Chapter 6 - Clara Evans Makes Her Choice
Three months later, Clara stood inside her mother’s old studio in SoHo.
Dust sheets were gone.
The windows had been cleaned.
Paintings lined the walls.
A small brass sign beside the door read:
EVANS GALLERY
Not Viti.
Not Moretti.
Evans.
Her choice.
Enzo walked in carrying coffee.
“You’re supposed to knock.”
“The door was open.”
“That’s not permission.”
He stepped back outside.
Knock. Knock.
Clara laughed.
“Come in.”
He returned.
“Better?”
“Marginally.”
He handed her coffee.
“You open Friday.”
“I know.”
“Nervous?”
“Terrified.”
“Good.”
“How is that good?”
“Means you care.”
Clara looked around.
She had returned to school part-time.
The gallery would feature young artists who couldn’t afford traditional representation.
Her father had offered money.
She refused.
Then he surprised her by accepting the answer.
Enzo had offered money too.
She refused him even faster.
Instead, he had introduced her to a legitimate commercial landlord and then stayed out of the negotiation.
Mostly.
“You checked the lease,” Clara said.
Enzo looked innocent.
“No.”
“You absolutely checked it.”
“I asked someone to confirm there were no unusual clauses.”
“That is checking it.”
“I’m learning boundaries.”
“Slowly.”
“Very slowly.”
She smiled.
Their relationship had been equally slow.
Coffee.
Dinner.
Arguments.
More coffee.
No grand declarations.
No expensive gifts she hadn’t asked for.
Enzo was still Vincenzo Moretti.
Powerful.
Complicated.
Feared.
But around Clara, he had learned that authority did not equal entitlement.
The door opened.
Alessandro entered carrying flowers.
Clara looked at the bouquet.
“Did you buy those yourself?”
“I walked into a store.”
“Without sending someone?”
“Yes.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Very funny.”
He noticed Enzo.
His mood changed.
“Moretti.”
“Viti.”
Clara pointed between them.
“We discussed this.”
Enzo sighed.
“Alessandro.”
Her father looked physically pained.
“Vincenzo.”
“See?” Clara said. “Civilization.”
Alessandro handed her the flowers.
“Your mother would have loved this place.”
Clara’s smile faded into something softer.
“You think?”
“I know.”
He looked at the walls.
“She wanted you to have a life outside ours.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wasn’t ready to hear her.”
Clara took his hand.
“You are now.”
“Yes.”
Enzo quietly moved toward the door.
Clara noticed.
“Where are you going?”
“Giving you two a minute.”
She watched him.
“Enzo.”
He turned.
“Dinner tonight?”
His expression changed.
“You’re asking me?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“I’ll be here at seven.”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Seven-fifteen.”
“Seven-thirty.”
He smiled.
“Seven-thirty.”
After he left, Alessandro looked at his daughter.
“You love him?”
Clara nearly choked on her coffee.
“Dad.”
“I asked a question.”
“We’re figuring things out.”
“That means yes.”
“It means stop asking.”
Alessandro nodded.
Then, after a moment:
“Does he treat you well?”
Clara looked toward the door.
“He listens when I say no.”
Alessandro became quiet.
Perhaps because both men had once needed to learn that lesson.
Finally he said, “Then I’ll keep trying to do the same.”
Clara squeezed his hand.
May you like
“That’s all I ever wanted.”
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