Page 26 of His Innocent Unwrapped In Iceland

‘Is that why you were able to explain Van Gogh’s painting so eloquently?’

Bracing herself, Isla finally looked up from her mug and met his gaze. He had that intent look on his face again, focused on her as if he’d never heard anything as fascinating as what she was telling him. It made something that had knotted tight and hard in her chest loosen slightly.

The most luminous thing in that gallery in that moment was you...

He’d told her that on their wedding night and she’d been so shocked by it. Because no one else had thought she was luminous when she talked about art. In fact, she never talked about it to anyone, because no one had ever been interested.

‘It’s one of my favourite paintings of his,’ she said, still feeling shy. ‘I love his use of colour.’

Orion’s gaze didn’t waver from hers. ‘Tell me more.’

Her cheeks felt hot. ‘You can’t be interested.’

‘Of course, I’m interested,’ he said. ‘I never say anything I don’t mean.’

‘It’s nothing you won’t already know.’

‘But I don’t,’ he said gently. ‘I know nothing about art or artists. The creative impulse baffles me, but I’d like to understand it. That’s why I asked you to tell me about it.’

How could she say no to telling this supremely confident man something he didn’t know? To help him understand something?

So she began to explain, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence, about Vincent Van Gogh’s life and his early work. His mental health battles and his lack of acknowledgement from the art world. And Orion asked her more questions, about who else she liked, and so she told him about Millais and Rossetti, and the other Pre-Raphaelite artists, as well as Michelangelo and Titian, and then about some Greek sculptures she’d seen at the British Museum.

Orion listened the whole time, his attention never wandering, asking her questions and prompting her for more explanations. He appeared to be completely fascinated.

‘And have you ever drawn anything?’ he asked, after they’d both finished eating and were relaxing with the remainder of the coffee.

She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think I have the talent.’ And it wasn’t that it hadn’t occurred to her, it was just that drawing and art hadn’t been appreciated by the foster families she’d been placed with. ‘And it’s not as if it’s a viable career anyway.’

‘How do you know if you haven’t tried?’ His mouth was curved in that half smile again, letting her know that it wasn’t a challenge, more a question. And she realised with a sudden start that she hadn’t felt unsettled or angry in his presence this time, not once. Only pleased to be talking with him about something she was passionate about.

‘I wasn’t adopted to be an artist.’ She smiled back because she couldn’t help herself. ‘David wanted a CEO.’

And he didn’t get one, did he?

The thought echoed uncomfortably in her head. Perhaps it was best if they changed the subject.

‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘that’s my gift to you. Some boring art facts. If you want more, you’ll have to wait for another day.’

Orion slowly sat back in his chair, giving her an enigmatic look. ‘I suppose I can’t argue with that. Though, for the record, I do want to know more and hearing you talk about it would definitely constitute a gift I would like to receive.’

The knot in her chest loosened further, something warm sitting there instead. She tried not to take any notice of it. ‘Noted,’ she said.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I liked my gift very much. Now it’s time for yours.’

She tensed. If his gift was a kiss, she didn’t know what she’d do. A gift couldn’t be refused and she’d agreed to that. And if he kissed her, she’d... Well, she’d lose herself again, she just knew it. And that couldn’t happen.

Orion smiled. ‘How do you feel about a tour of an active volcano?’

He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d given her his gift. He’d mentioned it as an activity he’d planned, but he hadn’t known how she would take it. A gift couldn’t be refused, yet if she’d really been afraid of the idea, he’d have thought of something else. Even her being afraid would have told him something about her.

But he suspected she wouldn’t be. And he was pleased to find out he was right.

They started with an aerial tour in a helicopter flown by a local pilot, along with a geologist who gave them a rundown of the particular volcanic field they were visiting.

Given how much she’d enjoyed the painting in the gallery, he’d wondered if she’d like the colours of the landscape, the violent glow of lava and the pristine white of the snow. The deep mineral blue of the volcanic lakes and the black rock that surrounded them.

Then, after she’d talked to him at breakfast, about Van Gogh and the other artists she liked, about their histories and their inspirations and their methods, heknewshe’d like the colours. And she did.

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