“Does he have anything else by Hadley Emerson?” I pointed to the photograph.
“Hmm.” He walked over and took a look at Carolina. “I can check, but I believe this is the only one. Are you familiar with Hadley Emerson’s work?”
“Uh, yeah. Sort of.”
“Let me check our system and I’ll let you know.”
He walked out of the room and Ren raised his eyebrows. “Not exactly the most observant, is he?”
“What am I going to say to Matteo? Do I just tell him straight out who I am?”
“Maybe you should wait to see if he recognizes you.”
A door opened overhead and suddenly there was a thundering of voices and footsteps. Class was out. My breathing went into overdrive. This was a mistake. It was too fast. What if he didn’t want to be a part of my life? What if he did? Would he be as awful as the guy in my mom’s journal?
I grabbed Ren’s arm. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to meet him. You’re right. We should talk to Howard first. At least I know my mom trusted him.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Let’s get out of here.”
We raced out of the room. About a dozen people were making their way into the foyer, but we quickly skirted around them, and I reached for the doorknob.
“You two. Wait there!”
Ren and I froze. Oh, no. Part of me wanted to walk right out onto the street, but another even bigger part wanted to turn around. So I did. Slowly.
A middle-aged man stood at the top of the staircase. He wore an expensive-looking shirt and slacks, and was shorter than I’d thought, with a carefully groomed beard and mustache. His dark eyes were fixed on me.
“Come on, Lina, let’s go,” Ren said.
“Carolina? Please come up to my office.”
“We don’t have to go,” Ren said quietly. “We can just walk out of here. Right now.”
My heart was pounding in my ears. Not only had he called me “Carolina,” but he’d pronounced it right. I grabbed Ren’s hand. “Please come with me.”
He nodded. Then we slowly made our way toward the staircase.
Chapter 20
“PLEASE, HAVE A SEAT.” MATTEO’S voice was polished, with only a hint of an accent. He walked behind a half-moon desk and gestured to two chairs that looked exactly like hard-boiled eggs. Actually, come to think of it, everything in his office looked like something else. A large clock shaped like a cog ticked noisily in the corner, and the rug looked like it was supposed to be a map of the human genome or something. The whole room had this overly colorful modern vibe that didn’t seem to mesh with the man standing in front of us.
I lowered myself uneasily into one of the hard-boiled eggs.
“What can I do for you?”
Okay. Just tell him? How do I start?
“I—” I made the mistake of glancing at Ren, and suddenly my throat sealed up like a Ziploc bag. He gave me a worried look.
Matteo cocked his head. “You two speak English, correct? Benjamin told me you wanted to meet me. I’m assuming you have questions about my programs?”
Ren cast a glance at my frozen expression, then jumped in. “Uh . . . yes. Questions about your programs. Um, do you have any classes for beginners?”
“Of course. I teach several entry-level courses throughout the year. The next one begins in September, but I believe it is already full. All of that information is available on my website.” He leaned back. “Would you like to be put on the waiting list?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“All right. Benjamin can help you with that.”
Matteo slid his eyes at me, and suddenly I could feel every nerve ending. Was he pretending not to know, or did he not see it? I felt like I was standing in front of a mirror. An older, male mirror, but a mirror just the same. His eyes lingered on my hair for a moment.
“Can you recommend a good camera for a beginner?” Ren asked.
“Yes. I prefer Nikons. There are several good camera shops in Rome, and I’d be happy to give you the owners’ contact information.”
“Nice.”
Matteo nodded and there was a long silence.
Ren cleared his throat. “So . . . those must be pretty pricey.”
“There’s a range of prices.” He crossed his arms and glanced at the cog clock. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Do you collect a lot of photographs from other photographers?” I blurted out. Both of them looked at me.
“Not many. But I travel a lot, and I make it a point to visit studios and galleries everywhere I go. If I find something especially moving, I buy it and display it in my gallery, along with mine and my students’ work.”
“What about the Hadley Emerson photograph? Where did you buy that?”
“That one was a gift.”
“From who?”
“Hadley.” He looked straight into my eyes. Like a challenge.
All of the air whooshed out of me.