The Prelude (A Musical Interlude Novel) - By Kasonndra Leigh Page 0,43
kind where the men used to get creative when trying to win a woman’s heart. “I hear you need a painter.”
“Maybe,” I say, feeling aware of my casual clothing, a skort and white tee shirt that dips too low for my generous chest. I did not expect company this evening.
“I’m available, if you’ll have me.” He doesn’t wait to be invited inside. I check my watch. Almost two hours have passed since Adriana slinked away to her room. Either she’s fast asleep or she snuck out on me; and I have no doubt she worked with her brother to set up this little convenient moment.
“Do come in, Mr. Maestro,” I joke after he walks through the doorway. Dressed in light colored cargo pants and a casual tee that fits his perfect physique, he actually does kinda remind me of a painter. All we need now is one of those little painter's hats for him and some Italian music to set the mood and we’ll be good to go.
Stepping into my living room, he takes in my surroundings. Since I’m not prepared for his arrival, I feel super self conscious. I wonder what someone who’s used to living inside a fancy uptown loft will think of my dinky apartment made specifically for students and newbies to Milan.
“Nice. The artwork fits you,” he says turning to face me after inspecting my walls filled with abstract paintings. “Did you create these yourself?”
I shrug. “No. I found most of them at an art store in Florence. Nothing beats discovering cheap artwork inside of an Italian market.”
“Speaking of artwork, I hear you have a masterpiece of mine that’s giving you trouble,” he says as he walks into the kitchen, pops open the wine bottle, and pours a glass of Riesling for the two of us.
My kitchen opens into the living room. I think all Italian housing plans have easy access to the kitchen. Cooking and eating is a religion in all of Italy.
“Hm. I’ll make two guesses on how you found out about my artistic troubles,” I say.
“My baby sister worships you, Erin,” he says, coming around to where I’m standing and still recovering from the idea of the panty-drop gorgeous Alek Dostov being in my apartment, a man who has made himself at home. I take the drink he offers and gulp it down. I need something alcoholic at the moment. “Tell me about your problem. The Maestro is here to help.”
I scoff a light laugh. The alcohol I just chugged too quickly hits me fast and hard. I’m now on fire between my legs, and with Mr. Sexy Fucking Accent standing there looking at me in such a way that is making me want to lose hold of my ethical resolve, things can't turn out good. “Right. So, Mr. Maestro, I have this issue with a butterfly logo that I’ve drawn. It seems the little fucker doesn’t want to behave for my color pencils.”
“Language, Ms. Angelo,” he answers, his lips turning up at the corner. He has a beautiful smile.
“I do apologize.”
“May I see this subject of yours? The one who’s giving you the problem?” he asks in a factual tone. He has the snooty psychologist attitude down. That’s pretty damn good for a maestro.
“Certainly.” I take the glass of wine he hasn’t finished and chug his alcohol too.
“Careful, Erin. I don’t see you as the type who handles a shit load of alcohol all that well.”
I raise my left eyebrow. “Follow me, please sir.”
“My pleasure.”
He follows me out to the sunroom. Even though we’re headed well into the evening hours, there’s still a hint of humidity in the air. “I keep my studio stuff set up out here on warm days like this.” The balcony is small, but it allows me to do what I need to with my sketches. I take a seat on the ground in front of my butterfly drawing, the one with no coloring except for the blue in its wings.
“You’re a talented, lady. That’s for sure.” Alek sits in the spot beside me. I swell with pride at the way he’s analyzing my drawing.
“I have the perfect solution for you,” he says and pulls up the sleeve on his right arm. I inhale sharply, taking in the breathtaking view of the tattoo I’ve been wanting to see since the first time we met a few weeks ago. It is of a beautiful phoenix done in a fiery copper color. The flames surrounding the bird create a swirl