Millionaires' Destinies(148)

Richard and Ben stood next to Mack and Tony, looking handsome in their tuxes, though Ben had a slightly wary expression, as if he were all too aware that his days as a bachelor were likely to be short-lived now that Mack was about to be married.

Only a brief ceremony stood between Beth and the future she’d never anticipated on that long-ago day in the hospital cafeteria when Mack Carlton had walked into her life. A ceremony and a honeymoon, she thought, her blood suddenly humming.

The honeymoon had required a major concession on her part. Because neither of them had wanted to delay getting married until after the official football season ended in January, the honeymoon was built around the team’s upcoming road trip, a week in San Francisco, followed by a week in St. Louis. Beth had bought a book on the finer points of football and ten scientific journals to read during the games.

The rest of the time she had other plans for Mack. It hardly mattered what city they were in. She didn’t intend to leave the hotel suite until an hour before game time.

She met Mack’s gaze and held back a smug grin. Something told her if she played her cards right, they might even miss the kickoff.





Treasured


by





Sherryl Woods





Chapter One


It had been one of those Friday-night gallery receptions that made Kathleen Dugan wonder if she’d been wrong not to take a job teaching art in the local school system. Maybe putting finger paints in the hands of five-year-old kids would be more rewarding than trying to introduce the bold, vibrant works of an amazingly talented young artist to people who preferred bland and insipid.

Of course, it hadn’t helped that Boris Ostronovich spoke little English and took the temperamental-artist stereotype to new heights. He’d been sulking in a corner for the last two hours, a glass of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The cigarette had remained unlit only because Kathleen had threatened to close the show if he lit it up in direct defiance of fire codes, no-smoking policies and a whole list of personal objections.

All in all, the evening had pretty much been a disaster. Kathleen was willing to take responsibility for that. She hadn’t gauged correctly just how important it was for the artist to mingle and make small talk. She’d thought Boris’s work would sell itself. She’d discovered, instead, that people on the fence about a purchase were inclined to pass when they hadn’t exchanged so much as a civil word with the artist. In another minute or two, when the few remaining guests had cleared out of her gallery, Kathleen was inclined to join Boris in a good, old-fashioned, well-deserved funk. She might even have a couple of burning shots of straight vodka, assuming there was any left by then.

“Bad night, dear?”

Kathleen turned to find Destiny Carlton regarding her with sympathy. Destiny was not only an artist herself, she was a regular at Kathleen’s gallery in historic Old Town Alexandria, Virginia. Kathleen had been trying to wheedle a few of Destiny’s more recent paintings from her to sell, but so far Destiny had resisted all of her overtures.

Destiny considered herself a patron of the arts these days, not a painter. She said she merely dabbled on those increasingly rare occasions when she picked up a brush at all. She was adamant that she hadn’t done any work worthy of a showing since she’d closed her studio in the south of France over two decades ago.

Despite her disappointment, Kathleen considered Destiny to be a good friend. She could always be counted on to attend a show, if not to buy. And her understanding of the art world and her contacts had proven invaluable time and again as Kathleen worked to get her galley established.

“The worst,” Kathleen said, something she would never have admitted to anyone else.

“Don’t be discouraged. It happens that way sometimes. Not everyone appreciates genius when they first see it.”

Kathleen immediately brightened. “Then it isn’t just me? Boris’s work really is incredible?”

“Of course,” Destiny said with convincing enthusiasm. “It’s just not to everyone’s taste. He’ll find his audience and do rather well, I suspect. In fact, I was speaking to the paper’s art critic before he left. I think he plans to write something quite positive. You’ll be inundated with sales by this time next week. At the first whiff of a major new discovery, collectors will jump on the bandwagon, including some of those who left here tonight without buying anything.”

Kathleen sighed. “Thank you so much for saying that. I thought for a minute I’d completely lost my touch. Tonight was every gallery owner’s worst nightmare.”

“Only a momentary blip,” Destiny assured her. She glanced toward Boris. “How is he taking it?”