Page 11 of Dante
"That couldn't have been easy," he observes. "Commercial galleries have a high failure rate, even with substantial backing."
"It wasn't," I acknowledge, warming to the subject despite my reservations. "Especially since I refused to take money from my family."
"Not a single dollar?"
"Not one," I confirm, unable to keep the pride from my voice. "I took out loans. Worked side jobs. Lived on instant noodles and slept on a mattress in the gallery's back office for six months until I could afford rent."
"Why?" he asks, leaning forward slightly, genuinely curious. "Why refuse help that was undoubtedly offered?"
I take another sip of wine, considering my answer. "Because I needed to know I could do it myself. That it was mine, really mine. Not just another Rossi acquisition."
"And your brother allowed this?" Disbelief colors his tone.
"He didn't 'allow' anything," I say, a hint of defiance creeping into my voice. "It wasn't his decision to make."
Dante watches me thoughtfully, as if reassessing something. "You must have faced significant challenges."
"You have no idea," I laugh softly, the wine and his unexpected interest loosening my tongue. "The first winter, the heating broke during a cold snap. I couldn't afford to fix it, and I had a showing scheduled for a young sculptor I'd promised to support."
"What did you do?"
"Borrowed space heaters from every friend I had," I remember, smiling at the memory. "Bought cheap red wine that we served hot with spices, claiming it was a special 'winter exhibition experience.' The guests loved it. They thought it was intentionally avant-garde."
"Resourceful," he comments, that smile softening his eyes. "And the sculptor?"
"Sold four pieces," I say proudly. "Enough to fix the heating and pay her commission. She's in New York now, quite successful."
Our first course arrives: a delicate carpaccio that melts on my tongue.
"You're not what I expected," I admit when we finish the appetizer.
"What did you expect?" he asks, his expression neutral again.
"Someone more..." I search for the right word. "Obvious, I suppose. Less subtle."
"Subtlety is undervalued," he says, refilling my wine glass. "Especially in our world."
"Our world," I repeat, the phrase a reminder of reality. "We may exist in the same city, Dante, but we don't share a world."
He considers this, head tilted slightly. "Don't we? Both of us navigating expectations imposed by our families. Both of us seeking to create something that's wholly our own."
"The difference," I point out, "is what we're creating. I'm building a space for beauty and expression. You're..." I trail off, unwilling to say the words aloud in this lovely restaurant.
"I'm what?" he presses, his voice dropping lower.
"You know what you are," I say quietly. "What you do."
The main course arrives before he can respond. The seafood risotto he recommended, fragrant with herbs and wine.
"This is incredible," I say after a few bites, genuinely impressed.
"I'm glad you approve." There's a distance in his tone now that wasn't there before.
I've touched a nerve, it seems.
Chapter 5 - Dante
"This is incredible," she says after tasting the risotto, genuine appreciation lighting her features.
