“Marcelo López. Such a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his words lilting with his heavier Spanish accent. “I am a huge fan of your work. Todos son una maravilla. Truly, all marvelous images.”
“Ay, por favor, Marcelo, don’t go stroking his ego so much or the rest of us won’t hear the end of it,” Enrique complained.
“Cállate,” Marcelo chided, pressing a finger to his lips to shush Enrique. “It would be an absolute honor to feature Mr. Miranda’s work here at Bellísima.”
Alejandro laughed when Enrique answered with a loud groan.
“Please, call me Alejandro. Any friend of Enrique’s is a friend of mine.”
After exchanging handshakes, the three of them moved farther into the gallery. Alejandro’s gaze roamed over the soft cream walls, admiring the watercolor paintings and still-life photographs in white frames expertly mounted and displayed. The dark-stained wood floor gave the space a warm feel, and the strategically placed cream-upholstered love seats and ottomans with wood accents invited visitors to relax and appreciate the artwork, as they would when they took home a piece.
Exactly the type of space he envisioned for his photographs. Allowing viewers to linger, taking their time connecting with the people and places, cultures and way of life. To connect with the emotions the images evoked and the moments often unnoticed. Or worse, taken for granted.
There’d been a time when he’d dreamed of showing his work at one of the numerous galleries on the island. He and Anamaría had talked about it while spinning their plans for the future. But he had crossed that idea off his bucket list years ago. Respecting his papi’s directive that he never return.
Instead, his mami and abuela had flown to New York for his first show. He’d been so fucking excited that night. Yet also disappointed, missing two of the people he most wanted to impress.
He had expected his father to be a no-show. As he’d been for Alejandro’s second exhibition a few years later in Atlanta. Ernesto and Cece had made that one.
Like his dad, Anamaría had been noticeably absent. There’d been no reason for her to attend since they’d broken up. No reason other than Alejandro secretly wanting her to be there.
But to finally have a show here . . . where their entire comunidad could attend. Where maybe, if Alejandro handled it respectfully, his father might finally see the value of Alejandro’s talent and work. It was worth a shot.
Excitement coursed through him.
Not to mention, Enrique was right. Planning and preparing for an event like this would fill the time while Alejandro was stuck here. He’d be combing through his personal photographs. Considering themes and collections. Carefully selecting the perfect images. Deciding how best to display them. Publicity, promotion, invitations . . .
The list of tasks helping to keep his mind off the problems and people he couldn’t change lengthened.
He’d be so busy, he might finally be able to shut off that reel of highlights, memories of him and Anamaría, playing on repeat in his mind. Being near her but not with her, not having his work to distract him, had him climbing the freaking walls. And it’d only been two days.
Shit, he needed this. More than Marcelo or Enrique realized.
And his mom. Damn, his mami would relish a chance to finally fulfill her wish to celebrate her elder son’s success. Asking for her help might be enough to get her off matchmaking and on to party planning.
It was worth a try.
“So, Marcelo.” Alejandro met the gallery owner’s inquisitive gaze. “What did you have in mind? And how soon can we get started?”
Chapter 8
“I think everything went amazingly well. Don’t you?”
Anamaría avoided Sara’s inquisitive gaze by ducking her head to secure her airplane safety belt.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, taking her time pulling the strap tight around her hips. Ignoring the matching tight band of worry squeezing her chest.
“The people from AllFit loved you! I knew they would.” Sara bumped her shoulder against Anamaría’s playfully. “Still, Arnold admitted he was surprised they sent your contract over so fast. I mean, we probably hadn’t even washed the makeup off our faces and climbed into bed after dinner on Friday and he was already reading over their terms!”
It was pretty unreal.
Anamaría checked her arm for bruises again. Having pinched herself so many times the past couple of days thinking this all might be a dream.
Friday afternoon, she had signed with Sara’s agent, Arnold Baker. A formality since they’d exchanged multiple emails and shared several phone calls. Sara trusted him; that meant Anamaría could, too.
That evening they’d met the reps from AllFit athletic wear for dinner and drinks at a trendy rooftop bar off New York’s High Line. The bar was a backyard oasis in the middle of the bustling city. Greenery and potted flowers were strategically placed around the two bars that bookended the rooftop. A smattering of high-top tables, and pods of seating areas with low tables and comfy sofas and love seats. Muted mood lighting from burnished-metal open-bulb fixtures. The iconic skyline a mix of shadows and lights as the fading sun peeked out from behind tall buildings, casting its watercolor display of smoky orange and reds across the darkening sky as it whispered farewell to the evening.
Dios mío, the whole affair had been like a dream . . . the picturesque views, the energized yet relaxed atmosphere, the diverse mix of people networking or blowing off the week’s steam. Or out on a date. Like the young couple who had snuggled in a loveseat nearby, oblivious to everyone else. Hands loosely clasped. Fingers lingering over a caress along a jaw or forearm, lips curved in secret, shared smiles. Their eyes only interested in each other’s.
Like she and Alejandro had been once.
Now, same as on Friday evening, Anamaría shoved him out of her head. He had no business invading her thoughts like that anymore. She had more important matters to contend with and it did no good adding Alejandro to the tumultuous mix. The entire weekend had been a total whirlwind.
Early Saturday morning, Arnold had met Sara and her at their hotel, the historic Wyndham New Yorker, where the Social Media Summit was being held. The rest of the day, Anamaría barely had time to catch her breath. They’d immediately gone into Sara’s panel and autograph session, followed by her two-hour presentation on working with an influencer. Both were great learning opportunities for Anamaría, who’d also taken on the role of bodyguard when mobs swarmed Sara with questions or requests for selfies around the hotel meeting room areas. Arnold stuck around, finding pockets of time to go over AllFit’s contract, explaining lingo Anamaría found confusing, redlining specific terms and areas he and Sara recommended they negotiate with AllFit to change.
And the networking. Arnold and Sara seemed to know practically everyone at the conference. Anamaría hadn’t shaken that many hands or delivered her AM Fitness elevator pitch to so many people in . . . bueno, ever.
After their hectic day, she and Sara had a hot second to change and give their cheeks a break from all the smiling, then they headed out for more networking over drinks and appetizers at a different rooftop spot. This one with a breathtaking view of the Empire State Building, the moon bathing it in silvery light from an inky, starless sky.