Page 22 of She’s Worth the Risk

“Ready?” she asks, reaching for her purse.

“Ready,” I echo, smiling. I can’t remember the last time Gran and I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and as we ride in the town car, there’s a fizzle of excitement in my chest. Even after only a few evenings of posing for June’s class, I have a new appreciation for the way artists capture the human form.

Thinking about the class beside Gran, I know I need to come clean. She signed me up in the hopes I’d fill a sketchbook and find my inner artist, but that’s not who I am. I can’t keep lying to her. I won’t.

“Gran, I have something to tell you,” I begin, stomach rippling nervously. “About life-drawing class.”

“Mm?” she replies, gazing wistfully out the window.

“I haven’t been drawing.”

Gran’s gaze comes back to me, shimmering with amusement. “You haven’t?”

“No. I’ve been… I’ve been modeling.”

She nods. “I know.”

“You know?”

“Of course, darling. June and I are old friends.”

I exhale slowly. “So, you’re not mad?”

She laughs. “Why on earth would I be mad?”

“I thought…” I huff a laugh myself. “I thought you wanted me to draw.”

Gran turns to me, taking my hands into the bony velvet of her own. “I want you to be happy, my dear girl. That’s all I want.”

I gaze into my grandmother’s deep-brown eyes, warmth rushing through me. Every summer spent with her—every time she made me feel like I belonged in New York, even when I knew it couldn’t last—rises in my memory at once, as if I’m living them all in this moment. They surround me like a warm hug, secure and safe, until the driver shatters the moment by announcing our arrival.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Gran says, checking her fuchsia lipstick in her compact before we step from the cool air conditioning of the car into the hot summer air.

I pause outside the massive stone museum, taking in the ornate Corinthian pillars and huge arched entryways. Gran used to love explaining the style of architecture to me, so I learned to appreciate the building itself almost as much as the art inside.

She smiles as we enter the marble foyer, showing her volunteer staff ID badge at the front desk. The staff greet her like an old friend.

“It’s been far too long, Sylvia!” a middle-aged man says, rounding the desk to squeeze her. “How are you?”

I watch her as they exchange pleasantries, pondering his words. Too long? I thought Gran volunteered here all the time? The thought plays through my mind as we cross the foyer, but before I can say anything, Gran motions to a huge poster suspended on the wall.

“Oh, look,” she says brightly. “The Titian exhibit will be here soon.”

I lean forward, interest piqued as I imagine Nick coming to that, spending hours analyzing the brush strokes up close, poring over the composition, the technique. I’m a little alarmed to realize part of me wishes I could be there.

Gran’s eyes twinkle as we enter the first hall, Greek and Roman Art. “Dr. Sweetman will be pleased.”

I freeze. I’d forgotten Gran knew Nick, or at least knew of him. What was it she said? Dr. Sweetman is a leading expert in the field.

“How do you know Professor Sweetman, Gran?”

“Oh, he’s given many guest lectures here over the years,” she says, pausing to examine a Greek vase in a glass display case. “We’ve crossed paths a few times when I’ve volunteered.” She turns to me, gaze lit with interest. “How are you finding his classes?”

“We’ve only had one,” I point out, strolling to a marble statue of the Three Graces. “But it was inspiring. He talked a lot about the Scrovegni Chapel.”

Gran smiles warmly. “We both know how magnificent that chapel is. Did you tell him you’d seen it?”

I shake my head, deciding not to mention the way Nick shut me down when I attempted to talk to him about it after class. Even if he didn’t apologize for being rude, I want to forgive him. The more I think about it, the more it feels like he didn’t mean to be so blunt; it was a reflex. Protective, almost. Nick’s had his guard up since day one, so it’s hardly surprising he pushed me away, especially given his shock at seeing me on campus. I probably shouldn’t have approached him so casually, especially since he’s like a deer you don’t want to spook.