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I reached out to touch Damian’s arm, since he was the only one who hadn’t tried to comfort me. It wasn’t in his nature, and I understood that. If I wanted to be coddled, I had Marcello and Bastian.
My grandfather and Blair appeared a few minutes later with Arlo. I ignored my grandmother and smiled at Pops, who pulled me into his arms and smacked a kiss on my cheek. The overwhelming scent of his Jean Patou aftershave floated into my nostrils. My stomach churned, but I ignored the dizzy feeling that only could have come from my nerves.
“Thank you for coming,” I said to the group.
Arlo closed the distance and leaned in to kiss me on each cheek. “Congratulations, Alexandrea.”
When did Arlo ever greet me with a kiss?
Arlo ran a hand over the dark stubble on his jaw. “My late wife was the same age as you when she had her first showing at this gallery.”
I bet he crushed as many hearts as skulls when he was younger. His sons inherited his good looks, that same deep, sexy voice, and killer charm.
Arlo pointed to my left, his finger aimed at a last minute addition to my collection. “This piece reminds me of something Eva painted for me. She called it Master of Mystery.”
I nodded. “I’m calling that one Devil in Disguise.”
Arlo gave me a closed mouth grin. “The board at the Franco Foundation chose well. We all have faith in you, Alexandrea.”
I smiled at his words. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
Luca replaced his father a few seconds later. The soft fabric of his suit jacket brushed my arm. The saltiness of the sea mixed with sandalwood clung to his skin. We stared at the wall in front of us, our eyes moving between two of my devil-themed paintings.
Luca’s fingers grazed mine as we stared at the canvas of him. A painting of a man with dark spiky hair, red eyes, and a golden crown on his head. Surrounded by ash and smoke, it was clear he was the Devil. “This painting captures our past well. But let’s forget about the past for tonight. I’m no longer your devil, baby girl.”
I rolled my tongue across my chapped bottom lip. “Why are you being nice to me? This is so unlike you, Luca.”
“Because I don’t hate you.”
Luca hated his feelings for me, but for years, I thought he hated me as a person. He also hated the idea of love and intimacy. He’d never learned how to process his emotions after his mother’s death, and after years of abuse, he thought he was incapable of love. His father showed his love through power and possession.
He slipped his fingers between mine, holding my hand in public, which shocked the hell out of me. “Tonight, everyone is here for you.”
Luca wasn’t always a shit human being. Sometimes, I saw a man with a heart and soul untainted by violence and corruption. I craved those brief moments with him, savoring them long afterward.
Too bad they never lasted.
A dozen of The Devil’s Knights posted up around the gallery. Sonny and Drake hung out together at the opposite end of the room, sipping from glasses in front of the painting of Marcello.
When I first painted Luca, I gave his piece a name that suited how I felt about him.
The Devil I Hate.
I had already given the paintings names before we’d had our heart to heart. Besides, he still hated me when I painted him, though I wasn’t sure I ever felt the same hatred toward him.
Marcello looked like a Greek warrior fighting his way out of Hell, also with a golden crown atop his dark head. He didn’t have the demon eyes like Luca. No, my handsome protector was my savior, the one I turned to the most.
The Devil I Crave.
Bastian’s painting was to my right, over where Cole stood with two dark-haired Knights I hadn’t met until tonight. Hunter Banks, the son of a weapons manufacturer, and Braxton Cade, the son of a senator. They were both from Devil’s Creek and went to York Military Academy with Cole. And both just as handsome and muscled.
I stared over at Bastian’s image and smiled.
You could easily tell it was Bastian with those big gray eyes and the sexy smirk that graced his lips whenever he looked at me. He also wore a golden crown that floated above his dark, messy hair that had ash falling into it.
The Devil I Love.
Finn and Callum Cormac drank from glasses over by Damian’s painting. I had saved him for last and didn’t get the urge to paint him until after he exposed me to his other side. I went into my studio directly after our first time and painted what felt right, real. He was even more devious looking than Luca, with flames in his eyes, fire illuminating his skin. His golden crown tipped to the side, just crooked enough to make him look even more mischievous.
