Page 92 of Shattered

CHAPTER 20

Delia

The gallery was packed.

I stood in the corner trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person while strangers examined my soul pinned to white walls.

My six pieces from “Seventeen Years” filled the entire room Axel had built. The room he’d been calling mine for five years.

Now people were staring at my work. Discussing them. Judging them.

“Stop looking like you’re about to run,” Sarah said, appearing at my elbow with Lily. “You’re supposed to look confident. Artistic. Mysterious.”

“I look like I’m having a panic attack because I am having a panic attack.”

“Well, stop it. You’re making the critics nervous.”

Lily squeezed my hand, she was so tall now. “I like the one with all the red. It looks angry but pretty.”

And apparently she was smart too.

“That’s the best review I’ve gotten all night. That’s my girl.” I raised my hand for a high five.

“The night just started,” Sarah pointed out. “And you’ve already had three people ask about purchasing. That’s good, right?”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Same thing in the art world apparently.”

Hector appeared with champagne. “Congratulations. Your work is making people feel things. That’s the goal.”

“The goal is to not humiliate myself in front of New York’s entire art community.”

“Too late for that. You’re already trending on art Twitter. Something about raw emotional honesty.” Sarah handed me a glass. “Drink. It’ll help with the panic.”

I drank. It did nothing for the panic.

Across the room, Axel was talking to Caroline, the curator. He’d been giving me space all evening. Letting me have this moment without hovering. But I could feel him watching. Making sure I was okay. Ready to intervene if I needed him.

“Delia Santoro?”

I turned to find a woman in her fifties with sharp eyes and an expensive suit. “Yes?”

“I’m Savannah Reyes. I own a gallery in Chelsea. Your work is extraordinary.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to discuss representation. Are you currently working with anyone?”

My brain short-circuited for a full five seconds. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Representation. I think your work deserves a wider audience. I’d like to help with that.”

Sarah’s elbow dug into my ribs. “Absolutely! She’d love to discuss that. Here’s her card.”

Sarah handed over a business card I didn’t remember having. When had I gotten business cards?

Savannah took it with a smile. “Excellent. I’ll call next week.”