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Love was no longer a dream. No longer an unanswered prayer. It was no longer abstract but tangible and real because of Anwar and Minnie. Lucy worked quickly, saturating the canvas with her inspired emotions. She felt free. Happy. In her element. The giant canvases confronted all the small fragmented aspects of her past she no longer wished to carry. Her childhood may have been stolen, but the precious riches buried deep in her soul lived.
Without her wounds, what would she have to paint? she laughed.
She stepped back and viewed the paintings from a distance. What do they need?
Contrast.
“A good painting is a mix of sameness and contrast. Opposites attract in life and art,” Lucy said, taking a soft-bristled paintbrush. She layered in subtle strokes of inky-navy within the vibrant jolts of magenta pink. Anwar was navy to her and her daughter’s magenta. Strong. Reliable. Safe. His love had brought stability to their lives. His love had birthed her dreams into reality.
Brush in hand, launching between canvases, Lucy was in her body. She was working with her mind rather than against it. She was in her heart rather than detached from it. She was engaged, present, and receptive.
She stood back and saw the idea’s potential unfolding in a kaleidoscope of intuitive, divinely guided inspiration. She worked rapidly, dancing as she painted.
At last, she was done. Trembling and excited, she knew not to overwork the paintings. They pulsated with life. They held gesture, emotion, and meaning. She had begun with a blank canvas and made something exhilarating.
Her hand trembled slightly as she added a bold signature. What to call it, she wondered.Healing is Possible,came the answer as she placed her brush down.
The only question remaining unanswered is how her latest works would be received. What reception would they,she, receive when they were unveiled? Their reaction was beyond her control. Anwar and his wealthy collector friends would either love them or detest them.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
The day had finally come—the unveiling of her latest works. But first to paint the canvas of her face. But what look to curate? Understated elegance, she decided.
“Let the paintings shine, not me,” she whispered as she dabbed a little lush tint calledAscendon her cheeks and patted her skin with her fingertips to create a glow from within. She added a touch ofRadiance Moonto the same area to create a dewy sheen. She then applied eye pigment in a soft nude shade with a flat brush and blended it with her fingertips. She used Radiant Sun through to the center of her lid along the outer corner of the eye and repeated the process with her other eye.
She curled her lashes and added mascara, then added a whisper of styling wax to create a soft, no-fuss, brushed-up feel to her brows. Lastly, she swept matt lipstick in her favorite nude hue so she didn’t look overdone. The last thing she wanted was for Anwar to think she was trying to outclass the collection he had commissioned. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Her stomach gurgled in disapproval. “I’ve taken the understated look too far, haven’t I?” she said to her reflection. “Instead of subtle knockout, I just look plain.”
It was time to go big or go home, she decided. Hadn’t she done that with her paintings? She’d spent her life dimming her light, heeding her mother’s call not to outshine others. She needed to go bolder. “Out with Plain Jane and in with Magic Marilyn,” she affirmed, referencing one of her muses, Marilyn Monroe.
“What would Marilyn do?” she asked.
She would embrace the sultry summer desert vibe and go for glowing skin, pops of bright colors, and even a touch of glitter.
“Be glamorous,” Marilyn encouraged as Lucy amped the shimmer and shine.
She would hit the opening party for the exhibition, ready to toast her huge accomplishment and dance the night away.
She picked out her outfit and put on a party playlist to set the mood. As Tina Turner belted out her heroic tuneThe Best, Lucy illuminated the high points of her cheeks, shimmering dust and blush. She swirled on a peachy blush that held a fiery shimmer, focusing on the apples of her cheeks and sweeping up to the temples.
“You’re simply the best. Better than all the rest. Better than anyone I’ve ever met,” she sang as she twirled around the room. If she repeated it enough, she might finally believe she was worthy of Anwar’s love.
The psychic’s warning rang in Lucy’s mind almost as loud as the thumping music that filled her luxury suite.
“In everyone’s eyes, you are the Sheikh’s forbidden bride. You must persuade him that your heart is strong, or there will be terrible consequences.”
She had forgotten the prophecy, but now, the words assailed her on the eve of her exhibition.
And then Tina’s words filled the room. “Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams. Speak a language of love like you know what it means.”
Her love language was art. Her heart was filled with so much love and longing. She couldn’t put the feelings into words as richly as she could in her art.
She glanced around her suite one last time and prayed that the friends and wealthy collectors Anwar had invited would perceive the love she had infused in her paintings and reward Anwar’s belief in her in front of the crowd he had assembled.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX
Was this even real?Clutching the exhibition catalog to her chest, Lucy swept her gaze over the crowd gathered for the opening of the dazzling exhibition of her artworks created to honor the birth of her daughter, Rabah Minnie na Hassir.
She felt like pinching herself. Only six months ago, she had been in wintery New York, and now she was in the heat of the Arabian summer, surrounded by intoxicating works of art created from her heart. She swallowed a gulp of anxiety as Maria Bright approached the front of the room and began her address.
