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He removed his arm from hers and pulled the door open, revealing a small, dim entry room, which she entered willingly. He followed behind, placing a hand on her back as she looked around.
“No offense,” she started. “But the mafia does a horrible job at organizing charity events. What is this?”
Again, a smile tugged at his lips. “Just wait.”
He reached in front of her and pulled back a sheer black curtain, revealing the true revelry of the evening. People already strolled around the wide-open room. Everyone wore their exquisite finery, but Vincent couldn’t take his eyes off Kiera as they took three small steps inside, and she froze.
Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. She looked around the room, entirely speechless.
That day in Vincent’s office, he’d demanded an art gallery to be offered after the keynote speaker, and James hadn’t disappointed. The entire room flowed with different artistic pieces—sculptures, paintings, and even canvas sketches. Small spotlights shone on each one, and other modern lights hung from the ceilings. Three pillars sat in the center of the room, and paintings hung on the backside of them, price tags dangling. He looked around for one piece in particular, but he didn’t yet see it.
“Vincent,” Kiera finally breathed.
He didn’t respond as he continued his watch. The speaker had finished, and now, the entire event was focused on art, and the patrons seemed to be loving it.
“I’ve been to hundreds of exhibits and galleries,” she admitted, shaking her head, “but never one like this.” He owed James more than one favor for the look of pure joy he watched grow on Kiera’s face. “Do you do things like this often?”
He shrugged. “It’s a way that we support families and local artists. As I said, we’re not all bad.”
“I’m getting that.”
She started at the painting nearest her, standing back a few feet and looking at it with a tilted head. He stood at her side, first watching her, then scanning their surroundings, and then looking at the painting. The process continued as Kiera spentlong minutes taking in the painting. To him, it appeared to only be a jumbled, genderless face with vibrant colors, but Kiera saw so much more.
Maybe for people like her, the $600 price tag wouldn’t be too steep. It was a back-of-the-house painting, so many of the front-of-the-house ones would undoubtedly reach multi-thousand-dollar prices. He couldn’t imagine how long she’d stare at one of those.
“The artist of this one is so sad,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Look at the brush strokes and the colors.”
Vincent tried to see what she did, but it looked like a painting. The brush strokes had been blended so they didn’t appear choppy, so he couldn’t understand how she’d noticed them.
“And you get sadness from that?”
She didn’t respond verbally, and it seemed like a challenge to pull her eyes away from the painting to look up at him. Her cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment.
“Yeah.” She glanced back at the painting, and he could see her appreciation. “You don’t have to wait here while I look at these,” she said.
He knew she loved art. She wanted to go to an expensive art school, after all, but he hadn’t realized how deep that love went within her. He had little doubt she could spend hours taking in all the paintings in the room while remaining perfectly content.
“How about I show you around, and then you come back and look at each one more closely?” he suggested.
She nodded, albeit begrudgingly. He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her slowly through the back of the room and into the front portion. More well-dressed people milled through the front than the back. Still, Kiera shined the brightest.
Her attention drifted over the sculptures with interest, but it stuck to the painting, only pulling away when Vincent continuedhis walk and she was forced to follow. He’d have todragher from the gallery when it closed, he realized.
“I’ve always wanted to have a gallery like this,” she admitted as they stood in the front of the room and turned.
He noticed it first. Kiera, too distracted by the other artists’ paintings, took an extra minute before her attention veered to the paintings hanging on the three pillars—the first paintings seen by all entering the exhibit.
Her painting hung on the central pillar.
Kiera’s gasp was audible as she took a hesitant step toward it, then looked back at Vincent with wide eyes. “You didn’t,” she said, shaking her head.
“I didn’t arrange them. I just insisted that it be here. Whoever arranged the gallery decided that your piece would be the show's center,” he said truthfully. And it was. Her piece outshone all the rest, drawing attention from various patrons.
Below it was an elegant placard that read simply,Sold.
She shook her head, incredulous that her painting had not only been displayed but also sold. “Do you donate the money from the paintings?” she asked, tilting her head.
Vincent tightened his grip on her. “And if we did?”
