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“Come on. I know the paintings have deep meaning for you, but if you aren’t with Mya anymore, I would think you would want to part with them.”
I closed my eyes as he said her name. God, I had missed hearing that. I missed her. Just hearing her name started to give me a hard-on again.
I sighed. “Yeah, I guess you are right. There is no reason to hold on to them.”
“Aw! Victory is mine!” He laughed. “Great; bring them with you tomorrow, and I’ll see you here around eight?”
“Perfect; I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
After I got off the phone, I returned to the studio and wrapped the paintings. Douglas was right. There was no reason to hold on to them.
At eight the following night, I arrived at the darkened gallery. Douglas let me in the front door and locked it behind me. We chatted as we carried the paintings back to his table and then unwrapped them. He grinned as he took in the details. “They are so perfect that I’m tempted to buy them for myself.”
I chuckled. “I’m sure there are better paintings out there to buy.”
“You sell yourself short.” He paused. “You know who never sold you short?”
I shook my head, “No. Who?”
“Mya. She believed in you from the moment she saw your work. She still believes in you. I think even more now.”
As much as I hungered for information on her, it made my heart hurt to hear her mentioned.
“Yeah, well, I’m glad.”
“Come, let’s hang these before the agent gets here.”
He already had places set aside for them, and I was amazed at the way he had directed the lights toward them. The black wall behind them, the stark white of the canvas, the dark tones of the painting itself, and the highlighted parts of color stood out so vibrantly that my heart thudded harder in my chest.
“Extraordinary,” Douglas said with reverence at the paintings.
“I have to agree with you. They might be my two best pieces of work.”
“That is because they came from your heart—from love.” He started to walk off and, a minute later, returned with two brass plates. He pressed the plates to the hangers under the prints, and I read the titles engraved in them: My Loving Angel and Broken Angel Wings.
“Perhaps one day, you might be able to repair those wings,” Douglas said softly as the two of us studied the wall.
He glanced at his watch. “Okay, well, let’s go in the back for a moment, and the agent should be here soon.”
I followed him, and we discussed gallery business for a little while. A few minutes later, he excused himself to answer the front door and said to wait here so he could speak to them first.
I was slightly nervous as I waited. This person was going to see those two paintings tonight. What would they think about them?
A few minutes later, Douglas returned and told me they were waiting for me out front. I should have known something was up with the sly smile on his face.
Most of the gallery was dark, but my artwork section was fully lit, especially over the two that I had just brought in. I stepped around the corner and froze.
Mya stood in front of the painting of me. She had her back to me, but I knew it was her. I had her body memorized. What the hell was she doing here?
She sniffed and wiped at her cheek right before I spoke. “Why are you here?”
She spun, her eyes bright in the lights and with the visible moisture of tears in them. “I’m sorry for meeting you this way, Alex, but I need you to give me a few minutes to explain, and I have to tell you something. If you do that, I will walk away and never bother you again, I promise.”
