Chapter 14 - THE GALLERY WITH HER MOTHER'S NAME
Two years after the gala, I opened my own gallery.
It wasn't enormous.
It wasn't glamorous.
It occupied a renovated brick building in Chelsea.
High ceilings.
Natural light.
A small restoration studio in the back.
And a sign above the entrance.
ISABELLA HOUSE — ART CONSERVATION & GALLERY
I named it after my mother.
Not because I wanted to erase the woman she'd become.
But because I wanted to honor every part of her.
Evelyn Brooks.
Isabella Costa.
Mother.
Artist.
Protector.
The opening night was crowded.
Artists.
Collectors.
Students.
Friends.
Naomi stood near the entrance, looking proud.
Luke examined every painting.
Gabriel arrived quietly.
He wore a dark suit.
No entourage.
No performance.
He approached me.
“Shantel.”
I smiled.
“Gabriel.”
He looked around.
“It's beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“Your mother would have loved it.”
My eyes filled.
“I hope so.”
Gabriel handed me a small box.
Inside was a silver pendant.
A tiny white lily.
I stared.
“Where did you get this?”
“It belonged to Isabella.”
My throat tightened.
He continued.
“She wore it when we were children.”
I looked at him.
“Thank you.”
For a moment, we stood quietly.
Then Gabriel said:
“I'm proud of you.”
I smiled.
“Thanks.”
He looked toward the gallery.
“You built this.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Later that evening, I met a man named Adrian Wells.
He was a museum curator.
Thoughtful.
Funny.
And genuinely interested in art.
He asked about the restoration process.
Not my family.
Not Gabriel.
Not the scandal.
Just the work.
We talked for nearly an hour.
At the end of the evening, he smiled.
“Would you like to get coffee sometime?”
I laughed softly.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
He grinned.
“I was hoping you'd notice.”
I thought about it.
Then said:
“Yes.”
Our first date was simple.
Coffee.
A walk through a museum.
Dinner at a small restaurant.
He listened.
Asked questions.
Never tried to decide what I should wear.
Never corrected me in public.
Never made me feel like my independence was a problem.
For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be wanted without being controlled.
Months later, Gabriel met Adrian.
I was nervous.
Gabriel noticed.
He smiled faintly.
“Relax.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That's rich coming from you.”
He laughed.
Adrian shook his hand.
“Mr. Costa.”
Gabriel studied him.
Then said:
“Call me Gabriel.”
I stared.
No threats.
No intimidation.
No dramatic warnings.
Just a handshake.
Later, I asked Gabriel:
“What happened to the terrifying mafia boss?”
He smiled.
“Retired.”
I laughed.
“Really?”
He looked at me.
“Mostly.”
I shook my head.
But I was smiling.
May you like
Because the man who had once thrown Spencer across a ballroom had finally learned that protecting someone didn't mean controlling them.
And I had learned that love should never require surrendering yourself.
