1 Nicola

It was garish. Neon green and yellow paint smeared haphazardly across a beige canvas edged with fiery orange beneath a harsh white spotlight aimed downward against the piece. Gallery-goers clothed in a fashionable black clustered around the bright painting, hemming, and hawing about the possible meaning of the piece. Gallery planners widely hung canvases against crisp white walls above white marble tile. The ceiling above was open and vast, cast into shadows by exposed pipes and hanging lights. It was all industrial aesthetic that was favored by the hipster art scene in Silverhill. Ashton had explained as the gallery owner he wanted to present his artists work in a way that emphasized the artwork by not providing a distraction in the environment.

Daniel wanted something more to detract by the sheer thoughtlessness of the painting. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he stood at the back, dispassionately sipping cheap red wine from a flimsy clear plastic cup. He had only moderately dressed up for the show in a clean green button-down tucked into black denim slacks and black leather shoes. His dark brown hair was cropped short but still long enough for him to have attempted to smooth back his bangs with gel.

He squinted at the painting, tilting his head from one side to another, trying to interpret the abstract art as the rest of the group shuffled on. Discordant notes from a jazz saxophone made him wince. His discomfort amplified from the harsh colors of the piece. He sought a reprieve for his eyes by settling on the clean white caption card on the bottom of the frame. "Good night, Andrew. Acrylic on Canvas. Nicola Petrora," Daniel read aloud. "I don't get it," he admitted.

"It's not about what you see as much as how it makes you feel," a husky, feminine voice cooed from behind him.

Daniel's mouth curled into a smug sneer, not bothering to look at the woman. "Typical abstraction nonsense. The Artist could not be bothered to actually paint something and just threw paint at a canvas before calling it a day. It's amazing how little true talent means these days," he chided.

"If it inspires jealousy, then perhaps, it speaks more of your insecurities as an artist than the actual talent of the painter you speak of." The remark was whip-fast and bit just as profoundly.

Daniel grimaced as he spun to argue with the woman. His ears were hot as his face flushed with indignation. His anger died on his lips as he saw a twisted mass of tight, marred flesh on what might have once been a pretty face. The woman's confidence shown in the way her elaborate updo did not conceal the horrific scars. He shifted uncomfortably beneath the woman's steady, amused gaze before he averted his eyes.

The woman smiled as she rocked on her heels and folded her arms in front of her. He noticed that the tangled scars continued down the left side of her body, but she did not attempt to hide them. A sleeveless white mini dress fell to the middle of her thigh, exposing her arms and legs.

"Danny! There you are!" Ashton's voice called out as he hurried to Daniel and the woman. As the gallery owner, Ashton was well dressed for the occasion wearing a nice crisp black suit with a deep red silk shirt unbuttoned at the top with his dark red hair tied back into a low ponytail. His green eyes were bright as he smiled, coming to a stop beside Danny. "Niki! Just the woman I was hoping to see," he lifted the woman's scarred left hand to his lips and kissed it.

Daniel tried to hide his revulsion. "Niki?" He said finally.

Ashton raised a manicured eyebrow. "Danny, I can't believe you don't know her! This is Nicola, and all of this is her work," he gasped as he gestured to the gallery. "She's simply brilliant! Her conceptualization of the human condition in abstracted color is remarkable."

Remarkable was not the term that came to mind when Daniel looked at all of the artwork handing in the gallery nor did her understand the connection between the colored splatter and the names of people each piece was titled as. He forced a polite smile. "Remarkable," he parroted in a dry tone.

Nicola charmingly smiled as she offered her left hand to the man. Daniel watched the twisted left corner of her mouth stretch and warp and shivered despite himself. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Danny. Ash has told me so much about you!" Her voice was elegant and friendly despite the sharpness of her earlier commentary.

His eyes awkwardly darted to Ashton for a moment before he forced a polite smile and accepted her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. The rough, calloused skin felt strange against the softness of his palm. He reluctantly kissed the unscarred knuckles before rereleasing her hand. "My apologies; I didn't mean to offend you."

"How could you possibly offend me?" Her undamaged green eye peered from beneath a veil of raven black curls as her laughter echoed through the hall. Her contempt for him made him feel minuscule before her. What did she mean by that? That her skin was that thick or that his opinion was beneath her care?

Looking up at Nicola, Danny wondered if she hated him now. He had made an ass of himself. She redirected her attention to Ashton and let him bask in her presence. He had never seen his best friend fawn like this over a woman.

Excerpt from Daniel Lovegrove's Testimony:

Her body fascinated me. I wanted to run my fingers over her scars and read her history. I longed to be closer to her. I imagined the feel of her scar ridges under my calloused hands. If my fingers followed the valleys along her thigh, could I explore deeper still? Would she toss that haughty head back and yield her secrets? What had laid ruin to such perfection?

Even now, it is difficult to not...

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