Sweet Hope

Warmth spread in my chest, and I let myself feel a fleeting moment of pride. I had dedicated every moment since college to this career. Even in college, I always knew what my path would be.

Rising to my feet, I offered my hand to Vin, who graciously accepted it. “Thank you, Vin,” I said humbly. He gave my hand a firm shake as if to seal the contract.

“When do you need me here in New York? I can be back from California in the next few days if necessary. Is the exhibit here at the Met? The Guggenheim?”

“None of the above,” Vin said with a casual wave of his hand as he made his way to the door. I frowned in confusion. “It’s going to be small, academic and local to me.”

“Okay,” I said hesitantly.

Vin glanced back from the door. “It’ll be in Seattle, Ms. Lucia, at the University of Washington’s art museum. I’m a patron there and I want to garner some exposure for it. Plus, Elpidio would not countenance a big name gallery. He wants intimate.”

Intimate… The very sound of Elpidio next to the word intimate evoked a warm glow all over my body. I was obsessed with a man I’d never met, no more than a concept. And here I was getting to work physically with his masterpieces—the marble expressions of his soul, the imprints of his heart… in Seattle.

“Seattle’s perfect,” I said, excitement lacing every letter of my words, “I get the sense from his work that Elpidio is not in it for the fame or acclaim of other artists. It’s not the prestige of the place. It’s the exquisiteness of the art that’s the focus.” I smiled and dipped my head just picturing those sculptures I’d admired in pictures, only having had the pleasure of seeing one piece in the flesh. “It’s going to be amazing; life-changing amazing, for so many people.”

“Spoken like a true curator,” Vin said fondly. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“No,” I said and blushed. “That was spoken by a true fan.”

Vin eyed me with curiosity. “You’ve perfectly described Elpidio, Ms. Lucia. A small museum is ideal for his first show, and you are ideal as its curator. I have a very good feeling about this partnership, Ms. Lucia. A very good feeling indeed.”

Smiling, I replied, “As do I, Vin.”

“My assistant will be in touch soon with all of the finer details. In the meantime, if you can get to Seattle as soon as possible, we can take it from there.”

“Thank you, Vin,” I said again, and with the slightest wave of his hand he left the room.

Minutes later, the same assistant saw me out of the museum. As I stood on the top of the Met’s impressive steps, I tipped my head back to gaze at the clear summer sky and tried real hard to stop myself from screaming out in happiness.

I’d done it.

I was about to start work with the finest sculptor in the modern era.

I’d landed my dream job.

Returning to the here and now, I pulled out my cell and unlocked the screen. For a minute I stared at the wallpaper, my favorite Elpidio piece, an unnamed white Carrara marble angel.

A bolt of excitement flashed through my body as I pressed two on my speed dial, only to then hear a familiar and loved English accent say, “Hello, stranger!”

“Molls!” I greeted excitedly. “You got a spare room in that mansion of yours? ‘Cause your very best friend is coming to stay!”

Chapter Two

Ally

Seattle, Washington

The cab pulled to a stop right on the edge of Lake Washington. I stared up at the stunning white stone mansion set beyond a couple of acres of land¸ protected by huge iron gates. Molly and Rome’s new home.

Rome… I thought and smiled. No way would Molly choose this house.

Grabbing my cases, I rolled them toward the gates, when they suddenly began to open. I beamed a smile and waved at a large camera atop an ornate post on the surrounding white stone wall.

As I walked down the driveway, I marveled at the gardens: lush green grass, ornate water features, trees of every type, and a million flowers brightening up the grounds.

A large set of paved steps came into view, which led to a white door entrance. It flew open just as my hand rose to knock. My lips spread into an ear-splitting smile as my cousin, Rome Prince, appeared in the doorway, his usual sandy long blond hair messy and his brown eyes bright. He was still the epitome of country-boy style as he stood, arms folded, rocking a fitted white T-shirt and faded jeans.

“Hello, cuz,” he greeted with a wide smile, his thick accent as Bama as ever as he stepped forward, arms wide, and lifted me off the floor in a bear hug.