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We’ve been at this show for more than an hour, and the doctor is pretty sure Angel’s about thirty-six weeks along. She could go into labor any day now, which means we’re staying at my penthouse for the duration.
“I’m tired, but I’m excited.” I hand her a glass of punch. “I think everybody likes what I’ve done.”
Over the last six months, she’s created several new pieces, but the show also includes works she did before she received the prize.
“That one’s getting a lot of attention.”
I gesture to an oil painting of a male torso in blue and orange with the face obscured and the waist covered by a small towel. The gallery priced it at nine thousand dollars.
She gives me a sly grin. “A man walks into a bar?”
“What can I say? You gotta pay to have all this sexy on your walls.”
She leans into me, wrinkling her cute little nose. “I would have marked it priceless.”
I kiss the tip of her nose as a shrill voice cuts through the low roar of voices.
“Who is the artist?” Looking up, I see Cecilia Westbrook making her way through the crowd of elegantly dressed patrons with one of her little minions at her side. “Why, Winnie. I didn’t expect to see you here. Isn’t this a fabulous exhibition?”
“Yes.” My aunt crosses her arms, her answer clipped.
I haven’t kept track, but my aunt has spent less time with her former bestie since the Cattleman’s Masque.
“I haven’t seen works like this since they had the O’Keefe exhibit here.” Cecilia places her hand on her chest. “I want to buy all of them. Particularly that horse at the entrance. Spirit? It says Not for sale, but everything has a price, right?”
“You’ll have to ask her.” Winnie, gestures to where I’m standing with my hand on Angel’s lower back.
“Why, Deacon…” Cecilia looks from me to my wife. “Is this—”
“The woman you disrespectfully called a little brown girl last year? Yes, it is.”
“My goodness, that was a silly night.” Cecilia blinks quickly shaking her head as if she’s embarrassed. I hope she’s embarrassed. “I think we’d all had a bit to drink.”
“I hadn’t.” Angel smiles, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Westbrook.”
“My dear, you’re very elegant. And who knew you had such a gift?”
“I knew. Winnie steps
forward. “I agree with Deacon. I believe you owe Angelica an apology.”
“Of all the things.” Cecilia huffs. “People can’t take a joke anymore. I’m certain I didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Treviño.”
“It’s Mrs. Dring.” My voice is firm as I set her straight.
“Mrs. Dring? I don’t remember reading about a wedding.”
“We were married at my family’s estate in Mexico.” Angel rests her hand on her bump, showing off her large diamond and the wedding band set around it.
I put my hands on the top of her shoulder so my band is visible as well.
“Your family’s estate?” Cecilia’s little minion finally pipes up. She’s a birdlike woman peeking around her friend. “That sounds very refined.”
“My mother was a well-loved artist. She owned a ranch house at the foot of the Sierra Madre mountains.”
“Clearly we misjudged you, Angelica.” Cecilia places her hand on Angel’s arm. “You are a talented, smart young woman. Now about that horse at the entrance. Spirit, I believe?”
“It’s not for sale.” Angel smiles, tilting her head towards me. “Spirit is our painting. It represents a very special time in our lives.”
