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“Okay then,” I say dismissively, turning back to the painting.
Still I feel his presence behind me. His stare prickles the back of my neck. I’m all too aware of him.
“What do you feel when you look at it?” he asks softly, not leaving. “Come on, you can at least answer that.”
His tone is cajoling, making me want to reveal all my secrets.
“It’s unsettling,” I mutter. “But also brilliant, alive. The artist seems a little narcissistic, but it’s a vivid painting. It tells a story that calls to people. Even if it’s not the same story everyone can see.”
“And what story are you seeing right now?”
His voice is smooth like velvet, wrapping around me like a caress. Enticing me to reveal my secrets.
“I think it’s sad,” I say, my gaze drifting to the man in the painting, dying alone on the horizon. The sun burns, the house burns, and he dies. “You can lose everything in the blink of the eye. The world takes and takes until there’s nothing left to give.”
“There’s always something more to give,” he says from behind me. “Even in death, we all still have souls.”
I smile softly. “Not everyone’s soul is redeemable. Not everyone has a soul left to give.”
“Hmm,” he says, making a noise I translate to be agreement. “It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you again, Rosa.”
I’m so focused on the painting it takes a few seconds to realize he called me by my name. By the time I turn around to question him, he’s gone. I catch the sight of his broad shoulders as he turns, disappearing behind the hallway leading out of the building.
I’m still staring in the direction when Daniella D’Angelo approaches. She’s the owner of the gallery, and one of my friends. She takes in my expression with a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
I’m extremely unsettled. “Did you see the man that was talking to me?”
“Well, I saw the side of his face. It looked like a really good-looking face,” she says with a smile.
“And you didn’t recognize him?”
She shakes her head. “No, did he say something?”
“Not exactly. But he knew who I was. And he didn’t tell me who he was.”
This feels like the kind of thing I should mention to Roman. But if I tell my brother, he’ll probably blow things out of proportion. Ever since his daughter was kidnapped, he’s been anal about security and safety. It took weeks before I could convince him to let me leave the house without a constant shadow. And I’m still not sure he agreed. Knowing Roman, he probably got me a shadow that’s great at blending in.
“If you’re this upset, we could find him. Christian connected a facial recognition software to the CCTV. I’m sure we could get a hit.”
I consider saying yes, then decide against it. I’m a De Luca. There are tons of people in New York who know who I am. If it’s not due to my family, it’s due to my art. Him knowing my namedoesn’t mean he means me any harm. I don’t like that he alluded to us meeting again, but really, no harm was done.
“No, it’s okay. I’m just overreacting. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Are you sure?” Daniella questions, green eyes shining with concern.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply with a smile. I lean forward and hug her. “Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
“I know,” she agrees, making me laugh.
Having nothing left to do, I leave the building and head home. As soon as I step through the doors, there’s a little baby waddling toward me. I immediately drop to the ground and pull her into my arms. Cassiopeia De Luca will be one year old in a month. She’s growing up so fast. I feel like I blinked and she was crawling. Then walking. And now she’s even talking.
“Zia,” she says with an adorable smile, babbling some other words.
“Hello, my darling,” I say, planting kisses on her cheeks.
Holding her in my arms, I rise back to my feet. My eyes meet the eyes of her mother, who’s staring at us with a bright smile.
