Stealing the Groom

Thirteen

XIII: Home Sweet Penthouse 

THE RAY of daylight shone through the open curtains and painted my body. It hurt to open my eyes, since the light was shinning directly in my face, so I fisted the bedsheets and pulled them up to shield me.

A groan escaped my lips as I rolled over and my feet touched the soft carpet. Time to get up, I told myself. I've got a pretty long day ahead of me.

Dragging my feet towards the bathroom, my hands rubbed my tired eyes. I'd gotten in late from Grandmother's estate last night. They'd insisted that I stay over but I told them I was checking out of my hotel that morning. Reluctantly, the couple let me go, biding me goodbye from their front door.

Just thinking about how everything went yesterday brought a smile to my face. The rest of the night we spent it talking about my new life overseas. They could see that I was happy there, doing what I do best. I saw the pride in their eyes when I told them that many galleries in Europe already displayed my work, and that many more were anxious to set up appointments with me to look through my portfolio. And all because of some of my first customers, those that believed in my paintings and gave it a chance.

After I had said that, a sheepish look crossed Grandfather's face. I immediately teased him about it until he told me what was on his mind. "Well, Joanne and I were one of your first customers."

I had bugged them until they got up and showed me where my painting was. I wanted to see which one it was. When we stepped into the drawing room where my grandparents entertained their guests, the first thing my eyes saw was a large painting sitting atop an easel in the corner of the room to the left of the massive fireplace. A small ceiling light illuminated the painting well, and a velvet rope kept it curtained off.

It was one of the first paintings I had done in Florence. It was just after I arrived, and I was completely heartbroken without Max. We were thousands of miles away and it was killing me.

So I picked up a brush and painted. I painted a girl walking, lost and alone. With the use of other colors, I made it seem as it she was walking further and further away, leaving her many shadows behind.

And there, in the bottom right corner, were my new initials. E.C.

I jumped and came back to the present when I felt a stoke of pain on my finger. I shrieked and dropped my curling iron, causing it to clank on the marble sink. I brought my finger up to inspect it and wrote it off as a simple burn. Wrapping a bandaid around said finger, I finished curling my hair and walked out of the bathroom.

Setting aside an outfit consisting of dark wash straight-leg jeans, a casual beige and maroon stripped sleeved tee, a thin platinum belt, and light-brown leather flats, I fixed the rest of my clothes into the suitcase and zipped it up. I did the same with the other suitcase and my carry-on garment bag.

After getting dressed, I threw on my favorite trench-coat and a soft beige scarf. Leaving a hefty tip on the bedside table, I left the room carrying all my luggage and my messenger bag.

A nearby bellhop saw me struggling and came over to offer his help. I thanked him and handed off my suitcases for him to load on the cart. As we descended the elevator, I tightened my grip on the railing. Going down a lift always made me feel like I was free-falling. Of course the feeling only lasted a second, but it was one long, agonizing second, and the moment the doors slid open, I all but jumped out.

The bellhop of course pretended not to notice, and led the way towards the lobby. I approached the front desk and pulled out my wallet. "Hi, I'm ready to check-out."

"Very well ma'am," the voice said and I couldn't help but think it was familiar. I looked up and spotted the poor concierge from the night I arrived. A blush spread on my face as I remembered how rude I was to him then.