Sweet Hope (Sweet Home #4)

“What does he paint?” Molly asked.

“He doesn’t. He’s a sculptor.” I released a long breath. “He’s the most inspiring, courageous, beautifully dark, tortured, talented sculptor I’ve ever encountered….” I stared out at the darkened view of the Sound, lost in the slideshow of his sculptures running through my head, each more poetic and tragic than the last.

Shaking my head, I met the shocked stares of my friends and anxiously brushed hair from my face. “His work, it’s… it’s… it’s my soul. That’s the only way I can explain it. It’s life, death, love, tragedy, and everything in between, every human condition… everything. His work speaks directly to my heart.”

“Ally…” Molly prompted with unshed tears in her eyes. When I felt a wetness on my cheeks, I realized I was crying. Quickly wiping away the tears, I took a deep breath and expelled a nervous laugh. “I really love his work.”

“I can tell,” Rome said affectionately.

“I’m so happy for you,” Lexi said excitedly and leaned forward. “What’s he like? Is he handsome?” Austin cast a disbelieving look at Lexi, but she either didn’t see it or flat out ignored him.

I shrugged. “That’s just it, I’ve never seen him. No one has. He’s a complete recluse. I was commissioned by another artist, his mentor, who’s fronting the entire thing. He’s a patron of the university’s art museum and a local to Seattle. It really should have been at a bigger museum, but they wanted to keep it small.”

“Vin Galanti?” Molly volunteered.

“Yeah, have you met him?”

“Once or twice.” A grin spread on her face. “He’s quite the character. He brought some of Plato’s original writings to the art museum for a temporary mash-up art/philosophy exhibition they were a part of. I helped with the history and translation of the Latin for the text boards. I adore him.”

“So what’s his name?” Lexi asked, as the waiter came back with our drinks.

“Name?” I questioned as a glass of champagne was placed before me.

“The sculptor, Mr. Owns Your Soul’s name!” she stressed and pouted her lips to stop the smile from lighting up her face.

“Oh, right, sorry. Erm… Elpidio. He goes by Elpidio,” I replied.

Austin huffed beside me. “Haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“You’ve heard of it?” I questioned.

“It was our nonno’s name,” Austin replied. “Our mamma’s father’s name. It’s not that common anymore...”

“So it’s Italian?” I asked, excited that just a little bit more about the reclusive artist had been revealed.

Austin nodded his head, now too busy eating his breadsticks to elaborate further.

“Well, Al,” Rome said and sat forward, grabbing his glass of champagne and raising it in the air. “Gotta say, I’m glad you’re here with us in Seattle, and good luck with your new job.”

Everyone raised their glasses and took a sip.

“I’m so glad to be here too!”





Chapter Four


Elpidio


Seattle, Washington



Vin pulled the car to a stop in front of the address I’d given him. The address I’d clutched onto the entire plane ride here, the ink of that address now smudged on the piece of wilting scrap paper in my hand.

My hands shook as I stared straight ahead, too afraid to look to my right at the house I knew sat there waiting. Everything was silent as I tried to breathe through my nerves. I could feel Vin’s eyes watching me.

“Are you okay, Elpi?” he asked, shattering the quiet.

I opened my mouth to answer but no words came out. Nodding my head once, I pulled in a long breath and moved my shaking hand to the door handle. As the door popped open, and without meeting Vin’s eyes, I said, “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Not a problem, Elpi,” he replied. “I’ll meet you at he studio tomorrow, yes? Show you the space I’ve got for you to continue your work.”

“Fine,” I said in a clipped tone and jumped out the car, slamming the door.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I forced myself to lift my head and saw a huge brick mansion in front of me.

My heart hammered too fast, the driveway looking like a damn green mile. I took a step forward, my hands shaking harder as I thought about what waited for me on the other side of that black front door.

Pushing myself to keep moving, the gravel crunched beneath my boots. My stomach clenched and sweat ran down my face under my heavy long hair.