A contemporary romance with a twist, Painted Soul is a story that takes the reader on a wonderful ride in an artist's life, through the streets of London, and into the shadows of the underground.
Elizabeth McAlister was only eighteen when she met the art student, Puzzola in a London nightclub and gave him her heart. Ten years later, they meet again when a summer of intense passion and dark secrets begins.
As Elizabeth falls deeper in love with Puzzola, she tries to rescue him from tortured memories he refuses to discuss. Eventually, his double life and erotic past are exposed in a local newspaper just as he is involved in a life-threatening accident.
Excerpt
Puzzola stood with a beer in his hand staring at the large canvas propped against the wall. The conflicting emotions inside him needed to be released. He looked at the prepared canvas like a gunfighter eyeing his opponent. His chest heaved as he swallowed the last of his beverage then slammed the bottle onto the concrete wall. The shattering of glass was barely heard above the blaring music. With a fierce grasp, he moved the large canvas into better light in the studio. Never taking his gaze from the barren space, he stripped down to his boxers to escape the heat and allow him the freedom of movement to cover the massive canvas.
Tipping his head back, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes in meditation. The world was spinning, except where he was standing, time was still. The image came to him. Opening his eyes, he grabbed a favorite paintbrush, which quickly became an extension of him, and twirled his paint cart to an accessible location.
A force escaping from his soul would create the painting. He began to paint with violence as thoughts and memories passed over his mind’s eye. He saw his paternal grandparents, in their golden years, so much in love working in their art and pottery studio. He touched the gold cross lying on his chest. He remembered his grandmother giving him the cross when she recognized his artistic ability, as he gave her his promise to use his God-given talent. He saw his father’s disapproving scowl. His father was openly resentful of the relationship between Puzzola and his parents. Puzzola’s mind envisioned the kiln explosion again as if it were real and felt the pain of watching his grandparents die in the blaze.
Puzzola stepped back momentarily to assess his work. His breath came rapidly as if he was running. Sweat covered his taunt, muscled body. Blood raced through his veins.
He vowed to keep the promise made to his grandmother, even as it enraged his father. He remembered his father accusing him of being a sleaze, filth, scum. He thought of his mother’s tears and his father’s attempts to strangle his artistic spirit, his soul slowly dying, while his heart was hardening. If Edwin Somerby couldn’t accept his son, who could?
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