Rhythm by Marie Lipscomb
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beth
Her ears burn as the exhibition’s curator stares, rubbing his clean-shaven cheek with wax paper fingertips.
“Not what we were expecting…” he raises his wispy grey eyebrows and turns to face her. “Certainly eye-catching. I’m sure it’ll sell.”
“Thank you. I hope so too.” Her cheeks are scalding as she awaits his verdict.
“Put it in the main room,” the curator instructs the gallery’s assistants. “Well done, Ms. Barlow.”
“Thank you.” Beth’s heart slows a little as the curator walks away. The tension in her shoulders melts as Sadie approaches with two flutes of champagne.
“Nice tits,” her friend smirks, glancing at the painting as it’s carried through to the main room.
Beth stifles a laugh, biting the inside of her cheek as the gallery’s guests mill around. She’s already noticed several people looking at her work, and a couple of them seemed interested enough to consider buying.
Sadie stands beside her, following her gaze across the lobby. “Congratulations. Are you feeling better now?”
“Calmer,” Beth exhales and smiles. “I’m still confused by it all. I think I’ve felt every possible emotion in the past twenty-four hours. But now… standing here, with my work on the gallery’s walls.” She takes a sip of her champagne, letting the bubbles roll across her tongue. “This is what I always wanted. If nothing else, Finn inspired me to paint, and I’m proud of what I produced.”
Sadie raises her glass. “As you should be.”
They toast her achievement, and as she sips the free champagne, Beth can’t help but smile.
Finn
There’sa decent crowd at the gallery, and it takes him a little while to get in. The whole time he’s in line, waiting for people’s bags and coats to be checked, he scans the room, looking for a trace of her. He scours each passer-by for the gleaming waterfall of her hair, for the warmth of her smile. As he waits, dread creeps along his spine. It’s fear that she isn’t there, and fear that she is.
He pays the entrance fee at the door and steps inside, alone and uncertain. His heart hammers and his palms begin to sweat. What if she doesn’t want him there, or she’s moved on? What if she can never forgive him for last night? The terror in her eyes when he saw her at the gig haunts him.
Resisting the urge to run back outside and call Mia for a ride home, he makes his way through the gallery’s side rooms, searching for her. He’s out of place among this swanky crowd who stand around chatting and sipping champagne. An intruder in her world, trespassing in her realm, and there’s every chance he’ll be banished forever.
It’s only when he steps into the central room, with its high domed ceiling, and endless echo, he sees her. Well, not her precisely.
A painting.
The butterflies he had in his stomach before their first kiss, return, fluttering in his stomach. They soar to his chest, their vibrations quickening the pulse in his throat. The painting is erotic, beautiful, an explosion of color and passion. There are two subjects; one is definitely her, back arched, her dark hair flying wildly, her lips parted in bliss. The other figure… he scarcely allows himself to believe it, but the tattoos are unmistakable. The other is him.
His heart damn near shatters as he steps closer, and the tiny copper strands in his portrait’s beard glisten. The care she’s taken to portray him humbles him yet again.
His eyes sting, because he sees now, exactly what he is. It’s obvious in the way she painted him, the way she painted him back in the cabin. Both times her depiction shook him. And now he knows, with absolute certainty, that he’s the most foolish man alive.
The entire time he’s been thinking of her, she’s been thinking of him. If not for his stubbornness, his fragile ego, his easily bruised heart…
He has to do something.
The laminated white tag beneath the painting reads; “Rhythm, Elizabeth Barlow.” He smiles at the title, and at seeing her full name. There’s a price listed below, one which dries out his throat, but it’s worth it to try to patch the hole he’s torn between them.