Chapter Thirty-Nine
Elizabeth
Dad’s mansion hasn’t gotten any more tasteful, and I don’t see any signs of packing. I want to ask his outrageously pretentious butler, Jarvis, about it, but I refrain. I’ve arrived with Ryder and Elliot, and can’t have them overhear.
The second Jarvis shuts the door to the study, Ryder takes an armchair. He starts texting, probably checking up on Paige. I don’t think they started out loving each other, but now…you can’t help but know they’re both deeply committed.
Elliot and I share a couch. As my half-brother, he doesn’t have the famous profile that the Pryce family has, but he’s still a handsome guy. His mother’s a beautiful woman, even though Mom would kill me if she knew I thought that.
Elliot immediately starts drinking Dad’s best scotch, which he says is a must when dealing with our father, and we gossip. He isn’t sure about his young sister-in-law’s boyfriend. “Way too slick for his age, I tell you. Who buys a girl a piccolo pendant? Weird, right?”
I smother a laugh. “No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’? Of course it’s weird!”
I force my expression into some semblance of somber caring. “If it worries you that much, check him out. Don’t you have a guy for that sort of thing?”
“I do, but Nonny acts like I’m suggesting we make child porn every time I bring it up.” He scrunches his face.
“You don’t need her permission. She’s still a minor. And you have the right to know the boy’s not crazy or something, right?” He’s probably okay, but…
“I do, don’t I?”
“Yup. But you have to back off if you learn he’s as devoted to her as you are to your wife—”
His laugh cuts me off. “No way! What Belle and I have is like so solid and perfect, nothing can shake our love for each other.”
“Really?” I arch an eyebrow. “You’d feel the same way even if you caught her in another man’s arms?”
He scowls. “Never happen.”
“Just hypothetically,” I say, being perverse, which isn’t like me.
“I’d give her a chance to tell me what happened…after I broke the guy’s arms.” Elliot grows thoughtful. “There’d have to be a good explanation…like the fucker drugged her or something.”
I look to see if he’s just messing around, but he’s serious.
Even as I’m happy for him, I ache for myself. Elliot found a woman he can trust even after finding her in a compromising position. Dominic and I, on the other hand, still can’t let go of our stuff. He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t want to tell him anything until I know I won’t be wasting my breath.
It’s so hopeless…and so crazy that there’s a teeny part of me that still wants to try…bang my head against that wall one more time, because it just doesn’t hurt enough already.
“You okay?” Elliot asks, peering at me.
“What? Sure. I’m just nervous is all.”
He leans closer. But then the door opens, and Blake and Lucas walk in. Blake is the oldest, and has the Pryce looks—the dark hair, classic profile and even features. He’s extremely handsome, but his appearance doesn’t really stand out because of Ryder. Lucas is Elliot’s twin, identical in every way except for his hair style—it’s longer than Elliot’s—and the scar on the left side of his face.
“Finally, you’re here. Thought you’d never come,” Elliot says.
“Of course we’re here. I’m not letting you guys down,” Lucas says.
Lucas is usually grim, but now there’s lightness to him that I haven’t seen since his accident. His new wife must be the reason. It’s taken a lot of effort and compromise for them to work things out, and I’m glad they have. They both deserve to be happy.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask Blake, whose complexion is still a little sallow.
“Yes. Much.”
“Good.” I don’t really buy it. He’s had way too much to drink—more even than our infamous metabolism can handle—if he looks like that.
Just that moment, the door opens again and Dad walks in, sans Number Six. I let out a sigh of relief. The last thing I want is her simpering face and faux-motherly gaze directed in my way.
Dad’s movements are brisk, belying his age. The lights glint on his golden hair, and he halts at his desk and spins around crisply.
“You think you’ve won?” he says in a deathly quiet voice.
I meet his gaze levelly. Yes, yes, I do.
“What did we win?” Ryder asks.
“The portraits.”
Ryder, Elliot and Lucas gape at our father, while Blake’s gaze slides to me, questioning. I give him a helplessly confused look and a shrug.
“Are you trying to weasel your way out of the deal?” Elliot demands.
“No,” Dad grinds out. “I’m giving you your damned portraits early. But mark my words. Blackmail only works once. Try it again, and I’ll burn every piece of your grandfather’s art just to make my point.”
I frown at his threat. Still petty.
But he’s right. I won’t hold the information over his head a second time. Continued blackmail doesn’t work as well, and only enflames enmity.
“Jarvis will show you where the portraits are. You’ll take them before leaving this house in the next hour, or I’m tossing them all into the fireplace,” he snarls.
“Fine,” Blake says.
“You may now thank me,” Dad says between clenched teeth.
“Why the hell would we do that? You’re only doing this because you have no choice, not because you actually want to be nice.” Blake shrugs. “I hope you understand I want to check my portrait before leaving, to make sure.”
Dad turns crimson. “You son of a bitch.”
“Guess that makes you a bitch.” Blake smiles thinly. “Dad.”
Dad’s hands clench, knuckles white. His entire being seems to vibrate with anger.
Jarvis walks in before the situation escalates further. “If everyone is ready to view the portraits…”
“Let’s go,” I say, jumping to my feet and leaving first.
Blake follows quickly, keeping up with my fast strides.
“Was it you?” he whispers as we walk down the long, carpeted corridor.
“Was what me?” I ask, playing dumb. Did Dad send my brothers another email letting them know I had something to do with the situation?
“The blackmail.”
I give him a sidelong look and laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Blake. I would never. It’s not my style, you know that. My method would be to make him donate so much money to my causes that he has nothing left to lavish on himself.”
“But—”
“Look, we’re about to get what we want. Let’s not quibble over how we’re getting it.”
“Sure. Still, it’s convenient how you didn’t have to marry.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Did you want me to?” It isn’t like him to be spiteful.
“Hell no. You’re better off feeding orphans than chasing after some guy.”
If only he knew. “Agreed.”
Jarvis opens the double doors at the end of the hall. It’s dark inside, and he flips switches. Light floods the room. There are numerous framed canvases on the walls, but five are covered with curtains.
“It’s a temperature- and humidity-controlled environment,” Jarvis announces grandly. “I suggested to the new Mrs. Reed that she should install such features for storing your grandfather’s works. Fortunately, she agreed.”
Ryder nods. “Nicely done, Jarvis.”
Jarvis looks like he’s about to burst. He has a man-crush on my actor brother, and secretly hopes—futilely, I’m sure—that he can use his connection to Ryder to become a Hollywood star himself. “My pleasure, sir. It is my job as butler to advise, ensure everything is properly taken care of.”
“I want to see them,” Blake says.
So do I. Grandfather painted each one as we turned eighteen, highlighting our potential and all that we were at that time. I haven’t seen mine since.
“Certainly.” Jarvis starts to push the curtains out of the way, one portrait at a time.
The first one he unveils is Elliot. His dark gaze is bright with intelligence, and a mischievous smile that says he has a secret. But a touch of warmth to his demeanor makes him look sweet and fun.
“Damn,” Elliot whispers.
Next is Ryder. He’s radiant, every feature so perfect if I didn’t know any better, I would think Grandpa did it on purpose to make Ryder look even better than he truly is. One of Ryder’s hands is open. On it are small dates and hard candies—his favorite treats when we were growing up. His delightful smile and proffering hand make it obvious he wants to share his treasures. But then that’s him—always generous, with a heart of gold.
The third is Lucas. There is no hardness or artifice to him, just pure sweetness. His entire demeanor is one of candid vulnerability, from the wide eyes to slightly shy smile. But he doesn’t appear weak or someone you can take advantage of. He’s the type of guy you want to stand with because you know he’s honest and sincere, and the world needs more of both.
The fourth one is mine. My mouth dries, my heart hammering. Grandpa made my smile soft and sweet like spun sugar, my cheeks lightly flushed.
But my eyes… They hold a hint of sadness. How… How could he have noticed? Grandma Shirley taught me how to control my emotions. I was so careful.
Perhaps that’s why he was such a brilliant painter. He saw beneath the surface. If only Dominic could see that way…
My vision blurs, and I blink away the tears, smiling automatically.
“The last of the series,” Jarvis announces.
I look at Blake’s portrait. He’s younger, his lines softer. At first glance, it looks like he’s a hard-core jerk—unsmiling lips, jaw tightly set. But his eyes glimmer with empathy and a firm sense of responsibility.
What would Grandpa have seen if he’d met Dominic?
I’ll never know. We had the chance, but it didn’t work out.
I run a reverent hand along the thick, ornate frame around my portrait, then place a light kiss on it and take another look at the canvas.
After a long moment, I tell Jarvis, “Pack my painting.”
I’m hiding a kernel of sadness behind that smile, but I tell myself it’s okay. I’ve given up my dream, but I’m doing worthwhile projects, helping people, making a difference. It’s enough.
I just need some time away from prying eyes to mourn and pull myself together. And I know the perfect place.