Grace took her time getting ready. When Brian arrived, Grace didn’t have to wonder if she looked good. His gaze took her in from her legs to her hair. “Wow!” His response pleased her. She said he looked very handsome in his black suit. He admitted it was a gift from a lady parishioner, a widow whose husband had been active in a Masonic lodge. Brian had needed a good suit to perform weddings. He grinned and said he figured it was appropriate for a gallery gala.
Grace wondered if Roman had a suit and felt a shiver of alarm that she hadn’t thought to ask.
She and Brian talked all the way to Laguna Beach about upcoming youth events, the latest local, state, and international news, and his plans for a summer mission trip to Mexico. His kids had held a couple of fund-raisers. Brian had enough adults already signed up to help mentor and monitor the students.
Talia knew how to be a show as well as run one. She looked like a colorful work of art in a Bohemian caftan. She shook hands with Brian and hugged Grace. “You’re stunning! This evening is going to be fantastic! I feel it in my bones!” She beamed with excitement. “I’ll bet we sell every one of Roman’s paintings before nine.” She leaned in closer. “Even with the ridiculous prices I’ve put on them.”
It didn’t surprise Grace when Roman came in wearing black jeans and a white V-neck T-shirt under a black leather bomber jacket. What did surprise her was the way her heart quickened. Dismayed, she looked away and met Jasper Hawley’s gaze. He spread his hands as though helpless to do anything about Roman.
Talia groaned. “I should have known he’d rather be dead than caught in a suit.”
Grace knew Talia wouldn’t have cared if Roman showed up shirtless and in jogging shorts, as long as he came to the party.
Roman hated crowds. He hated being the focus of attention. He hated even more when people talked as though they understood his art and knew something about the way his mind worked based on what he painted. At least he had the satisfaction of watching them pay through the nose for pieces that didn’t mean anything, let alone reveal hidden secrets about his psyche. Someday, someone would figure out he was a fraud with no pedigree, education, or real talent.
Someone touched his arm—a voluptuous blonde in a designer gown that screamed money. She talked about her search for new talent and how she loved to collect pieces from little-known artists. Her smile left him without doubt what kind of collection she was talking about. A few months ago, he would have taken her up on the invitation. Right now, he was trying to be polite and civilized. He looked at Jasper, thankful when he stepped closer and joined the one-sided conversation. Roman glanced around the room and spotted Grace.
The black dress fit perfectly. She smiled at Prince Charming, who stood right beside her, dressed in a suit. The guy had his hand at the small of Grace’s back as they talked with an older couple, the touch of ownership. Brian whatever-his-name-was looked like the kind of man who’d fit in anywhere. That guy was a minister? Had he and Grace had sex yet? Did youth ministers even have sex? Why should he care if they had sex or not?
Roman emptied his glass of champagne and plunked it on a display pedestal with a bronze eagle in flight. A server quickly picked it up.
“Could you try to smile?” Talia offered Roman a canapé. “Maybe another glass of champagne will help.” She plucked one from a tray and offered it to him.
“I think I’ve had enough.” He wasn’t talking about champagne.
Jasper was watching him, too, and had an oddly speculative gleam in his eyes.
Roman glared at him. “What?”
“You tell me.” Jasper lifted his glass of bubbly. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Roman wanted to put his fist through one of his own paintings, even if it cost him fifty grand. He said a word under his breath that would have rocked Grace, if she’d been near enough to hear. She stood across the room, as far away from him as she could get. He said the word again. He wanted to be anywhere but here. This would be a good night to have a backpack loaded with cans of Krylon. He’d start on the side of his own cottage.
Grace turned, as though feeling his attention. Their eyes met, and he felt things he knew were going to bring trouble. Someone said something to him, and he pretended to care. The place was buzzing, and he was the center of attention. He should be eating it up. He should be enjoying himself.
Some man prattled on and on about Roman’s work. Losing patience, Roman excused himself and almost pushed his way through the guests as he headed for the rear of the gallery. Was there a back door out of this place?