Page 17 of Unworthy Ties
“I saw some pieces for $500,000,” I responded.
Pablo creates replicas of the expensive paintings and sells them to us as originals. They get reported on our taxes at their true cost, when in reality we are paying a fraction of the price. It keeps our money “clean” and both of our pockets lined.
“I’ll choose some art for you, then,” Pablo said before walking towards the gallery floor.
I looked around for Gabriella and found her enraptured by a painting, her features illuminated by the soft gallery lights. She stood transfixed, hovering as close to the painting as possible while not breaking the “do not touch” rule.
I walked towards her as if drawn by an invisible force. The air between us felt charged, vibrant with unspoken words and possibilities.
“What do you see?” I asked.
She turned to me, her eyes sparkling like stars against a dark night. “It’s about rebirth, I think,” she said, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to echo in the quiet of the gallery. “The colors are so vivid, yet there’s an underlying darkness. It’s like something beautiful is emerging from pain.”
Hell if I knew. I didn’t know anything about art.
“It’s a nice interpretation,” I managed, though my pulse quickened at her words. “But some things don’t emerge from pain. They just die.”
She frowned slightly, the light in her eyes dimming for a mere moment. “Sometimes the death of one thing gives life to another,” she replied softly, her gaze drifting back to the painting. “Just like in nature; one flower withers while another blooms.”
“I admire your optimism.”
“Mmm.”
I couldn’t get over how enthralled she was by the painting. It looked like she wanted to dive in and live inside of it, if that was possible. I glanced at the price tag—$50,000.
Pablo stood across the room at the front desk, furiously punching numbers into a cash register. Without hesitating, I walked up to him.
“And add that one,” I said, pointing to the one Gabriella was obsessed with. My voice lowered a bit as I leaned in closer. “The real one.”
Pablo glanced up from his cash register, a hint of surprise flickering across his face at my request for the expensive painting. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he processed the transaction.
Gabriella’s expression shifted from curiosity to disappointment as Pablo gently moved her aside to remove the painting from the wall. But then, as the realization dawned that I was the one who had purchased it, her eyes widened in disbelief.
I watched her closely, captivated by the way her entire being seemed to light up in that moment, as if the painting had breathed new life into her soul.
Gabriella turned to me, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”
I simply nodded, unable to find the right words to express the turmoil of emotions swirling inside me. Seeing the joy on Gabriella’s face made it all worth it.
With a gentle smile, she reached out and took my hand, squeezing it lightly in silent understanding. In that brief touch, a shared connection blossomed between us, bridging the gap of our differences and uncertainties.
Chapter 9
Gabriella
Rocco and I had fallen into a pattern. On weekends, he was gone before I woke up and would return when I had already fallen asleep. During the weekdays, he would be out of bed before me and drinking coffee on the sofa. Then, he would leave and come home after I had fallen asleep.
So, imagine my surprise when he said we were going on a date. Said, mind you. He didn’t ask if I wanted to or if I was free that evening; he simply stated it as a fact, as though it were a foregone conclusion.
“Excuse me?” I sputtered.
“We’re going on a date,” he deadpanned, his eyes focusing on his phone rather than me. It was a challenge and an order rolled into one statement.
“A date?” I echoed, uncertainty creeping in. “Don’t you have like, work to do or something?”
“No,” he responded. He didn’t continue the conversation, instead choosing to look down at his phone.
I watched him for a while, his straight brows furrowed as he scrolled through whatever it was that had his attention. A multitude of questions rushed into my mind—why now? Where would we go? What would we do?
