feel my throat thicken with tears. Christ, not here. Pull it together, Ari.
Moira turns to face me and stares at me. “If I told you that I wanted this painting in my gallery, what would you say?”
I swallow past the thickness. “I’d say that I would want to have my paintings in your gallery more than anything. But I can’t give you this painting.”
“Why did you bring it today then?”
“Because…I thought I could.”
She’s thoughtfully staring at me. “You love the man in this painting.”
It’s not a question. But, still, I answer, “Yes.”
“I loved a man once, too. Total asshole. I hope your man isn’t an asshole.”
Laughter slips past my lips. “He can be.” Not that he’s mine anymore.
She laughs, too. “Aren’t they all at times? But it’s whether they recognize they’ve been an ass and stop being one or they don’t care and carry on regardless. Mine was the latter.”
Mine is the former.
She smiles brightly at me. “Okay then. Show me this other painting you’ve brought with you, and let’s see if it’s equally as good as this one.”
Moira loved the other painting I’d brought to show her. It was a slightly abstract portrait of a beautiful woman. Totally different than the painting of Ares and me.
The woman in the picture wasn’t inspired from anyone I’d seen. It was just straight from the heart. A recent painting from only days ago.
The woman is alive with color, but her eyes are closed. The expression on her face is wistful, achingly sad, and the abstract portrays her feeling of utter loneliness.
Yes, I’m fully aware of the fact that the woman in the painting represents my feelings right now.
But that’s art. It’s a reflection of our innermost desires, wants, needs, and feelings. It’s emotional and messy. Just like life.
And Moira loved it.
She said she loved the contrast in my ability to paint, and she offered me a showing on the spot. And get this: she had an opening for someone to work sales on the gallery floor, and she asked if I would be interested in the job.
I was like, “Hell yes!”
When I walked out of the gallery, the first person I wanted to tell was Ares.