The Art of Stealing Kisses - Stella London Page 0,36

fruits of all your labors. They’re going to love it.”

We circulate through the room, checking out the full size final projects of the students. Some I hadn’t seen in all their full sized glory, like the twelve foot sculpture of Goliath, foot raised, about to squish a terrified three foot David, his slingshot discarded on the ground, or the mixed media installation that includes a piece of a toilet. I look around, still nervous, but everyone seems to be enjoying the art and having a good time.

No riots yet.

“Congratulations,” St. Clair says to each student artist as we stop and study their work. He introduces me to all of them, and talks about their pieces in depth. It’s clear he studied all the files I gave him, and now he asks great questions, engaging them to talk about their passion.

I love this part. It’s so fun to see the artists in their element, explaining their aesthetic choices, their ideas and the process of bringing those ideas to life. It makes me want to get back in the saddle, to paint something worth showing, worth talking about. I want to feel that passionate about creating again.

St. Clair makes sure to shake each student’s hand before we move on, and he puts everyone, including me, at ease. He’s charismatic and gorgeous, as usual, and women find ways to touch him all night, patting his shoulder or arm, commenting on his suit, his hair.

One woman is so bold she says a variation of the same line as the others, “Your suit looks so luscious. What’s it made of?” except she slides her hand along the top of his thigh to find out. He manages to keep a straight face and discreetly remove her hand while thanking her for her admiration.

“We should move along,” I say smoothly, pulling him away. Once we’re out of earshot, we both giggle.

“And I thought you Brits were so reserved,” I laugh.

He smirks. “Clearly, she can’t resist the goods.”

“Modest, much?” I hit his arm lightly, but he grabs my hand, and looks into my eyes.

“You know I’m taken,” he says in a low voice, and the intensity in his gaze takes my breath away. “I only have eyes for you.”

My heart takes flight. I stare at him, overwhelmed – and guilty as sin for the secrets I’m hiding from him.

“Mr. St. Clair?” We’re interrupted by the college president. St. Clair drops my hand. “We’re ready to welcome everyone, if you’d like to follow me. We’re all looking forward to your remarks.”

“Of course.”

We move to the stage area at the back of the room. The president introduces him as an important donor to the school and the benefactor for tonight’s event. St. Clair steps up to the podium to a round of thundering applause. I look around, seeing the respect and admiration on people’s faces. I think of St. Clair growing up in that cold house with nothing but criticism. If only his father could see how much his son is appreciated.

“Thank you,” St. Clair starts as the applause dies down. “This is a very special night for me, a cause that’s dear to my heart.” His eyes find mind and he holds my gaze while he pauses, then goes back to glancing at the crowd.

“I know what it’s like to have a dream—to want something so much you can taste it, but not quite touch it. And it’s opportunities like this showcase that will propel these artists into the realm where dreams become possibilities. So my hope for all the students here tonight—whether you are in the showcase or not—is to follow your passion. Don’t be afraid to take a few risks, maybe break a few hearts”—there are chuckles—“but be true to yourself. It’s a much bigger risk to try to be someone else. Art is about authenticity, and only you know your heart.”

His eyes meet mine for a moment again, and then he looks away. “I’m so pleased to have a small hand in supporting the future of authentic expression, of creativity, and of these young artists here tonight. May all these futures be fruitful. Thank you very much.”

He steps off the stage to more applause, and I’m so proud of him for helping to jumpstart the career of these students, and proud to be a part of his company for doing good deeds like this, for giving back to the art community. I look around and see the beaming faces of the students and know without a