Page 1 of Dare To Live

Chapter 1

Arabella

Ignoring the low buzz of chatter in the art gallery around me, I remain where I am, staring at the painting on the wall. My gaze moves over the canvas, trying to decipher the story woven into the imagery. There’s a blonde-haired woman with flowing hair standing with her back to me, naked in a field of black roses. The sky is dark with stormy gray clouds. Half-formed, disfigured faces peek from the swirling storm, their attention on the figure below. It fascinates and repels me with its hints of monsters and death.

“It has a very grim quality.” A familiar voice murmurs in my ear.

“Macabre,” I reply, smiling.

“Positively ghoulish.”

“Gothic.”

He hums in agreement. “And a money maker. This just sold for fifty thousand dollars.”

I turn to look at my best friend, Miles Cavanaugh. He’s studying the painting beside me. His brown hair has been cut into short choppy curls and is less wild than how he’d worn it when we were younger. He’s also better dressed, in a sharp black suit, which shows off his athletic build.

“For one painting?”

Miles nods, his eyes meeting mine. “I was there when Ivan took the check.”

Ivan is his fiancé, who also happens to own the gallery.

I almost declined the invitation to come to the exclusive showing tonight. Ivan has been talking about it for weeks, and his excitement over being able to display ‘never-seen-before’ art pieces had eventually made me change my mind. All I know about the artist is that everyone wants one of his paintings.

Standing here, looking at the detail and depth of the imagery, it’s not hard to figure out why his work is so sought after.

Accepting the flute of champagne Miles hands me, I toy with the elegant stem. “That’s going to be one happy artist. Do you have any idea who he is?”

Miles shrugs. “Ivan didn’t say. Apparently, there’s a huge mystery behind the name, or something. The artist doesn’t do public appearances. I think that’s why Ivan was so excited to get his hands on this collection to exhibit and sell.”

He sweeps me with a gaze from head to foot, taking in my long blonde hair brushed to a shine, along with the figure-hugging red dress and the matching heels I’m wearing.

“Changing the subject, entirely, you look positively stunning this evening, Bella. Did you bring a date?”

I shake my head at the hopeful note in his tone and lift the glass to my lips. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. I don’t have time.”

“You are always doing something.”

I shrug lightly. “I like to keep busy.”

“That’s a trauma response, so you don’t need to stop and think.”

Rolling my eyes, I groan. “Miles, you promised you wouldn’t psychoanalyze me if I came to the event.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been talking to a new therapist. She’s helping me a lot with what happened at school.”

“I’m glad.” My voice is clipped, my defenses automatically rising at his mention of the past.

I don’t want to remember Churchill Bradley Academy tonight. I’m plagued with enough nightmares when I sleep. Dreams which leave me choking and shaking when I wake.

He studies my face. “I could give you her number?”

“No thanks.” Taking another sip of my champagne, I let the bubbles tickle my throat on the way down.

“You can’t keep living in the past.”

“I’m not.”

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