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“Katerina, how good it is to see you,” he said, his tone neutral. “Would you like another espresso?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said. “You go ahead.”
He nodded and went to the counter to place his order. A few minutes later, he returned with his espresso and took the seat opposite her.
“You are well?” he said after taking a sip. His eyes searched her face. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping and eating enough?”
She gave him a tight smile and gripped her cup. “I’m fine, really. It’s just a bit of jet lag. I only got in yesterday, remember.”
“Yes, yes. I know,” he said. He reached out and covered her hand. “Why did you not tell me you were coming? You had no need to book a hotel. You could have stayed with me.”
She looked away. “No, Giancarlo, that wouldn’t have worked.” She took a deep breath and made herself face him again. “I’m here for a visit, and that’s all. And to collect my things.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know that’s not necessary. Not at all. You may leave your things here as long as you wish. They will be waiting for you. When you return to create your next exhibition.”
Kate gave her head a firm shake. “But that’s just it, Giancarlo. I am not returning. At least not to create the exhibition. I reviewed the contract, and it doesn’t state anywhere that I have to create the exhibition in Italy. Nor does it state what type of art the exhibition should contain. Only that it should be in keeping in with the established brand of the creator. Which it will be.” She gave him another tight smile. “So I think it’s best for my creativity if I work in America.” She released her breath. She’d rehearsed those words since she’d made the decision to come, in the days following her talk with Tom on Christmas day.
Giancarlo raised his brows. “I see. You have obviously studied the wording carefully, but that doesn’t lay aside the obligation you should feel, or my reach, should I decide not to promote the exhibition.” His tone was clipped, but Kate could hear the trace of hurt there.
She looked away, biting her lip. “Giancarlo,” she said, her voice strained. “I am not doing this to humiliate or hurt you, no matter what you might think.”
She could feel him tense, anger suddenly palpable. “I assure you, this is business. And I know the art world very much more than you do, Katerina.” He enunciated her name sharply.
She looked at him, suddenly tired. “Yes, you do. I know that. And if you feel that you can’t promote the artwork I create, or turn them down, that’s up to you, but I will have fulfilled my obligation.”
His eyes shuttered and he gave a short nod. She knew she’d won this point, but it felt like a hollow victory.
“Your exhibition in New York next month. I will attend it. It will be expected.”
Kate pursed her mouth and forced a nod. She could concede this small win to him, even though she couldn’t predict how he would use this opportunity. Would he try to win her back, or find some way to derail any potential success? Or was it really just a business decision for him? She realized now how little she knew this man sitting in front of her.
“I am not Katerina, Giancarlo. I am Kate. Kate Wilson, an artist with her own vision.”
Giancarlo’s face darkened. He shook his head. “In the art world and here in Italy, you will always be Katerina.”
Forty-Three
Kate took a sip from her champagne glass, trying to appear calm. The room was crowded with critics, art collectors, other art aficionados, minor celebrities and those who were connections of Cassidy’s. Kate knew very few of them, though Cassidy had made a point of introducing her to as many as possible. And even though Kate had repeated their names, smiled, shook their hands, and made small talk, she couldn’t remember any of them. Except for the influencer Komiko, with her bold Asian-styled kimono, huge obi sash, and high platform boots. It might have been the outfit, or the surprising words of praise, but Komiko had registered in her mind.
There were many other outfits that were bold and made statements. Her own seemed very bland in comparison. She’d chosen to wear her hair up, with an amber-colored ribbon worked through the small braids she had twisted around and across into a bun, with loose curls spilling out on either side of her face. The dry February weather had given her hair more curl than frizz, and for that she was grateful. Her mother’s dark green crushed velvet dress paired with a gold-and-rust silk scarf draped and tied around her neck, amber tights, and black velvet shoes that topped off the look. It suggested Pre-Raphaelite with a little bit of a twist, and she hoped it complemented her exhibition theme.
Tom approached her, dressed in a suit she remembered from the funeral. She gave him a grateful smile as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Sorry I’m late. Simon had a tie emergency.”
She looked behind him and saw Simon dressed in a dark suit, pale blue shirt, and no tie. She grinned. “An emergency?”
Simon gave her a wry look. “The emergency was that I thought I had a tie with me, but I didn’t. I left it back at the office.”
“I told him he looked more bohemian without the tie. Perfect for a gallery opening.”
Kate laughed, taking in his precise haircut, shirt and suit. “Oh, Simon, you definitely look bohemian.”
“Thank you,” he said dryly. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Congratulations, by the way. Your show is stunning.”
She flushed with pleasure. “Thank you.”
“It is perfect,” said Giancarlo, coming up behind Kate and slipping his arm around her waist and squeezing it. She stiffened and withdrew from his grasp. “She will be the talk this season. Cassidy was just telling me. You’ve created quite a buzz.”
“No surprise there,” said Tom. He glanced at her champagne glass and then her, reading her body language. “Do you need a refill?”
