"Yes." My heart skips a beat at the mention of her name. I called her Ari, but naming them the Ariel Rose Collection felt more like a tribute to her. "How'd you know?"
He's still staring at them, mesmerized, as he takes a couple steps toward them. "She has a very distinctive style. Raw, dark, edgy. Gothic. The abstracts are so emotional, it’s impossible to not be affected by them.” He pauses a moment, collecting himself. “I would recognize her work anywhere." I'm stunned silent, feeling a little awkward at the fact that he knows her work. Rather, my work. “She's a student?” He turns and asks.
"Uh, she was,” I stammer, nodding. “Couple years ago,” I lie. “You like that style?” I shouldn't ask questions, but I can’t help myself. Even though it’s the exact reason I use a pseudonym, I can’t fight the feeling of excitement beating in my chest at him being a fan of my work—especially since he has no idea it’s me.
He turns and looks at me. “Yeah, I actually have a couple of her paintings that I found at an online shop. I had no idea she was from around here though." He reaches back and rubs his hand on his neck, clearly surprised. I want to ask what he's thinking, why he's so intrigued by her, how he heard about her, but I stop myself before the words escape my throat.
“Yeah, I really like the different way she connects you to the pieces,” I add, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“It’s deep. But there’s a sense of vulnerability to it, too. It’s really breathtaking.”
My breath hitches, my eyes tearing up as I hear the passion and sincerity in his tone. The way he talks about the AR Collection is almost too much, but I swallow back the tears and hold it together.
“Yeah, they’re inspiring,” I say, edging away and hoping he follows me to another part of the exhibit.
“From what I’ve seen so far, Aspen, you have an extremely distinctive style to your pieces, as well.”
I look back at him, puzzled. My cheeks heat, and I hope to God he doesn’t recognize the similarities. “You’ve hardly seen any of my work.”
“Well, actually I have.” I raise a brow, intrigued. “I saw a partial of your portfolio before classes started. I wanted to know what kind of students I was getting, being that I was teaching at a new school and all. Not just anyone gets into the art program at CSLA. So once I saw a few of your pieces, I requested for the entire portfolio.” My legs halt in front of him, his intense eyes making it impossible to think straight.
“Why?”
“It’s not every day, or even every year I get a student like you.” His words take me by surprise. I blush, lowering my eyes to avoid his intense ones. I don’t talk about my work to many people. It’s deep and personal, and I prefer to keep it to myself.
“Like what?” I ask softly, unable to drop the subject. We slowly begin walking again, the gallery getting quieter and quieter as we walk to a more vacant area.
“You have similarities in all of your pieces. Almost like a trademark. You use bold and bright colors to accent a dark, painful image.”
He’s right, so I can’t even argue with him. When I paint for the AR Collection, I paint completely raw and free. No expectations. No boundaries. No pressure. But when I paint as me, I only paint the surface of my emotions. I don’t show the extent of the pain or guilt I suffer with inside. I don’t let anyone see that part of me, so I pour it into my AR paintings.
“In fact, when I first saw you, I almost didn’t believe the artist behind those paintings and the girl in my classroom were the same person.” I notice we’ve gotten closer somehow, almost touching.
My lips curl up slightly, intrigued. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you walked into my classroom with your curve-hugging shirts, tight, dark skinny jeans, and leopard print fuck-me heels. It’s not hard to miss considering none of my other students have ever shown up to class dressed like that.”
His eyes stay fixed on mine, so deep that it feels as if he’s looking into my soul. I can feel how hot my body is, heating more and more with every noticeable breath he takes.
I shrug, trying to act unaffected. “Perhaps I just have good fashion sense.”
“Perhaps.” He smirks. “Or perhaps it’s a cover up. You’re guarding what’s really inside with an outside distraction.”
My mouth tenses at how blunt and forward he’s being. I distract him? I don’t care how my body and heart reacts to him. I don’t give that part of me to anyone. “You don’t know anything about me.”
His stare remains intense. “I just might know more than you think.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, we’re interrupted by Kendall. “Oh, I didn’t know we were giving one-on-one tours now,” she teases with a flirty tone. We quickly part from each other, putting much-needed space between us to relieve the evident tension that’s there. “Not that I really blame you.” She gives him an obvious once-over and winks at me.
“Kendall,” I say with a sharp edge in my tone and grit my teeth. “This is Morgan, Ms. Jones’ nephew.” I widen my eyes at her so she stops undressing him with her eyes. “He’s also my Advanced Art professor twice a week.”
“Oh!” She stands up straighter as if that changes everything. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extends her hand to shake his, and I have to fight back a laugh at how formal she’s acting.
He takes her hand in his and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”
“Kendall lives down the hall from me and goes to CSLA, too,” I explain. “And she works here.” I nod awkwardly before adding, “Apparently, she can’t get enough of me.”
He laughs and then the three of us continue standing there in uncomfortable silence.
“Well, I better get going. I only have a few minutes of my break left.” Kendall gives me a wide-eyed look that I know translates into an ‘oh my god’ and ‘you better tell me everything later,’ and then waves to Morgan. “Nice meeting you!” Once she’s out of view, I close my eyes and sigh.
“She seems nice,” Morgan draws out.
I burst out laughing at his attempt to break the tension. “Yeah, she is. Obnoxious and loud at times, but she’s a good friend.”
He turns back toward the pieces we were just looking at. “So why aren’t any of your pieces in here? I’m sure Aunt Mel would give you a prime spot.” I can hear the sincerity in his tone, which I can’t blame him, considering I work here and most people would jump at the opportunity, but I could never explain my real reason for keeping them to myself.
“I’m a little more reserved when it comes to showing off my work.”
“It’d be great exposure and look great on grad school applications. Not to mention, your pieces are one-of-a-kind. I’m sure people would love them. You wouldn’t have to tell people they’re yours during your tours, but at least you’d get to see their expressions when they look.”
I purse my lips together, swallowing down the guilt and pain from keeping the secret of my sister’s death. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
He smiles in return, content with my answer for now. It’s a complete lie, but at least it’ll keep him from asking more questions.
We continue the tour, looking through the rest of the exhibits. By the time we round back to the where we first started, I’m starving.
“Thank you,” he says genuinely, facing me and almost blocking me in near the staircase.
“Sure.”
“No, I mean it. You’re a really great guide. Entertaining even.” His lips crack into a smile, a small rumble of laughter escapes his throat as we face each other chest to chest.
“Well, I’m glad to have thoroughly entertained you then.”
“So have you thought about it yet?” He lifts his brows and my heart beats faster.
“Thought about what?”
“Putting some of your pieces in the student section here?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, covering up the anxiety that’s brewing inside. “You mean since you asked me thirty minutes ago?” A sly smile forms on my face at his eagerness.