My reflection in the hotel bedroom mirror was the epitome of a young woman putting on a brave face. This Escada gown clung like spun gold to my curves and these delicate fine straps with their diamond beading caught the light; the back so low it hovered just above my butt to blend glamour with a sassy chic.
“Why did you even bring this dress?” I whispered to myself, though my eyes answered with a hope for a reconciliation with Tobias. I broke my gaze, focusing instead on my strappy high heels—the ones Tobias bought me during that wild weekend when we’d stayed at The Dorchester hotel just weeks ago.
My stomach muscles tightened with all the uncertainty.
No matter how cozy this room was with its long velvet drapes or welcoming seating area, it wasn’t home. I’d spent much of the day reading everything I could about Tobias online. Not one article hinted at any misdemeanors or bad boy behavior, unless you counted the socialites he flaunted, hanging off his arm in those glamor shots of him arriving or leaving exclusive social events.
Of all the possible scenarios of my reunion with him yesterday, being placed on a plane and sent back to London within moments of seeing him wasn’t one of them.
Raising my chin high I gave myself a confident nod of approval that I’d handled myself well when he’d tried to push his agenda on me. Turning my thoughts to tonight, I ran my fingers through my auburn locks that I’d styled elegantly to tumble over my shoulders, and I dabbed my soft pink lipstick as I finished applying my makeup.
I couldn’t wait to be inside The Broad and it made me smile to know I was going there now. Grabbing my clutch purse and heading out of my room I had a bounce in my step and I even rode the elevator with my newfound confidence, the residue from my phobia of lifts having eased slightly; because of him.
Gabe was waiting for me in the hotel foyer and his eyes widened when he saw me. “What’s Rita Hayworth doing at the Sofitel?” he called out.
I responded with a confident turn and a flirty flick of my hair.
He looked gorgeous in a snazzy black tuxedo. “Almost didn’t recognize you there,” he said. “No cardigan?”
I gave him a playful thump. “Left it back in England.”
“You look...wow.”
“You look amazing yourself.”
“Let’s go see some art.”
The valet brought around Gabe’s blue Audi R8 and, with the inspirational music of Sia playing as an atmospheric backdrop, we drove along Beverly Boulevard.
“How are you?” He glanced over to me.
“I’m fine. Looking forward to tonight.”
“So what’s this case you’re on?”
“It’s related to a painting my dad once owned.” I mulled over what was safe to add. “St. Joan of Arc was one of the paintings that was allegedly destroyed in my house fire. A few weeks ago, it turned up at Christie’s in London.”
“Maybe he sold it? You were very young when all that happened.”
“There is that.” I preferred to deflect from the fact my father wouldn’t have let any of them go.
The passing scenery was fascinating with its modern skyscrapers in between quaint stores, and there was an unsettling sense of the traffic going the wrong way. I tried not to think that somewhere out there Tobias was going on with his life.
Gabe gave a sideways glance. “Anyone special in your life?”
“No.” I hated to finally admit this. “There was someone but it didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry.”
I turned to face him. “You’re happy?”
“Ned’s easygoing so we’re a good fit.”
“I’m so happy to hear that.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand. “No bad boys, okay? No matter how much we want to jump their bones.”
He made me chuckle.
“Any decent man would snap you up in a heartbeat,” he added.
Half an hour later we’d arrived on Grand Avenue in downtown LA and were pulling up to the striking honeycombed structure of The Broad. Gabe handed over his car keys to the valet and we headed on in.
Within minutes we were sipping bubbly from tall flutes and sighing with happiness at being back in our natural habitat. With over two thousand paintings and sculptures to view we were in our element. This high-ceilinged space with the remnants of daylight flowing through ornate windows and highlighting all this modern elegance.
A waiter took our empty glasses and we rode the escalator through the second-floor ceiling, the design providing a womb-like feel as we ascended. At the top, we were met by an awe-inspiring sculpture by Jeff Koons, a glorious display of enormous gathered tulips in bright colors including gold, blue, purple and green—all lying upon a thin white base.
Strolling into another room, our attention was captured by a three-dimensional design resting on a high table. At one end was a small body of water that burst from a steel container and morphed into a waterfall, pouring into a cavern which turned a large wheel. Beyond that it ran into a small-scale hallway and within its walls shot out vibrant blue miniature electric rays crisscrossing each other.
“What’s this one?” asked Gabe.
I studied the gold plaque on the side. “Mousetrap for the Inevitable.” I read on, “‘Designed to draw out the subject and test its endurance.’”
Gabe stepped forward. “‘Where usually form follows function, here American architect E. B.’s design represents form as art reflecting the power of self-regulation.’”
I pointed to the water forcing the wheel around. “It’s an ingenious mechanism.”
“What happens to the mouse?”
My cringe was my answer as I mused over the kind of person who had invented this. I respected modern art and was thrilled to pass by the striking pieces by Andy Warhol, Cindy Sherman and Barbara Kruger, all of them making my heart soar. We made our way through the well-dressed crowd who’d gathered for the reception. I paused awhile to admire The Balloon Dog, an enormous blue balloon-shaped masterpiece by Koons. It was such a fun piece and Gabe joked how he could only afford the miniature one sold in the gift shop.
He pointed out his young student Terrance Hill, who was greeting guests across the showroom. Gabe shared with me how the young man was fatherless and yet his inspiring talent and determination had earned him a scholarship at UCLA.
Gabe stared on proudly. “Terrance excelled in my art history class but found his true calling is modern art. He has my blessing, of course.”
The bright young star with neat dreadlocks wore the brightest smile, and I guessed the pretty fortysomething black woman by his side was his proud mom.
We headed on over to them to offer our congratulations. Terrance was enjoying his well-deserved praise as private collectors swarmed him, wanting to meet this gifted young man who’d set the art world alight.
His paintings were featured around the walls. Gabe and I took our time to admire each one and I marveled at Terrance’s gift of layering colors and his use of texture. He was being hailed as a young Jackson Pollock and I could see why.
Turning to face the crowd, my breath caught when I saw a vision of pure masculine beauty—Tobias Wilder.
He was here.
Sipping from an amber drink and looking ridiculously sharp in a black tuxedo with his hair