“And I was speechless. Much better than my own feeble attempts. You’ve captured the essence of humanity. And it’s a very clever blend of classical and futuristic.”
She blushed.
“You call it
“It was all Paul’s idea.” She looped her arm through mine and took possession of me for the duration. “And he’s the model.”
“Now might be a good time to unveil it,” Siobhan interrupted. “Don’t you think?”
“By all means,” Johnson said. “It’s your show.”
Siobhan tapped her wineglass with a fork and called for everyone’s attention. Conversations continued in the corners of the atrium, but everyone around us grew quiet. Siobhan wasn’t quite the performer that Wren was, but she made a short speech and built up the suspense. Then she handed the floor to Christy, who smiled and stepped forward. I thought she’d be too nervous to speak, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Thank you for such a wonderful introduction, Siobhan. And thank you everyone for coming. Art has always been a personal thing for me, a part of who I am. So I’m always nervous to unveil one of my pieces. It’s like sending a part of my soul into the world for people to judge.”
Most of the artists in the crowd nodded, including Johnson.
“Physical art exists in the mundane world, but the real art is inside us.
You can’t take this statue with you, but you’ll carry it forever in your memory. I hope so, at least. And when you do, I’ll know that a part of
“Art is often a solo pursuit,” she continued, “but I couldn’t have created
this piece without the help of many people. So I’d like to thank Siobhan for being my friend, mentor, and constant source of support. I’d also like to thank Nikki and Todd, for countless hours of help during the process. And finally, I’d like to thank Paul. He’s the model and inspiration for the piece.
And yes,” she added as an aside, “he really
Everyone chuckled.
She smiled radiantly at me and then returned her eyes to the crowd. “So without further ado… Ladies and gentlemen,
She whipped the sheet off the sculpture and basked in the applause.
The rest of the party was a whirlwind of introductions, congratulations, and praise. Christy blossomed under all the attention. She chatted about styles and influences. She described her inspiration and gave me too much credit.
She talked about artists she admired and what she aspired to in the future.
Much to my amusement, she introduced me as “my friend” at first, followed by “my boyfriend” as the wine flowed. I accepted the growing intimacy in stride, but I almost choked on a canapé the first time she introduced me, toward the end of the party, as “my future husband.” I managed to smile and keep a straight face, but I was suddenly a lot more sober than I’d been a moment before. Pure adrenaline will do that.
The party finally wound down around midnight, and we said goodnight to the few people left who we knew.
“Oh my gosh,” Christy said as we went from the heat of the building to the cold November air. “I think that was the best night of my life.”
“You were amazing,” Wren said. “Beautiful, charming, brilliant.”
“So was Paul, wasn’t he?” Christy bounced up and down on my arm.
“You were awesome!”
“‘Future husband,’ huh?” Wren smirked. For the hundredth time.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Christy said to me. “It just seemed natural.”
“Natural,” Wren echoed with a significant look.
“And I can’t wait for you to meet my family.”
Read the next book in the series,
Hi, I’m Nick Scipio, the creator of the
I started writing sex stories when I was a teenager, before I was legally old enough to read them. I wrote regular stories too, ones I could share with teachers, family, and friends, but I never stopped thinking about sex and all the “what if…?” scenarios.
Fortunately, I led a fairly adventurous life through my teens and early twenties, so I have plenty of personal experience to draw from. Many of the things in my books actually happened to me, although plenty of them are pure fantasy, the product of my overactive imagination.
I stopped writing in my twenties and into my thirties, especially while I was working nonstop at a small software company. The small company grew into a medium-sized one, which was bought by an even larger company. By then I was managing development teams and directing entire projects.
I eventually reached a point where I was happy with my software career, and I found that I wanted to start writing again. It wasn’t really a conscious decision—it was just something I did. It was an easy transition, because I’ve always been a storyteller. These days I simply have a larger audience than my friends or a group of people at a party.
