Page 60 of Angel Eyes

She perked up, a nervous smile gracing her lips. “Yes, if that’s okay.”

I couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop myself if I tried. Pushing down a swell of emotion, I took her hand and brought it to my lips, pressing a soft kiss against it.

“It would be an honor, Ms. Chandler.”

The door to the gallery snicked shut, closing us in with the silence. A river of sunlight poured in through the windows, catching on Juliet’s hair as she passed beneath one of the skylights.

“It’s so peaceful in here.”

“It is. I probably spend more time here than anywhere else.”

She hummed, running her hand over a hammered bronze wall sconce before coming to a stop in front of the door to my studio. “Do you keep your paintings in here?”

“Mostly the ones I’m still working on. I have a few completed ones here, but most of them are in storage.” Stepping past her, I entered the room, and she followed, wandering over to the desk.

“Nora, right?” She traced a finger over the photo of us at the film festival.

“Yeah,” I said, coming to stand beside her. “And that’s James, her husband.”

“Who’s that in the middle?”

I caught her smile from the corner of my eye, and my lips twitched.

“If you’re referring to the devastatingly handsome figure, then that would be yours truly.”

She laughed, and the sound was like sunshine, warming every part of my soul. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you pride goes before a fall? You should be careful.” She nudged me in the ribs before shifting her gaze to the other photo. “Who’s this?”

I looked down at the portrait of my mother, the answer on the tip of my tongue. But before I could voice it, Juliet did.

“Your mother.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

“She was beautiful.” Was. My eyes found hers as she communicated wordlessly, I know.

Of course, she did. She’d lost her parents too.

“She was an artist like me,” I managed, gesturing around my workspace. “This, all of this, was her dream once. Then it became our dream. She encouraged my early artistic efforts, teaching me everything she knew. She always believed I could do the things she never had a chance to do. So, this gallery, my art—it’s all because of her.”

Without speaking, Juliet slipped a hand into mine, her fingers tightening as we stood in silent vigil over the woman who’d given me life and so much more.

A passion. A purpose.

With a hard swallow, I turned away from the picture. “I keep the finished pieces in crates over here.” Moving to the nearest one, I extracted a painting at random, arranging it on an easel before turning to show Juliet. I blinked at the now vacant space where she’d been standing before scanning the room. I spotted her crouching over a painting in the far corner.

“Oh, that one—”

“Is exquisite.” She beamed at me over her shoulder. “What’s it called?”

I knelt beside her, sliding my thumb down the edge of the canvas. I studied the image of gold wings spanning across the painting, fanning out in a wide arch to form an elegant circle. “It doesn’t have a name yet. I’m waiting to see what it becomes first.”

She tilted her head. “There’s something unique about it, something that draws the eye.”

“You think so? I was hoping it would be my statement piece once it’s finished.” I propped it up, the gold paint glinting as a rogue shaft of sunlight slid beneath the window shade.

“Statement piece?”

“Yeah, my art agent won’t let me rest until I have one. He insists I need a standout piece, something to set the tone for the rest of my work. He’s called me about it at least three times in the past week.”

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