Page 51 of The Wrong Fiancée

"I don't have one," I told him honestly. "I'm still learning their work, and right now, I'm mesmerized by it all. As I understand better and learn more, I'll be able to determine what I like best."

The man grinned at me. "So, you're not going to try and pawn a painting off on me? You should, you know. I acquire a lot of art. It would be a feather in your cap."

I laughed then. "Sir, as you know, when you collect a piece like this, you're not simply buying a beautiful painting to hang on your wall; you're preserving a story, a culture that stretches back over a thousand years—one that was almost erased. Whether it's Enos's reinterpretation of Hawaiian mythology or Kane's tribute to the voyaging tradition, these works hold more than just aesthetic value. They carry the legacy of a people's history—their struggle, their endurance. You're taking home a fragment of that legacy, a piece of what makes Hawaii not just visually stunningbut culturally profound. It's not simply art for art's sake. It's art as a form of cultural stewardship."

The man nodded appreciatively. He held out his hand. "Jeff Wexler."

My mouth went dry. Jeff Wexler was a towering figure in the art world—a name spoken with reverence, often in hushed tones, at every major gallery and auction house across the globe. He wasn't just an art collector; he wastheart collector, one whose acquisitions could skyrocket an artist's career overnight.

He had a reputation for discovering emerging talent, finding those diamonds in the rough and placing them in the spotlight, ensuring the world would notice. Galleries clamored to get his endorsement, and artists would kill for a single conversation with him.

And he was standing in front of me, holding out his hand like it was no big deal. I shook it. "Elika Hamlet, Mr. Wexler."

"And you're running the art program here with Melody?"

I chuckled at that. "No. I started working here two weeks ago; before that, I was one of the housekeeping staff."

The others in the group walked away, leaving the famous Mr. Wexler alone with me.

"That's quite a change, and you seem to be handling it with aplomb, my dear."

"Thank you, sir."

"So, how does someone from…what did you do in housekeeping?"

"I cleaned rooms, sir."

"How does someone who cleans rooms know so much about Enos and Kane?"

"I worked really hard to learn everything I could in the past few days," I admitted. "I…was studying art history…a long time ago but dropped out. I've always had an affinity. I love Enos, so being here surrounded by his work is intoxicating."

A woman who had been examining a painting next to the one we were standing by put a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Darling, are you harassing this poor girl?"

Hersilver hair and jewelry caught the soft glow of the gallery lights, glittering with every movement beneath their warm illumination.

"No, Shira, I'm getting to know someone who seems to have a deep passion for island art."

I licked my lips. Anyone who knew anything about island art knew Shira Mandel. She had moved to Kauai when she was a child and was the Georgia O'Keefe of Hawaii.

"Oh my God," I blurted out, ready to practically genuflect. "You're Shira Mandel.Oh my God. I love everything you paint. Since I was a little girl, I've had a print of yours on my bedroom wall. It'sEclipse Two, you know, the one with the ocean swirling around the moon…of course, you know, you painted it." I was babbling now. I couldn't help myself. This was ShiraFuckingMandel. "I used to stare at it for hours, dreaming of seeing your work in person. I can't believe you're here!"

Shira smiled, a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes. "I hope it inspired more than daydreams," she said with a soft chuckle. "TheEclipseseries was all about transitions—finding strength in the unknown." Her gaze shifted briefly to Jeff. "I painted it right after I divorced the one whose name we do not mention." Then she turned back to me, her smile warming. "I'm flattered it meant something to you."

"Meantsomething?" I shook my head, still awestruck. "It made me fall in love with island art. It inspired me to study art…I can't believe I'm talking to you."

"Here, I thought she was impressed by me," Jeff mocked.

"Darling, you justbuyart; the artist enamors true art lovers." Shira looked at me. "You know, I'm having a personal art exhibition at my home in a few weeks. You should come. It's my new series. I think you'll get a kick out of it."

My eyes went wide. "Really?" I squeaked.

"This kid is awesome for my ego." Shira patted my cheek. "Jeff, darling, will you make sure she gets all the information for my exhibition."

She walked away, and Jeff winked at me. "She's like a cat, hatesmost people. But your love for art…yeah, it's special. You keep at it. Okay?" He pulled out a card and gave it to me. "Send me an email so we can send you an invitation to Shira's little event. Also, can you put a red dot on the Enos and the Kane for me?"

"Yes, of course."

Melody came by after he was gone, and I was gaping at his business card. "Is he buying something?"

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