Maybe the cleaner had lost his mind and moved it. While he waited for Maurice to pick up, Vaughn walked swiftly around the gallery, keeping a desperate eye out for black threads attached to canvas. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialled his manager, Maurice. “Shit.” He looked around, but every other piece still rested safely on plinths or on the wall or in the wall, in some cases. It was visually arresting in a kind of nightmarish way, and it was also one of the main pieces of this exhibit.ĭespite all his deep breathing, it remained missing.
A delicate arrangement of threads sewn from a canvas onto clear plastic piping to resemble a dark, fragmented wormhole reaching towards the viewer, to be precise. Just to make sure he was awake and seeing this right.īecause a very obvious blank space sat on the wall in front of him instead of a showcase work of art. Around him, the silence of the gallery made ample space for him to take in a deep breath. Vaughn stood in front of the wall, the sinking feeling in his stomach rapidly turning into plunging freefall.
"An unlikely romance between two beautifully written characters will leave readers swooning." – Kirkus
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