At the time, Daphne hadn’t given it a second thought.Curatorcould mean a hundred different things in terms of style and place and mediums. Most likely, it also meant arrogance and snobbery, to be honest, but Daphne knew she was a little biased after so many years with Elena.
“That’s right,” Nicola said. “Alluring stuff. I especially liked those three pieces featuring that dark-haired woman as the subject. Set in the gallery? I could really feel the longing of the viewer.”
Daphne felt her cheeks go red at the mention of the pieces she’d done of Elena as part of her senior project. April shifted next to Daphne, cleared her throat.
“I don’t know about that,” Daphne said quietly. “All of those pieces were from three years ago. Some even older than that.”
Nicola nodded. “Which means you’ve grown. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
Daphne frowned. “Looking for?”
“I’m a curator at the Devon,” Nicola said.
Daphne’s mouth dropped open—theDevon—but Nicola pressed on, explaining about a fall exhibition calledEvolution, how she was looking for one more artist, didn’t matter what medium as long itmovedher, and how she’d love to see what Daphne might have to offer.
Daphne could only blink at her, dumbfounded. She never imagined, not in a million years, thatthiswas behind Mia’s email.
The Devon.
“I’m desperate for something transformative, something that will leave me absolutely shattered,” Nicola said. She gestured toward April. “April is in the mix too.”
Daphne felt like she kept getting slapped—not so much the pain or cruelty of it, but the shock, one loud crack after another. Her portfolio, a curator, the Devon, April. She turned and met April’s eyes briefly, then looked away, her breath shallow.
“Nothing wrong with a little healthy competition, right?” Nicola said, glancing between them, brows lifted. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” April said. She smiled, but her voice was tense, her eyes mirthless.
Daphne simply gawped and blinked.
“I’ll need to make my decision by August first,” Nicola said. “Can you have something ready to show me by then?”
“Absolutely,” April said.
“Wonderful,” Nicola said. “We’ll have ourselves a little exhibition of our own.”
Daphne could only bob her head—yes, yes, yes.
“We’ll see you next class,” April said.
Nicola’s smile was like the Cheshire cat’s. “Yes, you will,” she said, her long brown legs carrying her toward the door. Daphne hadn’t uttered a word after Nicola flungtheDevoninto the atmosphere,and still she could only stare as the woman left.
“Did I just hallucinate?” she finally asked, her voice raspy.
Next to her, April released a long sigh. “Nope.”
“Oh my god,” Daphne said as it all settled. “Oh mygod.” She turned and grinned at April, grabbed her upper arms. “The Devon. TheDevon. I used to get their quarterly catalogue as a kid, and I would study it under my covers with a flashlight like it was my Bible. I still remember certain paintings. Certain artists. Audrey St. John got her start there. Amal Rutland. Valeria Ramos. Do you know what this could mean?”
April pulled free, her expression grim. “Yeah, I think I do.”
Daphne frowned, confused, but then…
Oh, butthen.
Daphne stared at April, and April stared back, her expression somehow both cool and charged all at once.
“You want it,” Daphne said. It wasn’t a question.
“Of course I want it.”
