by Robin Kaye
Rich walked into an attic room that looked as if it was at one time a living room. He smiled. It was black with all the different constellations painted on the walls and ceiling.
Rich stopped to take it in. “Very cool.”
Becca shrugged and sat on the old leather couch, rested back, and looked up at the ceiling. “I had fun painting it. It also pissed off my mother, which was an added benefit.”
Rich sat beside her and lolled his head back. “How come she didn’t make you repaint it?”
Becca shrugged. “I think that was about the time she washed her hands of me.”
She didn’t say it with even a hint of sadness, just matter of fact, like someone would talk about the weather.
“So that tattoo you have…” He reached over, slid the hem of her shirt up, and pulled the waist of her jeans down enough to reveal the sign of Gemini on her bikini line. The pillars framed a woman who looked like Becca dressed in a toga, reaching for a man facing away from her. Rich ran his finger across it, and Becca sucked in a breath of air in response. When he’d examined it closely the night before, he thought it was a picture of Becca and Mike. But now he wasn’t so sure… “I take it you’re a Gemini.”
“In more ways than just one. Chip and I are twins. We were born May 29th, which made us Gemini twins.”
Rich put his arm around her and pulled her a little closer. She didn’t make it easy. She needed to be worn down. Wearing people down was something of a gift, so he wasn’t too worried. “You don’t talk about Chip much. So the tat. Did you get it about the same time you painted the room?”
Becca shook her head. “No, I got it a few years ago. I had it done after my brother died.”
Rich took her chin in his hand and turned her face to his. “It’s beautiful.” When their eyes met, he had the feeling it was the first time she actually saw him since before Mike and Nick showed up.
He couldn’t help but smile at the look of wariness he saw. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed her softly on the lips. Her eyes widened as he released her. “So, where are we going next on the tour?”
Becca stood to get away from him, and he followed as she tugged her top down and her jeans up. “It’s not a tour. I have my work stored up here where it won’t get into anyone’s way.”
Rich followed her down a hall and into a room that must have been thirty feet long by a good twenty feet wide. It had paintings hung and leaning against the walls, shelves and tables covered with pottery and sculpture of all sizes. Big dormers let in the light. The room was painted white, which only accentuated all the color on the canvases. “You paint, too?”
She shrugged. “Not well, but I enjoy it.”
Rich laughed. “Yeah, right. Has anyone ever told you that you’re your own worst critic?”
“No. They usually tell me I’m right. Everyone but you, that is.”
Rich tried to take it all in. There were some pretty amateurish paintings, but some of them were nothing short of stunning.
The light from one of the windows seemed to spotlight a small bronze of a mother and child. It was very art-deco looking—the woman had long curling hair, kinda like Annabelle’s. Shit, that was Annabelle. Her face anyway, and she was kissing the head of a baby who nuzzled her breast, its face hidden.
“You did this?”
Becca worried the hem of her top between her fingers. “Yeah. I made it as a shower present for Annabelle.”
Rich circled the small round table, looking at it from all angles. “God, it’s gorgeous. Breathtaking.”
Becca shrugged. “Thanks.”
“You have to bring this. Emily will love it. Besides it’s nice and small.”
Becca put her hand on the baby’s head and slid it down its back to where it melted into the stand. “I don’t know. I’m worried it might be bad luck. The baby’s not here yet, and if something happened—”
“Nothing’s going to happen. But if you’re worried, feel free to stick it in the back of my closet. Annabelle would never venture there. Believe me.”
“Her and me both.”
Rich ignored the comment and moved on to the next table. It was an old, tile-covered table that held a group of five separate sculptures. There was a woman in a dress sitting with a book in her hands surrounded by children.
Becca stood beside him and crossed her arms. “I plan to have these enlarged at the foundry. The local library is building a small park on the land beside it. Once it gets closer to completion, I’ll have them cast in bronze and donate them.”
Rich touched the book the sculpted woman held. It was a perfect copy of one of his favorite books. “Treasure Island, huh?” He moved behind Becca. She was so rigid that she made a few of her statues look relaxed. He rested his hands on her shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Will you have it enlarged to life-size?”
She bunched up her shoulders. “I’d like to. That way kids could sit with them and read.”
“I think it’s going to be amazing.”
Becca broke away from his touch and took a bronze off a nearby shelf and set it beside the others. It was a sculpture of a life-like mare grazing while her colt nursed.
Becca turned away from him and pulled out her phone and dialed. Her body language screamed discomfort. “Daddy. Hi. I’m here at the estate to pick up a few pieces of my work.”
She wandered the room as she listened. Rich followed her to a modern piece and touched the cold metal. It looked something like a wave. But when he walked around it and saw it from another angle, he wondered if it was some kind of modern rocking chair.
She turned her back to him again. “It was a spur of the moment trip. There’s no need to—no, really. Don’t feel as if you have to come home. Oh, okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes then. Bye.” She flipped her phone shut, and she certainly wasn’t happy with the outcome.
Rich laughed. “You actually call your father Daddy?”
Becca shrugged. “I guess. I never thought about it.”
Rich walked around the cool sculpture trying to read her and having no luck. Sometimes it’s best to just ask the question. “Are you unhappy to see him for all the usual reasons, or is it specifically because I’m here?”
“I’m not unhappy to see him. It’s just awkward. We’ll get past it eventually, and believe me, it has nothing to do with you.”
Rich bent low and tested the weight of the metal sculpture. It was lighter than he’d imagined it would be. “Let’s take this too.” He left it where it was, and when she moved to pick up another, Rich slid past her and beat her to it.
He let out a grunt when he lifted it. It was heavy as all get out. It only stood about two feet high, but was made out of white marble. Cool and smooth, the sculpture was of a nude woman riding astride a horse and holding its mane as it flew over a fence. He set it on a nearby table. The look of ecstasy on the woman’s face was stunning. Rich swallowed. “This reminds me of how you looked last night.”
Becca felt herself blush. She watched Rich’s face as he studied the piece she called “Freedom.” To Becca, that particular sculpture was her definition of the word, a chance to escape, to ride. Sometimes it meant riding away from something; sometimes it meant riding to something. The way she looked at it changed with her mood. But every time she rode she felt free, and it seemed as if Rich understood that. She felt like an animal being studied in its natural environment. He saw too much, read her too well, and was getting entirely too close. She felt completely unprotected, like by coming here, he’d stripped her of her shield. Shit, she knew coming here was a bad idea.
“Do you have anything to wrap these in?”
“Yes.” She needed some space so she went to the storage room and took her time pulling out several moving blankets. When she returned, he was checking out her earlier work. “Do you think we can fit all the small pieces in the car?”
Rich didn’t turn around. “I’m not sure, but we should be able to fit most of them. I’ll put the seats down.”
She’d never felt so exposed. He had a way of studying everything. He took a small piece off the shelf. “What’s this?”
Becca took the less than perfect statue from him. It was the first piece she’d ever done. One of the kitchen help had snapped a picture of her feeding her colt. She turned the picture into a sculpture in clay. She fell in love, both with the colt and with the art of sculpture. The piece was very rough; her arm was around Russet’s neck as she fed him from a bottle. He was almost as big as she was. She remembered the day she’d begun work on it. Becca had learned very early to appreciate the moments of life that were perfect, and sculpture gave her a way to freeze time. An image of Rich’s face—the way he looked at her the night before—flashed through her mind. A perfect moment in time.
“That’s you.” His voice broke through her thoughts.
She reached for the piece and pulled it from his hands. “We’re not taking that.”
“How come? How old were you when you did this?”
Becca went to put it back where it belonged. Hidden. “I was about twelve, I think. It’s not good.”
Rich pulled it back out. “You think this isn’t good? Bec. It’s beautiful. Heck, you were a fuckin’ prodigy or something. Look at the way the two of you are leaning against each other. It’s my favorite.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s you without your armor on. It’s the you you hide from everyone but me.”
“You are so completely arrogant it’s amazing.”
Rich rocked back on his heels. “It’s not arrogance. It’s confidence.”
Becca rolled her eyes and took the sculpture from him a bit too forcefully before putting it back on the shelf.
He definitely saw too much.
“Becca?”
She turned toward her father’s voice. She was almost happy for the interruption. “Up here, Daddy.”
He walked in wearing his golfing attire. Heck, he had his glove still hanging from his back pocket. “Dad, you remember Rich Ronaldi, Annabelle’s brother.” She accepted her father’s awkward hug, pulled away as soon as she could, and took a step back. Her dad and Rich shook hands.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Larsen.”
“Rich.”
The look her dad gave Rich made Becca want to put an immediate stop to it. “I have to start moving my work to Brooklyn, and since Rich has a nice, big SUV, he’s offered to help.”
Nope, he didn’t buy it either. What, did she have a sign on her forehead that said she made a mistake, let her hormones rule her head, and had sex with Rich Ronaldi, or had Mike called and ratted her out? No, he wouldn’t dare.
Rich took one of the moving blankets off the stack she’d brought out earlier and folded it under his arm. “I guess I’ll get started while you two visit.” He picked up the largest piece and headed down with it.
“You didn’t have to cut your game short.”
“I didn’t. I just chose to play nine holes instead of eighteen.” Her father wandered around with his hands clasped behind his back. “You told me you were going to store some of your work up here. I just had no idea you’d done so much.”
What did he think she’d been doing all these years? “These are only the small pieces. I have a few of the large ones in the old equipment barn. I needed to bring them in on a truck. I’m hoping to move them into the studio once it’s built. Part of it will have a thirty-foot ceiling.”
He nodded. “There is one piece that Colleen and I both love. It’s the modern granite one you have stored in the barn. I’d like to buy it.”
The shock must have shown on her face.
“If it’s for sale, that is. Colleen says it belongs in the foyer.”
Becca didn’t know what to say. He’d never shown any interest in any of her work, much less mentioned that he liked it.
“I know how you feel about having your work displayed here.”
“You do?”
He nodded, stuck his hands in his pockets, which he never did, and looked at his feet. “You never wanted it here, but it would mean so much to Colleen and me.”
“Daddy, I never said I didn’t want it displayed here. I just didn’t want to push it on anyone. Mother always called my work dust collectors. I just assumed you felt the same.”
He looked pained. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression.”
Becca shrugged. “If you like the granite piece, consider it a wedding gift. You are going to ask Colleen to marry you, aren’t you?”
When he didn’t answer, she laughed. “Maybe that’ll be the incentive she needs.”
Her father finally smiled a real smile. They were rare. He put his arm around her and gave her a sideways hug. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Anything I can do to help.”
Rich returned and raised an eyebrow. Obviously he’d caught the mood change. “I put the seats down, so all we need to do is get these downstairs.”
Dad picked up one of the statues they’d gathered to take with them. “We can use the dumbwaiter, and once they get down to the third floor, just put them in the elevator.”
Rich looked over the stack of blankets he held. “That old elevator still works?”
“Of course it does. What did you think it was there for? Decoration?”
Rich laughed. “Yeah, actually, I did. You have to admit, it’s beautiful.”
Her father laughed. “That elevator has a lot in common with my daughter—beautiful, capable, and hardworking.”
Becca almost dropped one of her sculptures on her foot when she heard that one. “I’m outta here before he starts comparing me to the dumbwaiter.”
With the three of them working, it didn’t take long to have the SUV filled with lovingly wrapped sculpture.
Rich had everything in the Highlander; he waited in the foyer for Becca to tell him what she wanted to do next. Her father stepped out and shot Rich an intimidating stare. Rich didn’t intimidate easily.
“What are you really doing here with my daughter?”
Rich pushed himself off the wall he leaned against and mimicked Larsen’s stance. “Becca has the opportunity to show her work to my dean’s wife, who happens to head up a small foundation for the arts—”
“If Rebecca needs money—”
Rich held up his hand to stop Larsen. “No, I don’t think money is the driving force here. Becca wants to get her work shown, and Emily Stewart has the connections to make that happen. If she likes Becca’s work, she’ll give Becca the exposure she needs.”
“I told her I could get her into one of the best galleries—”
“Oh yeah. She really loved that idea.”
“You have some nerve judging me.”
Rich shrugged. “I’m not judging you, but if you haven’t noticed, every time someone offers to help your daughter with anything, she shuts him down. She won’t let me even help her rearrange her furniture.”
“I have no idea where that independent streak came from. Certainly not her mother.”
“I’ve got an idea. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Larsen.” He shook the man’s hand. “Tell Becca I’ll be waiting in the car.”
Rich opened the door and skipped down the steps. No wonder he and Becca understood each other and got along so well. They were alike in so many ways. They both spent their life having people do everything for them, which sounds nice at first, until you see that people either won’t allow you to do things for yourself or think you’re incapable. Rich rebelled, got into trouble, and was finally sent to military school. It looked as if Becca escaped into her art.
When Becca joined him outside a few minutes later, she looked no happier than she had that morning. She stepped beside him and leaned against the car facing into the cold wind. “Rich, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I know you want to get home.” The temperature dropped, and a wall of clouds moved in. She hugged her jacket to herself.
He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m in
no rush. Why the long face?”
She cuddled closer; he couldn’t help but smile.
“I got a call from a friend. I guess Dad was at the club when I called, and well, word spread. A few of my friends are meeting at The Big Easy. It’s a restaurant and bar not far from here.”
“You want to go?”
Becca shrugged. “I know you probably have things to do…”
Rich opened the door for her. “We do have to eat.” He helped her in, walked around to his side of the car, and got behind the wheel. He started the car and turned around the circular drive. He got to the gatehouse where the driveway stopped. “Which way?”
It’s amazing how much a person can learn about another after only a few weeks of living together. Rich knew from the set of Becca’s shoulders and the way she rubbed the cuff of her jacket between her thumb and forefinger that she was nervous. He didn’t know why, after all, she still held a good bit of mystery. The look on her face screamed she wasn’t into sharing.
Rich tried for a supportive smile as he held the restaurant door open. Music spilled out along with the sound of conversation. The place was crowded, which was probably typical for a Saturday night. Becca stopped and scanned the room. He knew the second she’d spotted her friends by the plastic smile she wore and the way she raised her chin in acknowledgement. When he followed her line of sight, he saw a dark-haired woman waving.
“I see them.”
So did Rich. He put his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her across the bar to the four or five tables Becca’s friends had pushed together and surrounded.
Introductions were made and measurements taken. Several of the guys wore matching rugby shirts as well as the bruises from a recent game. Rich didn’t catch many of the names. What he did catch was the shimmer of tension like heat off a desert highway in July at noon. That was pretty hard to miss, and it wasn’t only coming from Becca.
The women surrounded Becca and did that air-kissing thing. Becca hugged one of the biggest of the rugby guys the same way she hugged her brother, but it was the way he hugged her back that had Rich wanting to give him a smack upside the head.
