Page 44 of Fresh Canvas
My fingers tightened around my glass.
The gown was also backless. Her shoulder blades lent way to the arch of her spine, trailing down to right above the none-of-my-business area.
The noose of my tuxedo notched tighter.
No way that dress was Amantha’s idea. She seemed to prefer simple, classic clothing, andthatgown had flashy, annoying Kate written all over it. A frustrated noise slipped out of me, though the large woman blabbering to me didn’t notice.
I ought to oil the floors by Kate’s desk and sit back to watch.
Irritated, I brought my champagne glass to my lips and then stopped.
Thelastthing my crumbling resolve needed was lowered inhibitions. I sighed and held the glass down by my lapel. After a few too many moments, the lady said farewell and moved on.
As Amantha moved throughout the exhibition, it felt like an invisible force strung me along. The enigma lingered at each painting much, much longer than those around her. So unexpected. SoAmantha. I couldn’t help but wish I could perceive the art through her eyes. It seemed more beautiful that way.
Or maybe it was Amantha that held the beauty, the art merely reflecting it.
Again, her mystery felt like sand slipping through my fingers.
Later that evening, my observations confirmed one of my theories. As I watched from the shadows like a pathetic creep, one of her mannerisms became more pronounced. Each time Amantha was drawn into conversation with someone, she would shyly duck her head and tuck her hair behind her ear.
The duck and tuck.
A nervous tell of sorts—her body language conveying what her words refused to.
She had aimed that exact mannerism at me during the Vanderbilt hall set-up. I had unsettled her somehow.
Was she as affected by me as I was by her?
I blew out a long breath, weary of how invested I was in the answer to that question.
But even if she was, how would that change anything?
AMANTHA
I was rendered speechless as I roamed the Vanderbilt wing. Waves lapped overhead, amplifying the watery ambiance. The pièce de résistance was, after all,Attersee Bei Sonnenuntergang, my absolute favorite painting.Lake Attersee at Sunset.
The event designers had outdone themselves. It was as though the entire space had been submerged in the lake waters of Attersee themselves.
The featured painting hung illuminated by a spotlight on one of the freestanding walls near the entrance. I fought a slight grin, remembering Val’s lopsided smile before we placed that wall last week.
The narrow silk screens Val had set billowed from the ceiling on each side. Images of Felix Andreas and a brief synopsis of his life and work undulated across them, thanks to the well-placed overhead projectors.
My hands slid nervously over my gown, crimson silk slipping easily beneath them. I still could not believe I let Kate talk me into this monstrosity of a dress.
Last week, my cunning friend had trapped me in yet another dressing room, sending Kate-approved gown after gown over the dressing room door. After my eyes roved over the more scandalous choices, I decided to try on the lesser of the three evils.
I unlocked the door so Kate could step in and zip me up, then turned to the mirror and promptly had a small anxiety attack. If there was a mascot for all the imposters in the world, itwas me in this dress. For heaven’s sake, I was a PTA member and a soccer mom. Adivorcedsoccer mom.
My stomach had contracted so hard, I was entirely convinced it would never relax again.
“I can’t do this, Kate. I’m amom. This isn’t me.”
“That’s weird, because I’m pretty sure you’reyou, and you happen to look like a walking felony in this dress. You’re buying it.”
“I don’t think bringing up criminal offenses is gonnahelphere, Kate,” I said.
“Since when did you decide to put yourself in a box and throw away the key? Why can’t you be a momanda sexy single woman in her thirties?”
