She was grasping at straws now. What did he care if she was Alma’s friend? It made little difference to him. He just needed someone who knew Picasso. Someone who could possibly imagine how to cram these paintings into a cave without ruining them or making them look like shit. “Not a problem for me,” he answered.
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” she continued, pushing some hair behind her ear. His eyes followed her fingers as they slid down the silky locks toward the base of her throat. He swallowed.
“What is it then?” He tore his gaze from her collarbone and forced it back to her serious face.
“Rafael, there are way more qualified people than me that could do this. I’ve never curated anything before. And Picasso? I seriously don’t know what to do with him. I’m sure you could find someone who would have a better idea.”
Rafael exhaled. “Look, Christian doesn’t want any kind of fancy museum curator or someone who’s done this hundreds of times. He wants to do it all on his own, really, but I know we need help. You know about Picasso. You can offer some kind of balance, right? You said full-on emulation didn’t seem appropriate, but what if that’s exactly how Christian decides to present his art to the world? We need another perspective.”
Grace tugged at the sleeve of her sweater. “I just don’t really want to be a part of any of it, honestly. A secret exhibit only for rich people? A significant part of culture and history that only elite socialites get to see? The whole thing is a gatekeeping fantasy, and yes, art is a business and loads of money is exchanged, but that’s not what I’m interested in. How could I work on a project that no one I know would even be allowed to visit? It’s a project you barely told your sister about because it’s top secret, and that’s not really my thing.”
Rafael pressed his lips together. She didn’t want access to hundreds of Picasso paintings because this whole endeavor was too exclusive? Usually, people begged him for just a taste of one of these events, pleading for one invitation, one chance to get in, but she was getting all high and mighty about art being for rich people?
“Come on, Graciela. Even the artists knew their work was a commodity. Do you think they weren’t in it for the money and fame?”
Admittedly, Rafael should have prepared a response to this particular concern, especially since they’d already had a similar argument over dinner. While he was prepared to tell her they would work really well together or that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, he didn’t know how to alleviate her fears that this was just some over-the-top exhibit for a fancy man to show off his money to his fancy friends. Even if Christian was a nicer fancy man than most—far more palatable than Rafael’s father, certainly—he was still just another billionaire with too much time on his hands, and Rafael had no way to deny it. Was this some kind of pretentious vanity endeavor? Sure, but it could still becool.
“To have this kind of recognition, to bring people from all over the world? That’s good for Granada, right?” It was the best he could come up with off the top of his head.
Grace cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you’ll figure this out. It sounds like you’re really good at what you do, and I don’t even think you need me. I’m sure it will work out for you, Raf.”
He tried to keep his face neutral, but she was calling him by that nickname again, like they were casual and close. Rafael didn’t know why it made his pulse race a bit faster, but he calmed down enough to remain still, determined not to give himself away.
“I think you’re making a mistake, Graciela. How could you pass up this chance? Imagine going to your class and sharing all this first-hand knowledge with your students. You’re not just walking through a museum here. You’re up close and personal. You’re creating it.”
“Isn’t the whole point that I wouldn’t be able to tell my students about any of it?”
Rafael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, maybe not all the details, but you could talk to them about it in general terms.”
Grace shook her head, glancing into the distance. “Are you going to let me walk around the gardens?”
“I’m not holding you captive here. I’m just shocked that you won’t even entertain the idea of it. I thought it would be a dream come true.”
Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “There’s an appeal to it, but I just don’t think I’m the right fit. I mean it. I have no idea what your client might want.”
“You don’t have to worry about that part. I can handle him. I just need you to tell me about the paintings.”
Grace bit her lip, and Rafael waited. Then, he found himself staring at her mouth, which clearly wasn’t his fault, because she was the one drawing attention to it.
“I’m sorry, Raf. I don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”
Rafael sighed. Maybe she was right. Maybe he didn’t really need her. He just needed to get back to the cave and figure things out for himself. Just because he didn’t see it immediately didn’t mean he couldn’t accomplish this with a little hard work, a little trial and error, a little more research so he could at least remember the names of the artists.
“Right,” he conceded. “Okay.”
Grace yawned. “I’m tired anyway. I’ve already grown accustomed to my siesta nap.”
He couldn’t help smiling. She said it so seriously, her eyelids fluttering closed. “Well then, let’s see the gardens and get you home for your beauty sleep,princesa.”
She frowned again and slipped away from him, wandering ahead onto the path. He took long strides to catch up to her, realizing that even though he was frustrated by her refusal to assist him, he wanted to be beside her, to talk to her about anything. It was an inclination he still couldn’t understand, and when she turned her head and started asking him questions about the castle in a fiery tone like she was angry even to be curious, he answered. He told her everything she wanted to know.
CHAPTERSEVEN
The puke-before-class feeling subsided quickly.In fact, Grace started to look forward to her classes more than she ever had before. Her students were actually engaged with the material. They got so excited about surrealism, they started talking loudly over each other. Sometimes they went on sudden rants in their first language, and since many of them had different first languages, the class became a beautiful cacophony of impassioned arguments. She’d never had to calm an art class down or ask her students to take a breath. She’d never had to let them know class time was over, and they would need to continue the discussion next time.
Class, teaching,art.Grace threw herself into them, the simple things she could control. No, she could not bring her grandmother back. She couldn’t even find a way to cope with the grief, guilt, and constant ache. She also couldn’t force herself to find a new forever with a different man now that the one she’d been counting on had ended. It turned out forever was far shorter than expected, and starting at square one didn’t appeal to her at all.
But the paintings, the sculptures, the twentieth century masterpieces. She could escape into another world if she concentrated hard enough.
