False Impressions. Laura Caldwell

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Prologue

      Watching Madeline Saga from outside her gallery had become an obsession. Just like Madeline also had an obsession—art.

      Madeline was in her gallery all day. Then she would return at night, often wearing different clothes, more casual than her usual fare, her silky black hair pulled back loosely.

      There was always a breath held for a moment, when Madeline opened the building’s door and disappeared. It only lasted for a minute. Likely Madeline was simply talking with one of the doormen, who were there twenty-four hours. Then, through the gallery’s glass walls, Madeline could be seen switching on lights and walking her gallery. She would pause to stare at the paintings and sculptures as if studying them for the first time.

      She would disappear again—this time into the back room, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. The torture of waiting could be exquisite. When she finally left, there was always the flattening of mood, the sadness that crept in.

      But Madeline would be back. Madeline could be watched again. Soon.