Three Christmas Wishes - Krista Wolf Page 0,58

shoulder, adding a smile. “Maybe not always,” I said. “But most of the time, anyway.”

“Do you miss them?” he asked.

I thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Most of the time I don’t,” I admitted. “But right now, around Christmas… yes. Yes I do.”

He was staring down, but I pulled his gaze back to meet mine. This close, his eyes were stunning. Everything about him was so beautiful.

“I miss the time we spent together, doing holiday things,” I went on. “I miss my father’s smile. The smell of my mother’s cooking.” Squeezing him close, I sighed wistfully. “It’s okay though,” I continued. “There’s nothing wrong with missing these things, Valerio. It keeps them precious. It keeps them alive, up here where it matters.”

I tapped the side of my head, indicating how I locked these memories away for safe keeping. Before I finished the motion however, he was kissing me. Softly. Sweetly.

Just as quickly, he broke away.

“Do you want to go with your family?” I asked him gently. “To be with them? Tell the truth.”

Valerio’s answer was immediate. “No. I don’t.”

“Then stay,” I breathed, my smile widening. “You have Brock. Kade. Let them be your family.”

His eyes narrowed as he regarded me carefully. “And you?”

“Well I haven’t been in your life nearly as long as them,” I chuckled, “but trust me, I’m not going anywhere. So yes, Valerio. You have me.”

His face brightened, then reddened in the cutest possibly way. I had to swallow past the knot in my throat.

“Now listen,” I said. “I want you to be my date tomorrow night. At the show.”

He froze for a moment, then I watched as the corner of his mouth curled up in a satisfied smile.

“I thought you were bringing us all?” he asked. Inwardly however, I could hear the competitive side of him cheering.

“I am,” I said, still unsure how I was pulling it all off. “Trust me, somehow I’ll get us all in. But outwardly, as far as the curator and other exhibitors will see? I can only have one man on my arm.”

Now it was my turn to kiss him, gently, on the side of his cheek.

“And I want that man to be you.”

Forty-Three

VALERIO

“The Medusa statue is exquisite!” the balding man said. “Incredible work! Unbelievable!”

“It’s a gorgon, actually,” Sloane replied, still beaming. “Medusa was just one of the—”

“Doesn’t matter,” the curator interrupted. “The detail on the snakes, the movement of the hair! And the patina, Ms. Parker. I would never have gone with such a bold choice, but it really makes the piece.”

I sipped my champagne, watching over the rim of my glass as she delivered back her most charming smile. Ms. Parker, I learned, was her. Just one of the myriad of things I still needed to know about this beautiful woman that was now, through some amazing miracle, my girlfriend.

“You’ve already created a buzz,” the curator went on. “I’ve heard several people talking about your pieces, the angel in particular.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice confidentially. “With all the abstract art around here, it’s refreshing to see some traditionalist work.”

“I have abstract pieces too,” Sloane pointed out.

“Yes and they’re equally magnificent.”

“That’s what I said!” I chimed in, overplaying my enthusiasm. “Magnificent! It’s the very word I used!” Looping my arm back through hers, I smiled at my date. “Wasn’t that the word, pumpkin?”

Sloane would’ve kicked me if she could. Her sleek black dress was formal yet sexy, but it didn’t have enough of a slit up one side to allow for such a thing. Too bad, I thought to myself. A longer slit would’ve shown off her killer legs.

“Thanks again for inviting me,” Sloane said humbly, “and for taking a chance on accepting so many pieces.” Her cheeks turned a little pink. “You know, from a newer artist.”

“It’s not really taking a chance when the artist is as good as you,” the curator said charmingly. He took her free hand and squeezed it. “And you are good, Ms. Parker. Better than you let on.”

I left her to hobnob, or whatever she needed to do here. I had to hand it to her, it was every bit the fancy show she’d been making it out to be. The exhibition hall was starkly beautiful; all whites and creams, the pedestals and racks smooth and rounded without a single sharp edge or hard corner. It looked futuristic, actually. Like we were in some brightly-lit spaceship, only instead of uniforms everyone was wearing suits and dresses and tuxedos.

I moved