Grace didn’t smile, but there was a hint of something in her eyes. Call it a sparkle, perhaps. Rafael would take that as a win. But then she looked at him again with that way she had, full on eye contact, and he forgot how to be charming.
He started fidgeting and cracking his knuckles, a habit that had always driven his father mad. Confident, sophisticated people didn’t fidget, apparently, according to the lord of the manor.
“So…” Grace said, prompting him again to explain why he’d dragged her out to this historic monument in the middle of the week.
“Well,” Rafael started. He could do this. This was his livelihood. When he’d worked in finance and even with his new company, he’d always had a vision and a plan, and he was able to sell that plan to other people to make them see it too. Only now his only vision involved one thing: get Grace to come up with a plan. He didn’t know why he was so sure that she would be able to figure it out, to make something of the little art gallery he couldn’t even imagine. Alma’s first suggestion that Grace could help him out had been totally casual, but for some reason, Rafael could feel it. Grace was the person to make this happen, the person to be his partner. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny. He would never in a million years say that Grace had moved to Spain because she was meant to curate an art exhibit for him, obviously, but now she was here, and she might just be the perfect person for the job.
“Remember that client I told you about? The one with all the Picassos?”
Obviously, she remembered. They’d had like two conversations, and one of them had been about art.
Grace nodded, a loose strand of hair hanging in her face. “That wasn’t very long ago, Raf.”
She wasn’t looking at him, and he had no way of reading her expression. He didn’t want to just launch right into talking about the favor, so he tried another tactic. “Did you really write articles about Picasso?’
That got her to turn toward him. “Not about him exactly. Some of his contemporaries and influences,” she said. “It was a chapter of my dissertation.”
“A dissertation, wow. That sounds very official.” What was he saying?Ay Dios mio, he was trying to be flattering, but he knew he sounded like an idiot, and Grace was staring at him like she thought so too.
“I thought maybe you could put some of that knowledge to good use.” Was that condescending? Like she wasn’t already putting that knowledge to good use? Like that knowledge was actuallyuseless?
This was a disaster, seriously. He was asking for a very simple favor, just the tiniest bit of guidance, but he’d never wanted to bite his tongue so hard in his life, and she was just frowning at him. Then, she crossed her arms across her chest, and he knew he was losing her. It was so rare for him to have trouble convincing anyone of anything, except for maybe his father. Otherwise, it was easy—catering menus and invitations and monetary donations andsign on the dotted line. People were easy. They did what he wanted if they felt like they were getting something out of it too. Maybe that’s what he was missing. What would Grace be getting out of this?
“Is there something else you wanted to say?” Grace asked, clearly ready to dismiss him and be on her way if he’d ever get to the point. “Or is that it?”
Rafael nodded. “Right, yes. I was just thinking. I met with Christian the other day. The client. And he’s a little…unusual. I mean, not in a bad way. He knows what he wants, and he’s very determined, but we have some differences of opinion. He wants to do this underground art exhibit in a place that’s partially underground. In a cave, actually. Over in Sacromonte. You’ve heard of it?”
“I haven’t.”
“There are these cave houses over there that are very cool and historic, and he was mentioning that his wife might actually be a descendent of the community that lives there. Her ancestors were in Sacromonte.”What the hell was he talking about?
Grace raised an eyebrow, but other than the confusion on her face, Rafael couldn’t get a sense of what she might be thinking. He was rambling. He shut his mouth and paused, trying to make sense of his thoughts.
Grace bit her lip, and he watched as her tooth rubbed the pink flesh there. “Sorry,” she said. “I think I might have lost you. This is about a cave?”
“This is about Picasso.”It’s a sales pitch, Rafael. Start with what she knows. Dangle the carrot.“And other artists, too. A whole collection.” If only he could remember the other names Christian had listed, butc’est la vie. “At least one hundred paintings, Grace. They’re going to be delivered to a cave to create a fantastic exhibit and event experience, but I don’t know art like you do, and I’d like to bring you on board. To curate the exhibition, essentially.”
Grace was quiet again. For a long time, she was quiet, and in the interim between him finishing his sentence and her finally saying something, she studied his face. He’d done his job, at last. She was intrigued. She was tempted. She might even be excited.
“I don’t think so,” she said without an ounce of feeling.
She was indifferent.
He could fix it. He tried to start again. “You don’t want to have access to one hundred paintings by wildly famous artists? To examine them? To show them off however you please, within the confines of a cave, of course. You don’t have any desire to spend your days surrounded by the work of one of the greatest painters that ever lived?”
Now he was getting into the swing of things and feeling like himself. That’s what was in it for her, after all. Even if she didn’t like theman, he could offer the art of Picasso and…other people.She loved these old artists, he just knew it, and Rafael could share them with her.
“I—” she started, seeming to turn this over in her mind.
Rafael flashed her a bright smile. This had to work.
“I don’t think I can really work in another position.” Grace looked off into the distance, to the gardens, as if eager to make a run for it. “My visa, you know?”
Rafael nodded. He hadn’t really thought of that, but it was something they could overcome. “I’m sure my company can work something out,” he said. “Or if you just come to the site once, maybe twice, I can take it from there, and then I’ll give you whatever you want. Any favor you need or anything I can help with. Anything.”
Lord, did this sound completely desperate?He knew it did.Anything.What did that even mean? What could he possibly do for her?
“Don’t you think it would be strange, working with your sister’s best friend and roommate?” Grace asked.
