“You were good enough, Mom.” Every opportunity Alice had been given to develop her own talents came from her mom’s sacrifice of her own wants to make sure Alice had gone to good schools and taken all the art classes she’d ever wanted. Mrs. Donnelly had ensured Alice wouldn’t miss living her dreams the way she had. She had much more natural artistic ability than Alice would ever have, but she’d never had time to focus on her art. She’d worked her entire life, either cleaning house and taking care of younger brothers and sisters while her parents worked, or, when she was old enough, at any job she could find. She’d had Billy when she was sixteen. There wasn’t much time for anything but working and child-rearing after that.
“I’ll come stay for a few days before I leave.” It would mean leaving before her two-week notice, but she’d take a chance her boss would forgive her. She had to see her mom and Billy before leaving for who knew how long.
“You’d better. I’ll want to hug you goodbye.”
They talked for a few more minutes before Alice had to do the research she’d promised her boss before she was due to meet Geoffrey. Unfortunately, she spent more time holding back tears than actually researching. Leaving California was going to be even harder than she’d anticipated.
When she met Geoffrey a few hours later at the Tate Modern, she forced herself to smile. When he broke into a smile of his own, she didn’t have to fake hers anymore. Leaving her family would be hard, but she could do it. And her mom would be okay without her.
The art museum hadn’t been the first on her list of those she wanted to see, but Geoffrey had insisted she go in order to meet the curator. Part of Alice’s job was going to museums and seeing how different collections were curated and making connections so that artwork could be loaned or borrowed. If Geoffrey’s Monet turned out to be authentic, the Tate might be interested in loaning a piece to the Grey museum in exchange for borrowing the Monet.
More importantly visiting an art museum with him counted as work-related and, therefore, not only fulfilled her current work contract, but also made her and Geoffrey’s get-together definitely not a date. The lines were very clearly drawn, and no matter how much she enjoyed the day, it was a work day. Even if he wasn’t paying her for it yet.
He did buy her lunch. And got tickets for Taming of the Shrew because the Old Globe was right next door to the Tate Modern and his family happened to be patrons and had seats for the season. “The tickets will go to waste if we don’t use them.”
“I’ll think about it,” she told him, even though she wanted to say yes.
Thirty minutes later she changed her mind as they looked at heart-wrenching black, paper-cut silhouettes by Kara Walker that depicted the worst horrors of slavery. The reason she had decided to make the study of art rather than making art her whole life was because she’d never been able to create anything that would evoke the kind of raw emotion artists like Walker did. It would have required tapping into pain she’d rather let lie.
Just looking at art that made her feel a spectrum of emotions left her exhausted. Maybe that’s why she’d always focused on medieval art. Its purpose was to evoke religious devotion, not emotional fervor. The sedate and controlled features of the subjects always soothed her.
“I think we should use those tickets,” she said as they moved to the next room, then, with a sigh, added, “I could use something to clear my head.”
“I think we both could.” Geoffrey moved close to her, brushing her arm with his in a way that soothed the troubling questions Walker’s art brought to Alice’s mind. “But it’s hard not to feel guilty about wanting to view art that’s meant to make us laugh after viewing something as disturbingly moving as those images.”
She turned to him, wondering how he knew exactly what she was feeling, how he knew the perfect words to describe what they’d seen—disturbingly moving. But Geoffrey was already intently studying another piece, and the look on his face told her exactly how he knew what she was feeling.
He felt it too.
Too often families who had owned art for generations knew very little about it. They had it because it was something no one else could have, not because they loved art or understood its importance beyond being a mere trophy. She’d definitely gotten that feeling from Lady Ashburn.
But Geoffrey was a different story. He felt what art meant in his soul. Hearing him talk about art made her even more sure he was G. He’d figured out how to transfer all his pain and emotions into his sculpture, which is why, even though they were made from found objects, his work communicated a feeling.
“Seen anything you think we should beg for?” Geoffrey asked without taking his eyes off the painting he was studying with his hands behind his back.
“I’ve seen some very good art, but nothing that will work as well as the pieces from G.” She knew she was taking a chance pushing that issue again, but he’d asked, and she’d told him the truth.
Rather than the rebuke she expected, Geoffrey gazed down at her with deep furrows between his eyes. “What is it that you love so much about G? You hate contemporary art, but you love his stuff. It doesn’t make sense.”
She only had to consider his question for a second before she knew the answer, but it took longer to work up the courage to tell him that answer. “There’s a loneliness to his work that resonates with me, but also reflects the staid emotions found in so much medieval art. It evokes this idea of striving for perfection but always falling short and needing a higher power to bridge that gap. I haven’t seen anything like that from another contemporary artist.”
Geoffrey’s face softened as she spoke, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down. Maybe that’s why she felt like she could tell him everything she’d ever thought about G’s work, no matter how vulnerable it left her.
“You find redemption in the history of the Thames. I see it in Re-Collecting,” she said softly.
Geoffrey closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. “That’s beautiful.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat before going on. “I bet G would really like to hear those words in person.”
He was in too vulnerable a place for her to admit she knew he was G, so she pretended she had no idea. “Well, if I ever meet her, I’ll tell her.” She smiled, hoping to bring back Geoffrey’s smile.
His smile didn’t return, but he turned to her with a face twisted into a question. “Alice?”
“Yes?” She stared, waiting for him to finish.
“I’d like you to forget for a minute that I’m your almost employer.” He stepped closer to her, his eyes full of emotion. “Because I’d really like to kiss you.” He stood inches from her and bit the inside of his lip. “Obviously, you can tell me no, and there will be no repercussions, but I find myself very much attracted—”
There were a million reasons she should shut this down right now, but she didn’t care. Alice closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Shut up and kiss me already.”
Chapter Thirteen
Geoffrey wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling the muscles tighten as she rose on tiptoe to meet his lips. Her mouth was warm and soft, and every worry he had about his future, his art, his family, his fame, all disappeared in their kiss. Had they not been in the middle of a busy art museum, Geoffrey would have been in danger of really exploring where that kiss could take them, but at the sound of a security guard clearing his throat, they broke apart.
Seconds passed as they looked at each other, both grinning.
“That was nice,” Geoffrey said softly, and Alice took the hand he held out to her. They walked to the next exhibit room, and a few people glanced at the two of them, but Geoffrey didn’t care about people recognizing him. With Alice’s hand in his, he felt he could face anything.
Except maybe Clarissa. His conscience pricked with guilt as he thought of her, and he put a few inches of space between him and Alice. But he didn’t let go of her hand. He wasn’t about to do that.
&nb
sp; He would talk to Clarissa that night. He’d been avoiding really breaking up with her long enough. Kissing Alice had given him a much-needed push. How could he stay with someone like Clarissa when he had a chance to be with someone like Alice Donnelly?
“Can you imagine having your art shown here?”
Alice’s question startled him back into the present. Did she know he was G? Had she made the connection between the unicorn painting in his room and his Re-Collecting piece?
“How—what do you mean?”
She waved her hand back and forth as though she were erasing the question from a blackboard. “You told me you dabbled in art. What if you did more than dabble and got famous enough to be shown here?”
“That would be amazing,” he answered slowly, examining her expression for another clue that she knew his secret. Or was she just nervous? Could that be the reason for her sudden jumpiness? After all, he was about to be her boss, and he’d kissed her in public. That thought made him nervous, so why wouldn’t it make her nervous too? That kiss definitely put her in a more awkward position than it did him. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel like he was using his position to take advantage of her in any way.
Which is exactly how it would look if she found out about Clarissa. He opened his mouth to tell her, but she spoke first.
“I’d love to see some of what you’ve done some time,” she said, and his confession about Clarissa vanished.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said instead, without thinking about the words until Alice’s mouth dropped open.
“You are full of inappropriate one-liners, aren’t you?”
“I swear I did not mean it like that!” He let go of her hand and did the same waving motion she’d done a few seconds before. “I meant you show me your art, and I’ll show you mine!”
“Uh huh,” she said over her shoulder. The words were supposed to register her disbelief, but her eyes invited him to follow her. An invitation he was powerless to turn down.
Alice stopped in front of a panel of photographs and studied them closely, adjusting her glasses and tilting her head in the way that he already recognized meant she was thinking. He wanted to commit that pose to memory so he could paint or sculpt it. Anything that would recall what he felt every time Alice tilted her head and narrowed her eyes like that. But how could he sculpt something as abstract as joy, wonder, and admiration? Loneliness was the only emotion he’d ever been able to put into his art.
And Alice had seen that.
Felt it.
Recognized his loneliness.
Without thinking of the consequences, Geoffrey moved behind Alice and wrapped his arms around her waist. She stiffened under his embrace, and for a second, he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing. But then she put her arms over his and melted into him, resting the back of her head against his chest.
Whatever he created to capture his emotions in that moment, it would have intertwining lines, four circles representing eyes, two spots in the center with layers that made them look like they were moving. Beating together.
“If I didn’t hate these pictures so much, I could stay here forever,” Alice murmured.
Geoffrey dropped his head on top of hers and laughed. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Good idea.” Alice stepped out of his arms but kept hold of his hand. “This feels too much like work, and I don’t want to think about how things will have to change once I start working for you.”
“Neither do I.” Geoffrey glanced at her but couldn’t get a read on her face. “Let’s grab some dinner before we head to the play.” Did she feel the same connection he did? Or was this a fling for her? A foray into the English aristocracy she could tell her American friends about? He didn’t think she’d take that kind of risk when her future with the Grey collection depended upon him. But did she think he was just having fun?
They walked toward the exit, still holding hands, but the doubt that had entered Geoffrey’s brain was doing some serious damage. He couldn’t risk falling for Alice when he really believed she was the person he and his mother needed to make their museum a financial and critical success.
Before they reached the doors, Geoffrey heard his name. “Geoffrey?” He turned to his left to see the curator of the museum, David Smith, walking toward them, and he dropped Alice’s hand.
“I thought that was you.” David’s eyes immediately went from Geoffrey to Alice.
“Alice, this is David Smith, one of the curators for the collections here.” David knew Geoffrey and Clarissa were still a couple. At least in the media. “David, Alice Donnelly. She’ll be curating the Grey collection.”
David’s eyebrows went up. He’d hinted to Geoffrey that he’d like a crack at putting the collection together, but he hadn’t submitted a resume. Geoffrey suspected he’d assumed an invitation would be extended. Whatever David’s feelings about not being given a chance with the Grey collection, he graciously extended his hand to Alice, who shook it.
“I’m familiar with your work. I’ve studied the exhibits you’ve put together.” Alice was very polite, but Geoffrey could tell she wasn’t impressed with David.
“Really? I’m flattered. I wish I could return the compliment.” David dipped his head, meaning to be polite, but in a horse, the gesture would have been seen as an act of aggression. “I wish I would have known you were coming. I would have set up a private tour. I still can if you have time.”
“Thank you, but we’re just on our way out.” Even though his original intention in bringing Alice to the Tate had been to introduce her to some of the curators, this one had seen them holding hands. That made it too awkward for them to stay. Geoffrey put his hand on Alice’s back to lead her out, but she didn’t move.
“I’m actually glad we ran into you,” Alice said to David. “I know you’re no longer curating at the Tate Britain, but you’re very familiar with Monet’s work. Lord Ashburn bought a piece… how long ago, Geoffrey?”
Geoffrey jerked his head toward her before understanding that Alice was at work. He’d forgotten David had acquired a Monet or two for Tate Britain which focused on less contemporary work than the Tate Modern. “Ten years. Possibly longer. I haven’t had much opportunity to talk to my father about it.”
“It’s a Monet?” David asked. “Do you know from whom Lord Ashburn purchased it?”
“I don’t.”
“There have been forgeries floating around. I hope he has provenance documentation.”
Geoffrey dipped his head to his shoulder. “I’m not sure if he has or not. I’m not even sure how he acquired it.” Anything was possible with his father. “I’m working on finding the records.”
“Are you interested in loaning it if it can be authenticated?” David leaned close to Geoffrey.
“We may be interested in a trade for a more contemporary piece to juxtapose with the Grey’s medieval pieces.” Alice inserted herself back into the conversation, impressing Geoffrey once again with her assertiveness. He could search for a thousand years, and he’d never find a better fit than Alice.
And maybe not just for the museum.
David turned to Alice. “If it’s real, we can work something out. Get the needed paperwork, and let’s talk again.” He pulled a billfold from his back pocket and took a business card out of it. “Here’s my contact information.”
Alice took it from him, then shook his hand. “Thank you. I don’t have a current business card to give you, but I’ll contact you when I return from the States.”
The three said their nice-to-meet-yous and goodbyes, then Geoffrey and Alice left. Neither of them said anything as Geoffrey led her toward his car. Geoffrey couldn’t stop worrying whether or not David had seen him and Alice holding hands. Or worse, kissing. It not only looked bad because David knew about Geoffrey’s relationship with Clarissa, but also because David now knew Alice wasn’t just some girl. She was his curator. It wouldn’t take long for rumors to start that Geoffrey and Alice h
ad been involved before he hired her and that’s why she’d been hired. That would be bad for both of them, but especially for Alice. She deserved to be recognized on her own merit, without any hint of sleeping her way into the job.
He didn’t take her hand again as they crossed the parking lot, and he kept enough space between them that he wouldn’t be tempted to take it if their hands happened to touch. He hadn’t had to exercise that kind of self-control since the last time Clarissa had asked him what the piece he was working on was supposed to be and he’d stopped himself from saying, “Our relationship.” The piece had included old vacuum parts, and he’d intended it to be a commentary on the emptiness of life. The title he’d given it was Life Sucks.
Reflecting on that day, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t already ended things between them. Looking at Alice, he wished he had.
“What David said worries me,” she said, taking him by surprise as his thoughts hadn’t been on anything David said, but rather what David might think about them. And he couldn’t remember David saying anything about Geoffrey and Alice.
“Remind me what he said so I know whether or not I should worry too.”
Alice almost smiled, but even if she had, it wouldn’t have wiped away the troubled look on her face. “That there have been Monet forgeries in the last few decades.”
“Oh, that.” The look in her eyes told him he should have been as troubled by the comment as she obviously was. “Are you concerned ours is a fake?”
Alice shook her head, still hesitant to voice the strength of her suspicions. “I didn’t say that. We just need to get the paperwork together on it. With forgeries floating around, the more we have to prove the painting’s authenticity, the better.”
Geoffrey sucked in his breath and didn’t say anything until they reached his car. He had too many thoughts running through his head to talk. As much as he wanted to take Alice to the Old Globe and spend as much time as possible with her before she left in the morning, he suddenly had a number of fires that needed his attention. And the Clarissa one had the potential to do the most damage if he didn’t give it some attention right away.
Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8) Page 45
