Chapter 68
Sophia's POV
After my disastrous conversation with Mrs. Henderson, I spent the rest of the day trying to repair the damage. I found her in the kitchen that evening, preparing dinner.
"Mrs. Henderson, I wanted to apologize for this morning," I said, trying to sound contrite. "I've been so stressed about the auction that I wasn't thinking clearly."
She looked up from her work, her expression cautious. "Of course, dear. We all have our moments."
"It's just that I've been away from art for so long, focusing on other things since my marriage." I gave her what I hoped was a convincing smile. "Sometimes I feel like I've forgotten more than I remember."
Please buy this excuse. Please.
Mrs. Henderson's face softened. "Oh, that makes perfect sense. When you're not actively studying something, the details can get fuzzy."
"Exactly. I've been so focused on learning about the family business and adjusting to married life that I haven't really thought about art history in months."
"Well, that's understandable. Marriage is a big adjustment, especially marrying into a family like the Romanos." She patted my arm gently. "I'm sure it will all come back to you when you need it."
Thank God. She believes me.
"I hope so. I really want to do well tomorrow."
"You will, dear. I have faith in you."
The relief was enormous. One crisis averted. Now I just had to survive the actual auction.
Saturday morning arrived with perfect weather and perfect terror. I stood in front of my closet, staring at the dress Vito had chosen for me. A stunning navy blue gown by Oscar de la Renta, elegant and sophisticated. The kind of dress Isabella would wear to establish herself among New York's elite.
My hands shook as I put on the dress. The fabric felt like silk armor, beautiful but fragile. One wrong move and everything could tear apart.
Vito was waiting for me in his study when I came downstairs. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that somehow made him look even more powerful despite the wheelchair.
"YI guess you must be very beautiful now, tesoro," he said, his voice warm with affection.
"Thank you. Are you ready for this?"
"The question is, are you ready?" He reached for my hand and squeezed it gently. "You're going to be wonderful tonight."
I wished I had his confidence. "I hope so."
"I know so." His eyes held mine steadily. "Trust yourself, Isabella. You have everything you need to succeed."
No, I really don't. But I'll try.
Tony appeared in the doorway. "Car's ready, boss."
The ride to the Mercy Foundation's event space felt both endless and too short. I spent the time reviewing my notes one last time, trying to memorize the basic facts Mrs. Henderson had taught me.
Monet, Impressionism. Van Gogh, Post-Impressionism. Picasso, Cubism. Focus on emotional impact, not technical details.
The venue was spectacular. The Mercy Foundation had rented the grand ballroom at the Plaza Hotel, and the space was filled with elegant tables, stunning floral arrangements, and carefully positioned spotlights highlighting the auction pieces.
As Tony wheeled Vito's chair through the entrance, I was amazed by the reaction. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. People turned to stare, then quickly moved aside to create a path. Vito might be in a wheelchair, but his presence commanded absolute respect.
This is what real power looks like.
I walked beside his chair, trying to project confidence I didn't feel. The weight of curious stares was almost overwhelming. These people were evaluating me, judging whether I was worthy to be Vito Romano's wife.
Don't let them see you sweat. Literally.
But it was hard not to. My palms were damp, and I could feel perspiration gathering at the back of my neck despite the air conditioning.
"Breathe," Vito murmured quietly, just for me. "You belong here."
I wish that were true.
We made our way through the crowd, accepting greetings and congratulations. I smiled and nodded, trying to say as little as possible while appearing gracious and engaged.
That's when I spotted Maria.
She stood near the bar, wearing a flowing white gown that made her look like a beautiful ghost. Her blonde hair was swept up in an elegant chignon, and she moved through the crowd with effortless grace.
She looks like she belongs here. Unlike me.
Our eyes met across the room, and Maria smiled. It looked warm and friendly to anyone watching, but I could see the calculation behind it.
She's hunting. And I'm the prey.
"Isabella! Vito!" Maria glided over to us, her smile bright and welcoming. "You both look absolutely stunning."
"Thank you, Maria," Vito replied. "You look lovely as well."
"This is such an exciting evening. Isabella, are you nervous about your presentation?"
Terrified would be more accurate. "A little nervous, but mostly excited to support such a worthy cause."
"The Mercy Foundation does incredible work. And the art pieces tonight are truly exceptional." Maria's eyes glittered with something that might have been mischief. "Have you had a chance to preview them yet?"
"Not yet. I thought I'd take a look during the cocktail hour."
"Perfect. I'd love to hear your thoughts on some of them." Maria gestured toward the display area. "There's a particularly interesting piece over there that's been generating quite a bit of discussion."
Here it comes. The first test.
"I'd be happy to take a look," I said, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Maria led us toward a large canvas positioned prominently near the stage. As we got closer, I could see it was an abstract painting with bold strokes of red and black against a white background.
Okay. Abstract. I can handle abstract. It's about emotion, not technical skill.
"This is fascinating, don't you think?" Maria said, stopping in front of the painting. "What do you make of it?"
I studied the canvas, trying to look thoughtful rather than panicked. The brushstrokes were bold and energetic, the colors intense and dramatic.
"It's very powerful," I said carefully. "The use of red creates a sense of passion, or perhaps anger. The black provides grounding, weight."
So far so good. Keep it general.
"Yes, exactly!" Maria's enthusiasm seemed genuine. "And what do you think about the technique? The way the artist applied the paint?"
Technique. Shit. I looked more closely at the brushstrokes, remembering something Mrs. Henderson had mentioned.
"The brushwork is very bold, very expressive. You can see the energy in each stroke." I paused, trying to remember the term she'd used. "It reminds me of the impasto technique, the way the paint is applied so thickly."
Please let that be right.
Maria nodded approvingly. "Good eye. And what period would you say this represents?"
Period. Think. What did Mrs. Henderson say about abstract art?
"It has elements of Abstract Expressionism," I said, hoping I was remembering correctly. "The emotional intensity, the gestural quality of the brushwork."
"Exactly right." Maria looked pleased, but I caught something else in her expression. Disappointment? "You clearly know your art history."
Why does she look disappointed that I got it right?
"Thank you. Though I have to admit, I'm much more comfortable with contemporary pieces than with classical works."
It was a calculated admission of weakness, meant to explain any future mistakes I might make. But I immediately regretted it when I saw Maria's eyes sharpen with interest.
"Really? I would have thought someone with your education would be equally comfortable with all periods."
Trap. This is definitely a trap.
"Of course I studied all periods, but contemporary art has always been my passion." I tried to sound confident. "There's something about the freedom of expression in modern works that speaks to me."
"How interesting. I'm actually the opposite. I prefer the classical masters. The technical skill required for realistic representation."
She's testing me. Seeing if I'll take the bait and try to discuss classical art.
"There's certainly beauty in both approaches," I said diplomatically. "Art is so subjective, isn't it?"
"Very true." Maria smiled, but her eyes remained calculating. "Well, I should let you two continue mingling. Isabella, I'm so looking forward to your presentation."
I bet you are.
As Maria walked away, I felt like I'd just survived the first round of a boxing match. But I could see her watching me from across the room, and I knew this was just the beginning.
Vito touched my arm gently. "You handled that well," he said quietly.
Did I? I'm not so sure.
"She seemed pleased with my answers."
"Maria knows her art. If she was impressed, you should feel confident."
If only he knew what Maria was really trying to do.
The cocktail hour continued, and I found myself in several more conversations about art. Each one felt like walking through a minefield, but I managed to stick to general observations and emotional responses rather than technical analysis.
Maybe I can actually pull this off.
But every time I looked across the room, I saw Maria watching me with that predatory smile. She was waiting for something. Planning something.
The auction hasn't even started yet, and I'm already exhausted.