Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(21)

“Okay, okay. I’ll take you to my favorite galleries, I promise. Please just don't tell him anything about tonight.”

“You better have an excellent itinerary and surprise me. I’ve never really enjoyed art.”





I wake up at ten a.m. to answer his phone call. I didn’t know my “punishment” would start so soon. He says he’ll come to pick me up at three p.m. Argh. I bet he’s doing it on purpose so I’ll feel sleepy the whole afternoon.

I just have a couple of hours to figure out where to take him. But after quick consideration, I decide our first stop will be the Martos Gallery. There’s a new exhibit I haven’t seen yet featuring some of my favorite artists, like Alex Chaves and Mel Bochner. I’m not sure if Mr. Van Dieren will find it interesting, but I, on the other hand, am sure to enjoy it.

Alone in my bedroom, I’ve spent the last hour trying to figure out what to wear. It has to be something not too girly yet not too androgynous; not too revealing and yet not too boring; sophisticated and smart, yet not too corporate; a touch of daring but not slutty… “I give up.” I sigh, looking down at my pathetic figure in the mirror. There is nothing in this room fit for the occasion. I should just cancel.

A text notification pops up. It’s Emma. I’m so sorry for yesterday, babygirl! Are you ok? Does your dad know? Are you still alive? Can we meet this afternoon to talk?

For some reason, I don’t feel it’s appropriate to share my plans with her. I can already picture Emma giggling and teasing about my encounter. It’s just to fulfill our agreement anyway, but I prefer to remain silent on the matter.

Hi, Emma. I’m ok but can’t meet. I’m going to visit a new exhibit in downtown, wanna join? I text back.

Lol. Art again? No, thanks, babygirl. Enjoy for me! Talk later, then. I knew Emma would’ve never accepted. She’s like Dad—they never got the point of art.

Another text: Downstairs. Ready?

God, it’s 2:59! Why so punctual? Alright, enough of this bullshit. A white shirt, jeans, a pair of sneakers, and we are good.

I try to keep my composure, but despite my many attempts, my heart beats faster than usual. I take a light-pink cardigan just in case the galleries are chilly inside.

I arrive downstairs, leave the building, and find Mr. Van Dieren leaning against the car. It’s the first time I see him dressed casually: a pair of jeans, a slim-fit Henley shirt, and a black leather jacket. He’s on the phone but abruptly hangs up upon seeing me.

“Hi.” He smiles at me, running a hand through his wild hair. “Ready, Ms. Van Gatt?”

Gosh. His blue eyes are even more insane in daylight. “Hi. Ready,” I timidly reply, walking toward him. Should I greet him with a cheek kiss? A handshake maybe? A friendly hug? I’m too shy to do anything. He opens the rear door and invites me to get in.





“So you like this artist?” he asks while slowly pacing around the gallery and observing every piece of artwork I present to him.

I just hope I’ve described them with such passion and conviction that he’s now wondering if I ate art books for breakfast.

“Mel Bochner? Oh, yeah. His work is excellent. I’ve been following his growth since I was ten. I asked Dad to buy me one of his paintings at the time, but he never saw the point. Seven years ago, one of his paintings was, like, three thousand dollars. Now, the same painting would be worth fifty thousand, if not more. Imagine if he becomes like Jeff Koons.”

“Jeff Koons?” He seems embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Petra. I know nothing about contemporary art.”

“You don’t even know Jeff Koons? His art is the most expensive of any living American artist. One piece signed by him is easily worth between ten and sixty million dollars. Imagine if you had bought some when he was starting out.”

“I see… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I reply.

“Why economics? You love art so much. You are so passionate about it. Why not a degree in this field?”

I don’t like his question, but I’ve thought this through. “I’ll inherit Dad’s part of the company one day, so economics makes more sense. After all, I’ve got to understand the ins and outs of his business.” I smile at him, quite proud of my perfect answer.

“That’s a good reason, Ms. Van Gatt. But what is the real one?”

I can’t help but feel a squeeze in my chest. Alex always knew how to read me, how to remove my mask… which was cute when I was seven, but not now. “Dad thinks it’s the most appropriate degree. He assured me I’ll like it.” I look up at him and add confidently, “I’ll give it a try and see.”

“Well, my proposal still stands. If you want to have your own gallery to show your paintings or those of your favorite artists, I’ll help you out.”

I find it suspicious. Is your offer some sort of apology for the ten years you’ve been absent, Mr. Van Dieren?

But I keep it polite. “Thanks, but Dad doesn’t like art. He thinks it’s a waste of time.”

“Your dad is a bit close-minded sometimes. It could be a very profitable business in my view—you can invest in emerging artists, buy their artwork when they are not yet renowned, and once they become famous, their value will go through the roof, just like stock and shares. Then, you can sell your collection in auctions and to other dealers. If you present it as a business model, Roy might like it more.”