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“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. His hand wrapped around Alexa’s wrist when she attempted to excuse herself, tugging her lightly until she sat on his other side. She struggled, then stayed put when Alishondra placed her hand on his thigh.
“Thank you. It’s very hard not to have mother around, especially for my father. I keep myself from thinking about her too much by singing my heart out in events, and lucked out when I met you last night.”
The suggestive tone wasn’t missed, but Alexa didn’t seem to mind. He noted her composure throughout Alishondra’s flirting and his more polite approach. He deduced that she had figured out it didn’t mean a thing to him—or maybe she just didn’t care anymore. The latter made discomfort roil in his stomach, but another figure stepped in and took his attention.
The man was short, broad, and silver-haired, carrying a canvas wrapped in a cloth. Alexa jumped forward before the rest could stand up, assisting the man in bringing the item to the room. A hand was held out for her to shake while Edmund strode forward for the second handshake.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Emilio said after the introductions, clutching the clothed canvas hard. Edmund could sense nerves, but the man got rid of them with a steady exhale. “I told myself I wouldn’t take out this painting after she died, but hearing you were here felt like it was the time.”
“It is a pleasure to be here,” he said, responding to the man’s sincerity. “And you don’t have to do what you are not ready for.”
“I am ready for this,” was the prompt response, coated with determination. Seconds later, the cloth was removed to reveal one of Edmund’s older paintings from around five years ago: a group of Fae caught mid-dance while smaller, winged creatures flew over their heads. There was glitter at the edges of the canvas and on the wings, but the biggest pops of colors were in the sparkling eyes and the layers of mismatched clothes. Emilio looked at it with a gentle expression. “You should be proud of your work, Ed. This one is a masterpiece.”
“Thank you.”
“And my wife loved it a lot. She loved to create different stories for different guests about this piece.”
Alishondra made the same approving noises beside him, squeezing his hand. Oddly, there was only one opinion he wanted to know, and he found himself peeking at Alexa, who had been quiet the whole time. But she wasn’t uninvolved as her gaze was on the painting, sweeping over every inch…gobbling it up. He saw the wonder form and the spark of curiosity when she focused on the flying creatures. Then he saw the smile when she spotted one Fae on the right, sitting on the floor with a loaf of bread in hand and a resigned expression on his face. Warmth ricocheted in his body at that smile, even when she directed its path towards Emilio.
“What stories did your wife have?”
Emilio lit up. He rested the painting on the wall in front of them and sat down.
“One story was that these young people wanted to see mystical creatures so badly, so they dressed up as Fae and had a themed party for fun. They ventured into the woods to find the most ethereal-looking spot…and lo and behold, the regular party turned magical when these flying things appeared. They didn’t remember anything the next day and up to this day, argued whether they saw pixies or unusual insects that glow at night.”
Edmund bit back a smile, not about to tell the man that while the painting looked fun, painting it had not been—not when he had to juggle between keeping the Fae and pixies from killing each other and trying to make them smile. He had never seen pixies nor tried to look for them to paint again, but he had fond memories of the scratches he endured in their tantrums before they faded.
Feeling eyes on him, he glanced at Alexa. The same curiosity over his painting shone now as she looked at him.Later,he mouthed. She read it and smiled, the action so swift before she turned back to Emilio. It didn’t matter because it was like his soul had been ignited.
“What other stories did your wife have?” she asked.
Emilio regaled them with a few more while Alishondra tried to whisper in his ear and talk about other things. He barely paid attention. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Alexa, who was so engaged in the conversation with the older man. She smiled a lot, then grew worried when some painting-related stories veered towards the sad side. Laughter bubbled out of her when the more hilarious stories came out, piercing him with its sound until he wanted to touch that mouth.
He looked away, unable to stand that he couldn’t touch. He lamented his decision, furious with himself, then remembered that this woman deserved better.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Alishondra purred, hand crawling up his thigh once more. “I can show you the library. We have a lot of books…great nooks and crannies to read in private.”
He took her hand and squeezed. Gently, he removed it from his thigh and gave her a grin.
“I don’t think we are meant to see the library or any other places you recommend at this time.” At any time. He perused the beautiful woman, who looked resigned and slightly petulant, but she didn’t make a scene. Instead, she shrugged.
“I get it. You are hung up on someone now. Well, here.” Determined, she inserted a calling card down his pants and patted his stomach gently. Not a single stir of feeling came from him. “In case you change your mind before you go home.”
Alishondra excused herself and sashayed out of the room. His name snatched Edmund’s attention back.
“What do you think of Ed’s painting, then?”
The question came out of nowhere. But Alexa’s answer was prompt.
“It’s beautiful. He always had a talent for bringing things to life, and this isn’t an exception. I hope you take good care of it, Emilio, just like you cherished your wife when she was alive. She sounded lovely.”
“She was.”
“Ed’s paintings aren’t just paintings. They are stories like the ones your wife created. They bring hope and delight to those who get to see them. They are special.”
“I know. That’s why I’m displaying this one in the living room again. In honor of my wife, and to keep the stories alive.”
Emotion swelled inside him until he couldn’t breathe, and perhaps it was a stroke of luck that he didn’t need to speak at that moment. Instead, he basked in the companionship until it was time to leave, then shook the man’s hand once more.
