Woman In The Portrait

Woman In The Portrait (Sample)

Chapter One

Guggenheim Museum

Spain

Michaela Devlin crossed the large forecourt toward the immense titanium-covered sculptural building glinting in the November sunlight. She made her way down the awkward stone stairway that marked the museum's towering entrance, then abruptly stopped in front of the gigantic set of glass doors as a jolt of familiarity hit her and snaked down her spine.

She whispered. "Him."

It wasn't the first time she'd sensed Him or tried in vain to recapture vague snippets of memory left in his wake—but the experience had never been as strong or as tangible as it was now.

She frowned and drew in a deep, steadying breath. He'd entered her dreams three months earlier, a faceless shadow who'd unlocked a part of her that she was still trying to define and understand, a part of her that had been screaming for a release she never knew she'd wanted. Or, perhaps she did know. Isn't that why she divorced Sebastian?

She sighed and flicked her gaze to the middle-aged couple she'd passed only a few moments earlier negotiating the same awkward stone stairway that curved downward toward the building's towering entrance. She returned her gaze to the high set of dark glass doors and closed her eyes.

Technically it wasn't cheating. She and Sebastian had already been divorced for more than eighteen months—twenty-two to be exact—so such an allegation wasn't even relevant. She was allowed intimate feelings for another man, even if they were only phantom ones. Still, she'd hidden a part of herself from Sebastian, and the uncertainty as to whether or not it'd been an unconscious or conscious thing had weighed heavily on her heart for the last three months.

She shook her head of the very real memories of her ex-husband surfacing in her mind and demanding her attention. She didn't want to remember the pain she'd caused Sebastian. Not right now. She'd loved him once and despite her reticence had always thought he had been the one. She'd blamed the demise of their marriage on the pressures of work, but now she was no longer quite so sure. Was it because of Him? Had he always been in her heart? If so, who was He, and why couldn't she remember Him?

"Miss, are you coming inside?"

Michaela opened her eyes at the sound of an older female voice pulling her from her thoughts. The middle-aged couple had finally reached the bottom of the broad steps and had slipped by her unnoticed. They stood within the entrance of the museum holding one of the towering dark glass doors gallantly open to her. Michaela forced down the emotions crowding her mind and strolled into the building, smiling at the couple and thanking them for their consideration. She would try to make sense of these disturbing feelings later after she'd spoken with Sebastian.

She moved deeper into the museum with as much confidence as her inexperience in three-inch heels would allow, checked her coat at another set of doors, then crossed the threshold into the vast atrium. The architecture was breathtaking—uplifting like a Gothic cathedral.

Huge titanium, glass, and colored limestone walls staggered her senses with sinuous stone and polished metal competing where the glass left off. Vast metal footbridges hung from the roof, and serpentine walkways hugged the contours of the walls.

Michaela's gaze crept steadily higher past the glass elevators to the enormous metal flower-shaped skylight centered at the top, letting in the soft stream of winter light that filled the room and bathed her face. She took a sip from the glass of champagne she'd procured from a white-gloved waiter standing near the main foyer and tried not to appear overly awestruck by the one hundred and fifty foot high, dome-shaped space towering about her or buckle beneath the weight of stares singling her out.