Page 48 of London
“Francesco wouldn’t have let you in without one.” She wiggled her index finger at him. “He’s the owner of the gallery, a perfect gentleman who never breaches etiquette. When I took him the carving of your hands yesterday, he was thrilled.”
“Of course he was. You made it. No matter how humble the model, it’s still a masterpiece.”
“You, humble?” She chuckled. “Not in a thousand years, and you know it!”
He grinned. This woman was too good for him.
The night went well, not at all like the boring and awkward event he’d anticipated. He wasn’t a fan of crowds, and hadn’t expected to fit in with artists and critics, but only a few of them were pompous snobs. Most people had been friendly, although he could bet he and Linda would be the hottest bit of gossip in London’s art circles this week.
As the end of the evening approached, Linda complained she was developing arthritis from so much handshaking, and that her face hurt from all the smiling.
Gerard resisted the urge to pat her butt in sympathy, absorbed as he was in admiring her work. Only now was he able to fully appreciate her talent. The intricate pieces of jewelry she created as well as the impressive wooden statues revealed her true identity.
When his gaze fell upon the statue of Apollo, he couldn’t suppress the grin that split his face. The statue really did look like him! It was amazing and maybe even a little spooky. He didn’t believe in coincidences, but what mystical force had compelled her to create those features? The only explanation he could think of was that they were indeed soulmates, and perhaps not just in this lifetime.
Francesco overwhelmed Linda with compliments. Similarly, the guests continuously praised her, while browsing the work on display, and sipping from glasses of expensive champagne. The catering staff moved through the crowd, carrying trays of appetizers and replenishing drinks.
Annarita, Francesco’s assistant, introduced Linda to the other artists, whose works were on display tonight. One of them, a blond, bohemian-looking young man, was dressed in a purple suit and sported a colorful scarf. His ponytail trembled with excitement as he kissed Linda’s hands and confessed he was honored to be in the same room with her.
The other artist, a pale, middle-aged woman, in a long black dress that wasn’t particularly flattering, was respectful, but somewhat distant.
“I’ll bet she wanted to be the star tonight,” Gerard whispered in Linda’s ear after the woman moved away. “That’s why she’s acting like a snooty bitch.”
Linda laughed softly, taking his arm.
“Good Lord, I’m not the star. I hope she realizes this isn’t a competition. We’re artists doing good business here tonight.”
“Yeah. Francesco’s in his glory. He probably has a permanent hard-on since so many of your works have sold already.”
Linda shushed him, giggling. “Shut up! Don’t be a pervert.”
“Isn’t that what you like about me?”
Making sure no one was watching, he nuzzled her neck.
“Want to sneak out of here?” he asked, his voice full of hope. “I think you’ve done more than your share of socializing. If one more person whispers anything about yourescorttonight, I’m going to punch them. Escort, my ass,” he sneered.
“I’m so sorry.” Linda turned to him, her face scrunched up with concern. “Please don’t be offended. People say things without thinking. I chose to ignore them. I didn’t realize their comments would bother you. I’m sorry. By all means, let’s go.”
He smiled down at her, arching one eyebrow.
“It will take a hell of a lot more than that to bother me, and you should know that. I have too healthy an ego to be offended because some stranger considers me to be your new boy toy—besides, I am.”
She laughed, sipping the last of her champagne before placing her glass on a passing tray.
“You don’t have to tell me how great your… ego is. I know all about it.”
“Then let’s go home so you can tell me more about how ‘great’ I am,” he growled into her ear invitingly.
They stole through the crowd, like teenagers trying to make themselves invisible. Despite how tired he was, Gerard looked forward to spending another night with his lover. And this time, he didn’t plan to waste any of it sleeping.
They’d just stepped a few feet past the exit when Linda froze, staring at a tall, dark-haired man coming toward them. His smooth olive face was clean shaven, his black hair sleeked back away from his forehead. The gray suit he wore reeked of money.
“Che piacere vederti, amore mio! Sono venuto apposta per te.”
Even his voice sounded expensive, but not quite manly. He purred when he talked. This had to be Tony, her ex-husband.
The man pulled Linda into his arms before she could protest.
