“Hmmm,” Christian stared off into the distance, considering. “I will keep thinking about it, as I said. That’s all I’ll promise for now, but it might be a good idea. You know, I might even like to look at some of the local artists to display. Maybe have a small showcase of some work coming from this area.”
Grace nodded, surprised to hear him suggest such an idea. It was more than she’d hoped for when trying to come up with ways to incorporate the local community. Whatever else he was—hideously rich, entirely used to getting his own way—Grace couldn’t deny that Christian loved the art. Picasso and Matisse, sure, but it didn’t seem to be all in the name for Christian. He could appreciate good work, no matter the painter, and he clearly enjoyed sharing it with others.
“Anyway, Senorita,” Christian said, obviously changing the subject. “How are your classes? Do you enjoy teaching at the university?”
Grace paused, considering her answer. Though he’d been nothing but warm toward her, Grace still felt uncomfortable chatting with a billionaire, especially when she knew how easily he got whatever he wanted, as if he could hold the world in his hand and shape it to his will. She knew how Rafael worked to please him, how hard he worked to make sure Christian got his way. She also found it hard to believe Christian was all that interested as she rambled on about her students and their interests, about how she’d taken the job with a sense of desperation.Did Christian know what it was like to lose everything, to log into a checking account with an impending sense of doom? Could he imagine starting over in a new place, just hoping for a chance to find a new life?Grace had been so unlucky and then so lucky in a way that didn’t quite balance out exactly, but it still counted for something. She loved the university. And she loved Granada. “Very much, actually,” she said finally. “I couldn’t have wished for a better position.”
“And what about Rafael?” Christian asked. He’d surprised her again by listening with some level of sympathy and interest. “He’s treating you right?”
“Oh—um—yes.” Grace looked down and rubbed her palms against her slacks. “I mean, we’re just temporary roommates. I’ll move out soon. And we’re friends.”
“I didn’t realize you were living together,” Christian commented, rubbing the scruff of his beard. “How interesting.”
Grace coughed and avoided his gaze, ignoring his implications. “Oh, we’re not really living together. It’s just a short-term arrangement.”
Christian gave her a knowing smile. “Ah, I see. Well, I hope he’s a good friend to you then. He seems like he’s been very happy to have you around.”
Grace cleared her throat. “Well, yes. I’m sure it’s helpful to have someone who specializes in this particular period since you have such a large collection. I better get to work, actually. There’s still a lot I haven’t sorted.”
“Of course,” Christian said. “I do appreciate all of your help. I told Rafael we could handle it on our own, but I admit it’s been nice to have your input.” He offered her another grin and promised again to thoroughly consider her suggestions.
The rest of the day went smoothly, Grace and Rafael both too focused on the exhibit to talk about anything else. Grace talked about the artists and different movements and time periods, and Raf took copious notes on everything she said. Then they wandered back and forth through the cave taking measurements and imagining where each piece would fit. Grace was exhausted by the time they got through the rest of them, and she slumped on the floor with her back against the cool cave wall as Rafael stuck post-its with their ideas on the walls.
Her mouth was dry from talking so much, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Obviously, she was telling Rafael all about the paintings so he could try to piece together a museum, but she couldn’t help telling him stories, too. She was full of fun facts and historical tidbits that were probably completely useless to him, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from letting it spill out, offering the details of every piece of information that popped into her brain. Perhaps, she was just trying to keep herself from mentioning the other things that kept surfacing in her mind, the things she shouldn’t be allowing herself to dwell on any longer.
“Did you know that Picasso was accused of stealing theMona Lisa?” she asked from her position on the floor. She was trying to keep herself from reflecting on the feeling of his tongue on her earlobe.
“Really?!” He turned away from his notes, shocked.
She nodded. “It was 1911. Picasso had this friend, Guillarme Apollinaire, and Guillarme’s secretary had stolen Iberian sculptures from the Louvre a few years earlier. The guy had just put them under his coat and walked right out of the Louvre with them. Can you imagine?”
“Not remotely,” Rafael said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “That’s wild.”
“I know. So unbelievable.” Grace continued. “Anyway, Picasso had bought these stolen sculptures from the secretary and had them in his studio. When he heard about theMona Lisadisappearing, he panicked, afraid they would suspect he was connected to the crime since he had other stolen art from the Louvre. He even tried to get rid of the sculptures—he planned to toss them in the Seine, but he couldn’t do it. Someone must have ratted him out, though, and the police picked him up. He was freaking out.”
“It’s hard to imagine such a legendary figure acting that way.” Raf said, leaning toward her with rapt attention. “Did he have anything to do with it?”
“No, the police figured out he was innocent, but they really spooked him.”
“And what happened toMona Lisa?Clearly, they found her.”
“They did. A couple of years later they arrested a guy who’d been a carpenter and worked at the Louvre. He said he stole it so he could return it to Italy.”
“You’re just full of interesting information, aren’t you?” Raf asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s interesting to me, at least.” Grace shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, even as she felt like she was blushing at his level of focus on her.
He picked up some of his notes again, putting pen to paper. “What else?” he asked.
Grace broke out into a wide smile then, trying to decide what to tell him next.
She had to admit she was filled with some sense of contentment while she watched him work, pacing back and forth and talking to himself, his investment and enthusiasm apparent the whole time. He pushed his hands through his hair as he chewed the end of a pen, staring at a blank wall. She wished she could get in his head and see what he was seeing. She knew it had clicked for him at some point, and now he had some vision he was holding in his brain, something only he could see until he brought it to life.
He wrote another note in his book before turning to her, letting out a long breath. “Okay, I think I’m done for now. Should we go?”
Grace let her gaze drift back to the Françoise Gilot painting right in front of her on the specially built art table. It had been a long day, but a day filled with things she loved. She’d never had trouble staring at artwork for hours on end. “I don’t mind staying a while. You look like you’re inspired.”
Rafael nodded. “I was inspired, but I think I’ve figured it out, thanks to you.”
