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Heat flares across my cheeks, and I squirm within his embrace. I can’t remember the last time a man told me I was talented and meant every word. Hearing this from Roman makes me preen, even though there’s a part of me that wonders if the compliment has a double meaning.
“Did you ever think I wasn’t?” I ask.
“I imagined your art to be more abstract, like what you did with the flowers.” He pulls me into his broad chest, the warmth of his body melting away my doubts.
“Oh,” I say with a chuckle. “That was me trying to paint like Roger Thango.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He’s one of the African artists whose work inspired the cubist movement.” I glance at his profile.
“Like Picasso?”
I nod. “My fine art professor told us it was important to understand the fundamentals before we develop our own style, otherwise anyone can splash anything on a canvas and call it art.”
He chuckles. “Smart professor. I’ve seen all kinds of bullshit sell for millions.”
“You’re interested in the arts?”
“I only ever viewed paintings as investment pieces until I saw your works,” he says. “It’s like everything you do carries a piece of your beautiful soul.”
My heart flutters. Warmth fills my chest, making my cheeks bloom with heat.
“You buy art?” I ask.
“That was something Benito did with our dad, but you’ve awoken a new interest.”
“Be serious,” I say with a chuckle.
“An associate of mine is so talented at forging paintings that fool the experts. I know the gallery owner that sells his work and nothing there is even close to touching your talent.”
I spin around in his arms. “Do you have contacts in the art world?”
“The Montesanos have fingers in all pies around New Alderney,” he says with a smile. “Why?”
Every instinct screams at me to beg for an introduction. No gallery owner would try to scam me if they knew I was connected to Roman. They could sell my work and I’d be able to leave the state with more than twenty-five thousand dollars to start a new life under a new identity.
I shake off that thought. Roman has done enough for me. Any more favors might keep me here longer than I want to stay.
“No reason,” I reply. “I was just curious.”
He glances at the wall clock. “It’s seven thirty. The party starts at nine. I’ll pick you up in two hours.”
“Sure.” My gaze darts toward the bedroom. “What’s the dress code?”
“It’s in the box.”
He walks around the canvas, leaving me staring at his retreating back. I wait until he’s out of the door before returning to the bedroom, where I left the box from the Dolce Vita boutique.
Annalisa had begged me to open it, but I’d grown so sick of her comments, and I didn’t want her to belittle Roman’s gift. Based on what he’s given me so far, it would be something lavish with a hefty price tag, but Annalisa would have found a way to twist it into something bitter.
Who can blame her, considering I brought police harassment to her door, as well as my psychotic ex?
I lift the lid, revealing a stack of smaller boxes. The one at the top contains a pair of open-toed wine-colored heels with gold embellishments. In the middle one lies a silver strapless bra and matching panties.
My pulse quickens as I open the last box, which is wide and flat and can only contain a dress. After pushing apart the tissue paper, I lift out a floor-length gown the same shade of wine as the shoes but with a diamanté bodice and a thigh-length slit that reveals peeks of sparkling fabric.
“Wow,” I whisper. “This is too much.”
