Champagne Deception Read Free Page A

he had a wife, right?  Against her better judgment, Coretta clicked on his email address and composed a brief message:
    Ciao, Lorenzo!  I’m not sure if you will remember me.  It’s Coretta Nicholas from Dr. Fiore’s pottery class.  Congratulations on your sculpture studio!  It’s amazing that you’re doing what you really love.  I’m still painting…here are a few of my latest pieces…
    She attached three photographs of her paintings, including the one of the woman picking tulips that Stella Bishop had balked at.  Sending the email off into cyberspace, she chewed on her nails anxiously, wondering what she had just started.  Shutting down the computer and slipping into a cozy pair of pajamas, she convinced herself that Lorenzo probably wouldn’t answer her email.  Probably wouldn’t even remember her…
     

Chapter Two
     
    At dawn, over a cup of hot apple cider, Coretta sat down and checked her email.  To her astonishment, Lorenzo had written her back and, judging by the size of the message, he had a lot to say.  With a quickening pulse, she clicked on the message and read voraciously:
    Ciao, Coretta! Of course I remember you.  How have you been?  Where do you live now?  You didn’t mention that.  As you can see, I’m still in Milan and, yes, I’m very grateful to have my sculpture studio.  Your paintings are gorgeous. The one of the woman gathering flowers is very subtle and evocative.  Your work reminds me of the French Impressionists, so soft and beautiful.  I guess you saw the link on my website that I’m looking to join forces with a painter?  I think that could take my studio to the next level.  Maybe you could come to Milan and we could discuss this opportunity?
    Coretta was perplexed.  She hadn’t noticed any link on his website; her only purpose in sending the photos had been to share her work with a fellow artist.  Revisiting the Fiatti Clay Designs website, she noticed the section labeled “Careers.”  Apparently, Lorenzo had posted an advertisement seeking a painter to merge his studio space with.  In exchange, the painter would share a gallery with him where the duo would display a combination of their work.
    Coretta had never had a real studio before.  All her paintings had been created in the confined space of her apartment with paintbrushes strewn everywhere and smocks draped over the furniture.  She could be even more prolific with her art if she had a studio, not to mention the inspiring setting of a European city where so many artists before her had found a muse.  And to be able to bounce her ideas off a fellow artist would ripen her creativity even more.  Jonathan had no interest whatsoever in art; his entire life was dictated by dollar signs.  Speaking of dollar signs, that would be the primary obstacle in accepting Lorenzo’s offer: renting a gallery in Milan. She couldn’t afford the rent in New York, and she certainly couldn’t afford it in what was arguably Italy’s most sophisticated city.
    The buzzer to her apartment sounded, startling her as cider spilled onto her pajamas.  She traipsed over to the intercom and inquired, “Yes?”
    “It’s me, buzz me in,” Jonathan’s strident voice demanded.
    Reluctantly, she pressed the button to open the building’s front door.  She hated when he came to her apartment this early in the morning---and with that harsh tone of voice.  Clearly, he wasn’t happy that she had dismissed him last night without so much as a kiss.  She swallowed as she heard the familiar thud of his footsteps in the stairwell.  Opening the door on a beat of hesitation, she struggled to affix a smile to her face as he walked in.
    “I brought bagels,” he said gruffly, shoving a brown paper bag in her face.
    “Oh, thank you,” she murmured, grabbing a cinnamon raisin bagel and taking a nibble.
    “I wanted to see you before I go to work today, but you don’t look too happy to see me,” Jonathan observed, frowning as he