Chapter 17 : The Hidden Art

Leonardo's mention of the secret behind his painting, "The Crying Lady," left Angela eager to know more. She waited with anticipation, hoping he would share further details. The topic intrigued her, even capturing the interest of Fredrick, who was also curious about the painting's secret.
However, instead of providing additional information, Leonardo simply muttered, "Let's go home," leaving Angela intrigued as they made their way back. His desire to head straight to his studio at the back of the house indicated to Angela that he might want to discuss the painting there.
Angela's curiosity burned within her, aching to unravel the mystery surrounding the artwork. She parked the car a few meters away from Leonardo's studio and announced, "We've arrived."
"Is the gardener around?" Leonardo inquired.
"I didn't see him," Angela replied.
"Good. Look for the key in my studio, on the left side of the door, under a flower pot of roses where the spare key is hidden," Leonardo instructed.
Angela stepped out of the car and followed his directions, her gaze scanning the row of flower pots that adorned the floor. Among them, the fifth pot held roses, and beneath it lay the hidden key. Retrieving it, she approached the door and unlocked it.
"The door is open now, sir," Angela called out, but Leonardo had already stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut.
Observing Leonardo's casual movements, Angela felt a wave of relief, glad to see him attempting to appear normal. She hurried to his side. "Shall I assist you to the door?"
"I believe you should," Leonardo whispered. "Remember, I am blind."
"I apologize," Angela said sincerely as she gently guided Leonardo towards the entrance of the room.
"Stop," Leonardo suddenly commanded. He stood motionless beneath the door beam, taking a moment to listen and familiarize himself with his surroundings
Angela stood beside Leonardo, her tension matching his. She awaited his instructions, ready to assist him in any way she could.
"Where is my maroon-covered sofa bed?" Leonardo inquired.
"It's approximately four steps to your left from where we are standing," Angela explained. "Shall I..."
"Stay there and let me handle a few simple tasks," Leonardo interrupted. "You've always reminded me that I still have functioning hands and feet. Allow me to utilize them." With that, he began walking to his left, carefully counting his steps as he made his way toward the sofa bed.
Reluctantly, Angela complied with Leonardo's request, her mind still puzzled by his sudden change in demeanour. She watched him settle onto the sofa and take a deep breath, sensing that something significant had shifted within him. A mix of relief and caution washed over her.
“Are you still there?” Leonardo asked.
"Yes, Sir, I'm still standing at the door," Angela replied obediently, using his preferred name.
"There's something else I'd like you to do," Leonardo continued.
"What is it?" Angela inquired, her curiosity growing.
"I want you to stop addressing me as 'sir' and instead call me Leo," he commanded.
Angela hesitated, feeling conflicted about the idea. "But... it's not appropriate to address a boss by their first name."
"I don't care about the rules you're following," Leonardo insisted, his voice filled with frustration. "Right now, I need to hear my name. Call me Leo."
"Okay, if that's what you want, Leo," Angela replied awkwardly, uneasy with the sudden change.
"That's great. Shall we begin now?" Leonardo looked at Angela as if he could see her and proceeded to give her instructions. "Look up, count six ceiling boards from the wall above the window, and open the seventh."
Angela carefully followed Leonardo's instructions, finding a stool she could step on to reach the ceiling. With anticipation filling her eyes, she pushed off the seventh board from the wall, revealing a concealed treasure—a dusty cloth draped over a hidden masterpiece. "I saw something," she whispered in awe.
A hush fell upon the room as Leonardo sat up straight on the sofa bed, his voice carrying urgency and trust. "That's the secret I want you to know, Angela. The missing painting they've been searching for—The Crying Lady," he revealed. "And I don't want them laying a finger on that painting."
Curiosity surged within Angela, prompting her to question why he had chosen to confide in her. But before she could voice her inquiry, Leonardo spoke with sincerity. "Guard our secret, Angela," he implored, his voice filled with determination and vulnerability. "Together, we can ensure that the painting remains protected, away from the grasp of those like Fredrick and Lara."
A soft blush tinged Angela's cheeks as she realized her oversight. "Okay, Leonardo," she replied, her voice filled with newfound tenderness. "Let's return to the house."
But Leonardo's firm voice held a magnetic pull, and he gently shook his head. "No, Angela. We haven't completed what we came here for," he declared. "Get all my tools prepared." He instructed her to position the easel in the centre of the studio and arranged the vibrant paint tubes at its sides, poised for their creative endeavour.
"All of your tools are prepared. What should I do now?" Angela informed him, ready to assist him further.
"Please guide me to sit in front of the canvas," Leonardo requested, reaching for Angela's hand. She took his hand and guided him to the chair facing the canvas. Leonardo settled comfortably on his stool.
"Are you planning to paint?" Angela asked curiosity evident in her voice.
"Can't I?" Leonardo responded, finding a comfortable position on the stool. "We're going to paint."
"What?" Angela was taken aback. The idea of painting was far from her expectations, especially considering her perceived lack of artistic talent. However, she understood Leonardo's determination and agreed to participate, taking a seat next to him.
"Sit close to me so I can feel your arm against mine," Leonardo instructed softly.
Angela moved closer without hesitation. "What now?"
"Say, 'What now, Leonardo?'" Leonardo hushed.
"What now, Leonardo?" Angela repeated, complying with his request.
"Are you right-handed or left-handed?" Leonardo asked his tone serious.
"Left-handed," Angela replied, feeling a bit puzzled.
"Hold my right hand with your left hand," Leonardo whispered.
Angela followed his instructions, gently placing her left hand on top of Leonardo's right hand. He clasped her hand firmly, his touch sending a delicate shiver down her spine.
In a soft, melodic tone, Leonardo whispered, "Let the paint colors flow from your touch onto the canvas. Guide my hand, and let us begin our journey of hand painting together."
Angela's heart fluttered with anticipation as their hands intertwined, their fingers finding a natural rhythm. As they moved as one, painting stroke by stroke, an extraordinary sensation blossomed within her. It was as if an invisible current pulsed through her, awakening a newfound passion deep within her core.
With each stroke, Leonardo pressed her hand into the cool, wet paint, igniting a tingling sensation that reverberated through Angela's stomach. It was a sensory symphony, where their connection transcended the boundaries of art, unveiling a mesmerizing and unfamiliar emotion that danced within her soul. Leonardo's touch, gentle yet commanding, breathed life into dormant feelings, flooding Angela's being with warmth and tenderness.
In that moment, their collaboration evolved into a love sonata, a masterpiece of shared expression. The air around them shimmered with an ethereal embrace, as the dance of their hands on the canvas mirrored the dance of their hearts. Time seemed to stand still, granting them the gift of revelling in the enchantment of their creation while their souls entwined in profound and exquisite harmony.
Leonardo's voice, a velvety whisper, wove its way through the air, carrying a gentle tenderness that embraced their surroundings. His words, like a melodic caress, enveloped them in an intimate symphony. "Your touch is so gentle, your hands so soft," he murmured, his voice lingering like a lingering song. "Let us create a symphony of the mind, where our hands become the instruments that dance upon the canvas."
With a vulnerable admission, he added, "I sensed the melody of 'Endless Love' beginning, and I believe you heard it too." And then, he softly began to sing, the words floating on a breath of shared emotion, "My love, there's only you in my life."
As Leonardo's invitation lingered in the air, Angela felt a radiant bloom unfurl within her, surrendering herself to the depths of Leonardo's imagination. Together, their hands glided across the canvas, leaving trails of vibrant hues in their wake, forming an abstract tapestry of love. It was a dance of ardour and intimacy, each stroke imbued with the very essence of their connection.
Angela, immersing herself in this newfound realm of expressing love, felt her spirit stirred by the touch of Leonardo's hand, guiding hers with grace upon the canvas. The fusion of melody and art conjured sensations she had never before experienced, and she embraced them wholeheartedly, allowing them to become a part of her being.
"What do you perceive in our painting?" he inquired, his words laced with a yearning to explore the depths of her perception.
Lost in a mesmerizing trance, Angela responded in a near-silent tone, her voice carried away on the currents of their shared enchantment. "It's... beautiful," she murmured, her words hanging in the air like delicate whispers, drifting into the realm of their artistry.
"What makes it beautiful?" Leonardo gently probed, seeking to unravel the intricacies of her thoughts.
In a hushed breath, Angela replied, her voice a fragile caress of sound, "The painting... it embodies life, with its kaleidoscope of shades branching out in myriad directions."
As they continued to create, the music of their souls swirled, pulling Angela deeper into the fantastical realm woven by the man she had once despised. Their separate lives collided, merging into a tapestry of shared experiences and unspoken yearning. With Leonardo's touch, he pressed Angela's palms against the canvas, his hand gently enwrapping hers. In that moment, they both felt weightless, as if suspended on ethereal clouds, their bodies’ vessels for the music and art they were co-creating. Their souls danced together, entwined in a symphony of emotions.
However, an abrupt knock on the door shattered their idyllic reverie, causing their fantastical world to crumble like delicate porcelain. A high-pitched voice followed, filled with urgency and a familiar tone.
"Angela, open the door!" Lara's voice pierced through the serene atmosphere, carrying a sense of urgency and disruption that shattered the fragile harmony they had carefully crafted.