Page 14 of London
“Sure you do,” he said. “I can almost hear you blushing. Clearly, there’s a guy involved.”
“Oh, well… I did meet a guy. He’s a physician and researcher at HOPE, but—”
“Hmm, the fellow must be smart. What’s his name?”
“Gérard Léon,” she said, nearly swallowing her tongue as she tried to pronounce his name correctly and not the English way.
Giovanni choked out a laugh. “French, eh? I hear they make the best lovers in the world—after Italians, of course. Is it true?”
“Giovanni! I’m going to hang up if you continue down that road. I barely know him, for heaven’s sake. It’s not what you think.”
“Why not?” His question ended with a sigh.
“You know why. I don’t want or need a man in my life. I had one, and it didn’t work out. I don’t need any more crazy bouts of jealousy, ludicrous fights, and sleepless nights. I’m better off alone than having to explain how I spend each minute of every day. I worked too hard for my independence to give it up again.”
Giovanni blew out a breath. “So you’re going to give up men for the rest of your life, just because you had one lousy experience? Tony wasn’t for you, but that’s ancient history. You have to move on, Linda.”
“I know. You’re right, but—”
She sat on a stool at the kitchen island, measuring her words, not just to make Giovanni understand, but to clarify things for herself.
“It’s not just about Tony,” she said at last. “Our marriage was a terrible experience, but one I’ve learned from. At least, I’m trying to, and the most important thing I’ve learned is that I don’t need a man to be happy.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But if you found a man who made you happy, you would be an idiot to let him walk away because of your feminist attitude. Not all men are mean, selfish bastards.”
She sighed, knowing deep down that he was right. Maybe it was time to give herself a break.
“If I promise to go out with him, will you stop preaching?”
“I might, but only because I have a meeting in three minutes,” he said. “All joking aside, don’t go out with him just to shut me up, Linda. If you honestly like the guy, give him a wholehearted chance.”
“What if I regret it?”
“Better than spending the rest of your life mourning what could’ve been.”
She smiled. “You’re not just a wiseass. Thanks,fratello.I feel better having spoken to you. You’re the only one who knows how to listen.”
“Don’t mention it. Miss you, love you. Let me know how it all works out.”
“I will. Love you, too.”
She placed the phone on the kitchen table, holding onto it a few moments longer, as if holding her brother’s hand. She missed him. Giovanni had watched over her from the day she’d been born. He was her friend, her protector, her advisor, the only person to whom she could open her soul. Her brother knew her better than anybody and he was the only person who’d never steered her wrong. When she’d decided to marry Tony, Giovanni had insisted she was making a mistake.
Blinded by her fiancé’s charm and his extravagant billionaire lifestyle, she hadn’t listened. How she’d regretted not following her brother’s advice and staying away from that snake… Well, this time she would accept his guidance—especially when it was what she wanted, too.
Once back in the city, Linda’s first stop was the gallery. Business before pleasure as Giovanni had said.
After parking the car, she grabbed her purse and locked the vehicle. Crossing Oxford Circus, she hurried down Regent’s Street. Originally designed to link Carleton House, the Prince regent’s home, with Regent Park, the Victorian buildings had been torn down and the area redeveloped in 1905. During that time, restrictions had been enacted to ensure all of the buildings remained uniform in style and design, with lovely cream Portland Stone façades. No building could be more than five floors tall, and since most of the land and street belonged to the Crown, it would stay that way. The sleek lines and clean finishes suited her artist’s soul.
Today, Regent Street was an iconic shopping area in London’s West End. She’d purchased a winter coat fromCanada Goose,and absolutely adored the suits, like the black one she wore, that she’d picked up atBurberry. When she had time, she roamed the aisles atHamley’s, the country’s largest toy shop. She often picked up presents there for the children at HOPE.
Walking quickly, she passed smaller chic boutiques until she reached Moretti’s gallery. While it was upscale, it fit in well with the area’s ambiance.
She stood a moment, admiring the well-tended windows and understated displays. Although the edifice wasn’t as large and imposing as the National Gallery or the British Museum, like its neighbors, the building exuded elegance and prestige.
She pushed open the elaborately-carved door. Inside, it was quiet and cool, but lacking the mausoleum atmosphere some galleries had. Her footsteps tapped on the black and white tiles.
Strategically placed around the room, sculptures, paintings, and other decorativeobjets d’artwaited to be admired. In the center of the room stood her Apollo. Born in light-colored butternut and covered in gold varnish, the statue was her most impressive project to date. Giovanni had ordered the massive block of butternut from Canada as a surprise for her birthday in March. The wood, also known as white walnut, was one of the softer hardwoods, but stable, rarely warping or cracking. As soon as she’d seen it, she’d fallen in love with it. She’d shivered for weeks in her outdoor workshop, heavily dressed, carving, measuring, calculating, and dreaming as the statue took shape.
