“Oh, my God, I need to go home and call David,” Leo said. He gave me another quick squeeze before he released his hug and waved at Dylan.
“Pace yourself. This is only the first gallery,” he said. “Bella can take you upstairs, downstairs, she knows all the ins and outs. You two have fun.”
“Stop it,” I said, elbowing him.
“There is a whole set over here that looks like candy,” Dylan called, over his shoulder. He stood in front of a glass shelf filled with different pieces of Murano glass, all shaped like hard candies and taffy.
“I love those,” I said. “They look delicious.”
“Oh, those sell so well,” Leo said, stopping at the entrance. He was never one to walk away from a compliment.
“Leo is being humble,” I said. “He makes those pieces. I make real caramels, and he makes sweet imposters out of glass.”
“I do, don’t I?” Leo said, looking quite pleased with himself. “That is a great name, Bella. Sweet Imposters.”
“Can I?” Dylan said, opening one of the lids.
“Of course,” Leo said, with pride. He was an amazing glass salesman, but he was an artist first. “I use glass remnants from the other artists. I like to think I’m shaping them into new memories.”
“They are like your baci,” Dylan said, running his fingers over the bowls. “You both create beautiful experiences for people.”
“Kind of,” I said. “Mine are sweeter. A lot more sugar.”
“Interesting,” Dylan said, picking up a beautiful blue glass, taffy ripple. He held it up to the light. “It is gorgeous.”
Leo sidled up next to me, arms crossed. “I like him.”
“You just like that he’s complimented your art.”
“Um, I like that he is hot as fuck and the man has good taste in art and women.”
I wrinkled my forehead and squeezed my best friend’s arm. “You don’t even know him.”
“Well, neither do you,” Leo said to the side, then louder. “Goodnight, Dylan. You and my dearest and most lovely friend have one hour to explore. Set your watches, or the security guards will arrive. Oh, now this sounds like fun. I really need to get home and call David.”
Leo slipped out the main door. We heard the turning of gears and were officially locked inside.
“Well,” Dylan said, leaning against a large stone table in the center of the room, “when does my tour begin, clever Bella?”
“It begins now,” I said, smiling. “Why don’t we look at the gallery of glass masters. The views are so beautiful from that hall. It’s upstairs.”
I walked past Dylan, the energy continuing to grow between us. The charge started at dinner. I didn’t need to be here with him. I could have excused myself, accepted his apology, and been done with it, but here I was, leading him down a hallway with lamps that flickered like candles. We climbed a stonestaircase into a room with enormous windows that looked out onto the lagoon.
“This is the room where the glass masters display their creations,” I said. “Behind you is a piece commissioned a few years ago, focused on the story of the rising waters around Venice.”
The wall installation behind us was a series of enormous glass waves. Blues, greens, and indigo merged together to create something that looked like light passing through layers of the sea.
“Venice and water, our city has a complicated relationship with the elements,” I said, my voice trailing off.
“I see,” Dylan said, standing beside me. His arm brushing against mine, I inhaled a shaky breath.
“Can I touch it?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “It is best if we don’t touch,” I paused before adding, “the art. It’s best we don’t touch the art.”
Dylan stepped away, and I relaxed as the distance between us increased. He walked past the sculptures and up to the window. Back-lit by the lights outside, Dylan was a silhouette. His body tall, strong, and muscular, he looked to be a shadow of the perfect man.
“Why are we here, Bella?” he said softly, his voice playful and teasing.