“It’s okay,” I rushed out. “I’m the curator of your exhibition. Your being here stays with me. I’m ethically bound to protect your anonymity if you so wish.”
Elpidio’s shoulders seemed to relax some at that, and sighing reluctantly, he raked back his long hair from his face and raised his head.
This time I could see him more clearly. He was ruggedly edgy, and on his left cheek, he wore a tattoo of a black crucifix just below his eye. He simply screamed danger. His eyes were unnervingly assessing as though he had no trust in me, or toward anyone else for that matter.
Suddenly, Elpidio reached forward and encased his hand in mine. When our hands touched, I lightly gasped, the heat of his palm searing. I’d forgotten I’d been holding my hand out to greet him, too entranced by his unrefined looks and silent temperament.
“Aliyana,” he said gruffly. My heart skipped a beat on hearing his husky drawl.
“Elpidio,” I flustered. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally meet you,” I said breathlessly. His mouth tightened as though my enthusiasm were lost on him or irritated him. I couldn’t decide.
Clearing my throat, I released his grip and gestured to the developing exhibit. “What do you think?” I asked nervously, a subtle tremble in my voice. I moved beside him to face the gallery. “I’m an avid admirer of your work, so this is truly a dream come true for me to design this exhibit.”
Elpidio remained silent, so I turned back to him, and his dark eyes were narrowed as though in displeasure as our gazes collided. A flush of heat spread through my body under his heavy attention. I could feel my cheeks blazing.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, nervously threading my fingers through my long hair.
Elpidio’s expression stayed blank, the further narrowing of his eyes the only change in his look. Elpidio turned his gaze back to the expanse of gallery and slowly tilted his head, studiously scrutinizing something in front of us. Reflecting his stance, I tried to follow his gaze and see what he was seeing.
Elpidio glanced at me again, and for a moment, I felt like I’d seen him before. That split second glimpse of his dark eyes revealing a familiarity to his face. But then the moment was gone as quickly as it came and he walked forward.
Elpidio stopped at his sculpture of a man folded over, head cradled in hands, legs tucked into his chest… and tragically, every inch of his body was pierced with black painted marbled knives, the knives cracking the white Cararra marble as though he were being torn apart by the blades.
“Elpidio?” I questioned, and he looked up at me.
“Elpi,” he said coolly, and a shiver rippled down my spine at his dominating tone.
“Elpi… okay,” I whispered in reply. The way he stared at my lips a little too long, flustered me.
Reaching out his hand, he ran his calloused tattooed fingers along the curve of the sculpture’s back and looked at an empty space in the corner of the room.
I watched him closely examine his pieces with precise care.
Elpidio suddenly stood and pointed to the far corner. “This one should go there.”
My heart raced with excitement as I moved to join him, leaning over his shoulder to see the exact spot to which he was pointing. As I stood there breathing lightly, I sensed his body growing tense at our close proximity. This close, he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and the oaky cedar musk of his cologne.
He smelled good… too good. So good it was pushing the boundaries of my professional conduct.
The heavy muscles and cords in Elpidio’s arms tightened. He ran his hand through his hair once more. I surmised that he did this when he was feeling nervous.
“Is there a particular reason for you wanting the piece to be in that corner?” I asked.
Elpidio tipped back his head and stared out the glass domed ceiling. I followed suit, my eyebrows pulled down in confusion.
“The sun will pour in through the roof for most of the day. If we angle it just right, the rays will cut across sculpture and reflect the knives on the floor, like I’d planned.”
The more he spoke, the more I picked up on the devastation in Elpidio’s deep timbre. By the end of his explanation, I found I was no longer looking at the domed ceiling, but at him and the expression of deep sorrow etched upon his face.
For a brief moment, Elpidio closed his eyes, and I could feel the sadness pulsing from him.
In an instant, my heart broke for him. I had no idea why, but he definitely seemed to be suffering.
Seconds went by in silence, yet I couldn’t stop watching his face. This mysterious sculptor was more intriguing in person than I could ever have imagined. Intriguing but troubled… intimidating… a man about whom my every instinct told me to steer clear.
Not wanting to intrude on what seemed like a personal moment, I forced myself to focus on the sculpture.
“Do you agree?” Elpidio eventually asked.