Betrayal

Chapter 45

Warren

As I walk through the art gallery, I scan each painting. It's a small place, specializing in unknown artists. There's charcoal paintings, oils, a few sculptures, modern, abstract, and portraits.

Near the back, beneath a light, is a portrait. I stop in front of it. It makes my breath catch. It's her. An anguished, beautiful, mesmerizing Ali. It evokes so much emotion in me so easily. She looks so sad. It's so well painted that it's like I'm looking at a picture someone has taken with a camera and not a painting.

I found this place on the internet after searching her name. I'd kept myself from doing it until today, at the hospital, when I was sitting in my office. I couldn't help myself.

I take a slow breath, then smile. I'm proud of her. She has a painting hanging in an art gallery in Brooklyn. She's only nineteen and she's still in school. That's such an accomplishment. I hope she's proud of herself, too. She should be.

"Good afternoon. I'm Samantha, the curator here. Are you interested in this piece?"

I look over at the young woman and smile, then nod.

"Yes... what can you tell me about the artist?"

"She's a student at NYU. Very talented. We have another one of her pieces."

I raise my eyebrows. I didn't know that.

"You do? I'd like to see it."

We walk a little ways down and stop in front of another portrait. My breath catches. It's the one she did of me. I feel as if I'm looking in a mirror. I think of when she painted it and I sat quietly and watched. I was more focused on her. Her talent blew me away. It still does.

"Oh... that's you," she says after a moment. "Or you have a doppelgänger."

I swallow hard and nod, then clear my throat. I'm becoming emotional.

"No, it's me."

"Do you know the artist?"

I nod and sigh slowly.

"Yes. I'd like to buy both of them, please. How much?"

"They're priced at five thousand each."

"That doesn't seem anywhere near enough. They're beautiful... She's so talented," I say quietly.

"I agree. But where she's unknown..."

"How much of that money does she get?"

"Twenty-five percent."

I scoff. It's not enough for her work. She deserves more. It's worth more.

"Shall I get them wrapped up for you?"

"Yes."

I walk to the front area and stand by the counter. I keep looking out the windows at the people passing by, waiting to see her. It's Sunday. She's out of school today. Maybe she'll come by here. I'm sure Samantha will call her and let her know her paintings have sold. I'll give her my name. I want her to know I've bought them.

I've wanted so badly to call her. A text doesn't feel right. Like it wouldn't be enough after everything. I'd like to hear her voice. Maybe we could get dinner together and talk. She's seeing someone. I won't try anything.

"Does she come in often?"

I ask this as I pay.

"Sometimes. She's working on something else for us. But I expect she'll come by this evening to pick up her check since you've bought these."