The Proverbial Mr. Universe (14 page)

His eyes softened. “You don’t look like a freak, Olivia. It’s only a tiny scar. Scars tend to fade over time.” He smiled

Olivia looked at herself in the mirror that hung in the entrance hallway. “You sound like you know a thing or two about scars.” She turned back to look at him.

“Ah … well, you can say that.”

She studied him for a moment, trying to add him up. He hoped in her eyes that he added up to something good.

“I hope you like Italian food.” Olivia bobbed her head toward the dining room.

She gave him a side smile that showed her dimple, and without another word she turned and walked away. He stood there watching her for a moment before following her into the dining room. He realized that there were two empty chairs, side by side. He was grateful to be sitting beside her and not across, where she would be in plain sight, and he would look like an idiot because he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of her. Nick had pulled out a chair for Olivia, and she slid into the seat. He sat next to her, pushing his chair further in, his knee unintentionally—but he was well aware of— touching hers.

“Would you like a glass of wine, Nick?” Mrs. Montiano asked.

“No thank you. I’ll have water instead if you don’t mind.”

“So, Mr. Montgomery, tell me what do you do?” Mr. Montiano asked from the head of the table.

Nick cleared his throat and said, “Well I’m an artist.”

“What do you mean an artist? Like an entertainer or something.” Paul raised a brow.

“No, I paint. Mainly abstract art.” He felt a pair of eyes on him, and he turned to meet Olivia’s gaze.

“I thought you worked at a bar?” Olivia frowned.

“I do,” he added quickly. “I support myself by working at a bar. The art thing … well, that’s for me. An artist. That’s how I like to define myself.” He played with his glass, aware that Olivia was taking more interest in him. Everyone began to pass the platter around, and her nephew’s antics kept everyone unfocused on Olivia and Nick.

He leaned in slightly toward her and whispered, “Are you intrigued? Do you want to know more?”

She smirked at his allusion to their first conversation at the bar. “Well, Montgomery, I want to know more, but you have the right to keep your secrets.”

He laughed and nodded.

“An artist,” she said it to herself like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. “You know, I have a soft spot for the arts.” Olivia tried not to look at him directly in the eyes.

“You do?”

“What’s so surprising?”

“Well, you’re too young to seem to appreciate arts.”

“It’s a little hypocritical of you?”

“I may be young, but I have an old soul.”

“So what made you choose to be an artist?” Olivia poured water into his glass.

“I don’t think anyone can choose to be an artist. I think it chooses you. I always liked the idea that some part of an artist shows up in their work. There was this girl I once knew, who painted a series of self-portraits. In the corner of each canvas, she had this blotch of color not very noticeable, like it was unintentionally dripped. It was meant to represent her insecurities and her secret battle with depression. Art is personal to the artist, but not to the viewer. It’s a way to reveal yourself without showing yourself to the world.”

“So what are you working on right now?” Olivia handed him a platter.

“I’m supposed to be working on a collection for a venue next year. To be honest, I had stopped for a good time, but now I am slowly getting back into things.” He filled up his plate and handed the platter to Peter, who was sitting next to him on his other side.

“Why did you stop?” Olivia asked.

“Ah … well, let’s just say other things were going on in my life that took up most of my attention.”

She took the hint that it was a subject she shouldn’t explore further.

“Do you use acrylic paints or oil?” Olivia asked.

“Both,” he replied.

“Abstract art you said? It must be easier to create abstract art then figurative art I supposed?”

He looked at her with surprise, amazed that she had taken an interest in his work. Most girls he knew were never interested in what he did, much less wanted to talk about it.

“Well, not really. I would say figurative art would be easier to paint, for me anyhow. Abstract art is something you must put together an association of forms and color to create some meaning. As for figurative art, it’s quite straight forward.” He looked around the room. Several oil paintings were adorning the walls, but one caught his attention. “Look at the picture across from us. The one with the girl running in the field …”

“Yes …”

“It’s not difficult to understand what’s going on. The top of the hill there is a brown brick house; it’s a beautiful summer day, which is why the young girl seems content, running around in the field filled with orange flowers growing throughout the tall grass.” He looked back at Olivia to find her smiling.

“How do you know she’s happy? She’s too small to even see the expression on her face.”

He looked back at the painting across from him.

“Well, that’s just it. It’s how everything is put together that makes me assume she’s happy: the vibrant colors, the blue sky, she has the wind blowing in her hair.”

Olivia smiled. “Well, to me it looks like she’s running away. Her hair flying behind her means she couldn’t get away fast enough.”

He gave her a glance. “Well, there are always two sides. That’s the thing with art: it has a different interpretation for everyone,” he replied.

“It’s an ugly painting. I’ve told my mom many times it doesn’t belong in the dining room,” she said as she took a sip of her wine.

“So where does it belong?” He took a sip of his water.

“On the side of the curb,” Olivia said honestly.

“Hate it that much, eh?” he asked, laughing low. “What did that painting ever do to you?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It was gifted to my mom, from my ex.”

“Ah ...”

“So what usually inspires you, Montgomery?”

“To be honest, I haven’t painted much the last couple of years, but it all depends. There is always a suggestion in my work, an emotional tie. I go through cycles. Some of the things I’m going through presents itself in my work … not the literal way, more like an obscure metaphor.”

“So you’re inspired by sentiment only?” Olivia asked.

“No, not necessarily. It could also be an expression of what I see. I could be inspired by nature, the city, even people.” You especially, he wanted to say.

“I guess it also reflects my attitude about my life, at the moment I’m creating a piece.” He played with his fork between his fingers. “Art feeds me emotionally.”

He glanced back at her, her beautiful, expressive eyes looking back at him. How were those eyes making him feel so vulnerable?

If she continued to see him like that, he was going to tell her that from the moment he laid eyes on her, he was inspired by her beauty, the way she laughed, the way she placed her silken strands of her hair behind her ear when she was self-conscious. Nick wished he could tell her that if she were his muse, he would paint nothing but her. He knew he could not, especially when her father was sitting so close.

“Nick?” Olivia blinked.

“Umm … what?” Nick had lost his train of thought. Sitting so close, it seems her intoxicating perfume had an effect on him.
Get it together.

“So what are you working on right now?” she asked.

“What?”

“The collection that you’re working on?”

He looked down and laughed at himself, shaking his head as if to clear his mind. “Well, right now… nothing.” He glanced back to her. “I seem to have hit a creative block.”

“So what inspired you in the past?”

“I’m inspired by …” He looked at the ceiling, thinking of something else to say other than the truth. After all, it had been Olivia inspiring him lately, but not in his art. Then a thought came to mind. He looked back at her and smiled. “Well, the universe,” he said.

Olivia’s face lights up. “The universe?”

“Yeah, the universe.” He quirked a brow. “Did I say something wrong?”

“It’s funny you said that.” She took another sip of her wine.

“Why?”

“I have been mysteriously receiving little notes from someone who’s been signing them as Mr. Universe.” She gave him a sideways glance. “You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

He looked around the room to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. Lucky for him, little Anthony was making such a commotion that no one was paying attention.

He looked back into her bright eyes. “No … I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He shook his head.

He felt her observe him for a quick second. “I guess not. No, it couldn’t be you.” A disappointed look shadowed her face.

“I wish I would have thought of it.” He looked back on his plate. He could still feel her eyes on him.

“So you’re telling me there is someone out there sending you handwritten love notes?” He frowned.

“No … not love notes, more like inspiring words. I’ve been finding them tucked away in places I usually show up.”

“You should be careful. You might have some stalker on your hands.”

“Well, I hope not. It would be very disappointing if it were the case.”

“How so?”

“I think it’s incredibly sweet that some stranger is going out of their way, surprising me with these notes. I am going through a tough time right now and the words are incredibly uplifting.” Nick couldn’t look at her because now he caught the attention of James Montiano, who was now watching them from the head of the table.

“So what exactly about the universe inspires you?”

“Ah … well …” He paused to find the right words. “The universe defines everything that exists, does it not? All that did exist, all that will exist. The possibilities are endless. But what actually inspires me is when you look up at the night sky, it’s so wondrous. It takes you in, and you can’t help to be so captivated by her beauty.” He gazed at her, making her blush because he wasn’t talking about the universe anymore

“Well, Mr. Montgomery, perhaps when you complete some of your work, I might be interested in seeing it. I am always in search of new art,” Mr. Montiano said from across the table.

“My dad is somewhat of an art collector …” Olivia said.

Nick shifted in his seat. He felt intimidated by James Montiano. For one, he now knew who he was. Second, Nick already sensed that James wasn’t fond of him. He got that impression the moment he met him the night at the hospital. It wasn’t difficult to see that James Montano disliked Nick without even knowing him, because right now those brown eyes looked through a pair of silver-framed glasses and burned his skin, as if her father had known Nick’s intentions and he didn’t like it.

James was in his mid-sixties, with traces of gray in his hair. His facial expression was always subdued and serious, which made Nick believe that was just his demeanor and not because he wasn’t happy that he was there, talking to his daughter.

“I am what you call a corporate art collector, and I am in the works of purchasing a property. Once it’s renovated, it will eventually need some artwork for it,” James replied.

“Of course, Mr. Montiano. I will be glad for you to see them when I am done. I’ll leave you my business card before I go.”

“Does it actually pay well to be an artist, Nick? I mean, it is probably hard to make a living out of it,” Paul asked from across the table. Olivia’s eyes widened, and Nina kicked him from under the table.

“Some are lucky enough that they can. As for myself, I work at a bar at night, so during the day I am free to create.”

Everyone nodded and continued to eat. He looked back at Olivia, hoping to pick up where they left off, but now she was playing with her food on her plate with her fork, trying to avoid any more small talk with him. He was disappointed to have their conversation cut so short just as she started to open up. He couldn’t understand what just happened.

“Olivia is also an artist,” James added.

“No, not really, Dad.” Olivia blushed.

“She’s very talented.” James wiped his mouth on his napkin.

“I don’t doubt that.” He looked back at Olivia, whose face went to a darker shade of pink.

“Olivia, you should show him some of your work.” James leaned in his chair.

Nick turned to Olivia. “Yes, I would like to see them.”

“Don’t listen to my father,” She placed her hair behind her ear.

Nick liked it when she was bashful.

“It’s something I used to do for fun. Believe me, I’m not very good at it.” She took another sip of her wine, avoiding his gaze.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You can’t. I threw them out long ago. Dario believed I had no talent.” She shrugged.

It all started to make some sense to him now. Nick had been putting the pieces together like a puzzle. Not all the pieces were in the box, but he had enough to understand what was going on. She intrigued him. The little he learned about her, it was so fascinating he wanted to know more. Nick knew too well Olivia was the type of girl who would leave a mark on his mind long after they met. He just had to find a way around those walls that she built. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but it would certainly be worth any trouble.