Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“You deserve this, Lexie.” Aiden patted my trembling arm to keep me calm. “I predict you’ll sell out the entire gallery.”
“I hope so,” I said, gulping down my nerves.
“They had to turn people away at the door. Everyone wants a piece of you.”
My stomach churned from the stress of my first showing. I hadn’t had an opportunity like this one since art school. And though I could never prove his guilt, Luca ruined the showcase for me. He hired someone to destroy my art. I never understood why, and I no longer cared because this was the big leagues—a legit show in SoHo.
Luca had offered his apartment in Tribeca to Aiden and me for the night. Of course, I declined. Aiden would rather sleep on the street than take charity from the Salvatores, and I wasn’t on regular speaking terms with Luca. He’d pulled away after he went down on me in his mother’s studio, only checking in with me occasionally. I was sick of the mind games and never knowing when he’d reappear, so damn tired of his bullshit.
“I have to give my speech soon.” My throat tightened in anticipation of standing in front of at least a hundred strangers. “How bad would it be if I puked on my guests?”
“You won’t,” he said with laughter in his voice. “Stop worrying about everything that can go wrong. Focus on what will go right. This exhibit is already a success, and it just started.”
“I’m afraid to read the reviews tomorrow.”
Aiden tugged on one of my curls. “Stop it, Lexie. You overthink everything. The Many Faces of the Devil series is a smash hit. Soak it up while you can. This is a moment you will never want to forget.”
I expelled a deep breath, clearing my lungs. “You’re right.”
“I got you, girl. As long as I’m here, nothing bad will happen.” He hugged me so hard my chest hurt, and I was afraid to let go. “Everything will be okay.”
When I was with Aiden, I felt invincible, like a superhero. I could do anything with him by my side because his bravery rubbed off on me.
“What if everyone hates my paintings and I don’t sell a single one?”
He swept his arm out at the massive crowd. “Look around you, Lexie. How many artists garner a fanbase like this on their first showing?”
“That’s because Luca posted a pic on Instagram, telling his two million followers they better come to my show if they’re anywhere near New York.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “His number of followers amazes me. He’s not even famous.”
“Might as well be. Billionaire playboy who looks like a model and runs one of the largest corporations in the world. Every woman wants a piece of him. You should see the comments he gets on his posts. Women eat up those pics of him in suits.”
“Every woman except for you,” a deep masculine voice boomed from behind me.
I spun around, and my heart slammed into my chest with the force of a truck. Luca stood before me looking as handsome as ever, oozing money and sex appeal. My mouth watered from a mixture of nerves and desire. Marcello, Damian, Bastian, and Arlo were at his sides, armed with cocky smirks, and dressed as they belonged on a damn runway.
“Luca,” I breathed, attempting to still my racing heart. “We were just…”
“Talking about me.” He gave me a shit-eating grin. “I heard every word.”
I looked up at Aiden, hoping for a little help, but he laughed and hooked his arm around my back.
“Salvatore,” Aiden snarled at Luca. “What are you doing here?”
“I wouldn’t miss Alex’s first show.”
“Thank you all for coming,” I said to the entire family. “My grandfather is around here somewhere.” Turning my head to look for him, I added, “I think he’s…”
“No need, Alexandrea.” Arlo closed the distance and leaned in to kiss me on each cheek. “We’re here for you.”
I bit my lip. “Um… thank you.”
Damn nerves.
When did Arlo ever greet me with a kiss? He was really pulling out all the stops for my big night, acting like we were old friends.
“My late wife was the same age as you when she had her first showing at this gallery,” Arlo said.
I swallowed the lump forming at the back of my throat. “Yes, I read that in The New Yorker. I almost choked on my coffee when I saw the side-by-side review comparing my paintings to Evangeline’s. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, actually.”
Arlo ran a hand over the dark stubble on his jaw. I bet he crushed as many hearts as skulls when he was younger. His sons inherited his good looks, that same deep, sexy voice, and killer charm.
Arlo shoved his hands into his pockets and studied me. “The reporter did a wonderful job with your interview, don’t you think?”