Page 53 of Dare To Live

“It’s not like we grew up together. I’ve never viewed her like a sister.”

“I should hope not.” She turns to face me. “Which reminds me, what happened between the two of you over Christmas?”

I keep my expression clear. “Nothing, why?”

“She’s in New York visiting but refused to come tonight. I didn’t see her over Christmas or New Year, so she promised to come with me to a charity event tomorrow evening.”

My heart lurches.

Arabella is in New York?

“She wanted closure, so we … hashed out a few things while we were snowed in. I’m sure she’s happily getting on with her life again, now.”

Elena frowns but doesn’t say anything further because the car pulls up outside the gallery to let us out.

***

The best part about being an almost-anonymous artist is I can wander around shows where my work is displayed and be ignored. I left Elena with a group of her friends an hour ago and have been hiding out in the private gallery—just me and a glass of bourbon, sitting on a bench in front of a sculpture of Ari. I finished this one two days after throwing her out of my cabin.

It’s based on one of the first times we’d played. She’s sitting on a bench, holding her bra against her chest, blindfold in place. Her head is tilted as she listens for someone coming close, and a half-smile teases her lips.

“You use that girl a lot.” A deep voice breaks the silence and I glance behind me to find a tall, tattooed male with dark hair and gray eyes standing at my left. A lavender haired beauty is beside him.

“Gabe.” I set down my glass and stand, holding out my hand.

The tattooed lead singer of Forgotten Legacy takes it, grinning, and shakes. “This is Harper, my fiancée.”

“A pleasure.”

She smiles at me. “Gabe just bought me one of your wolf pieces from the other room.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank her, I only bought it so I could guilt you into doing something for me.”

I laugh and return my attention to the rock star. “And what’s that?”

“We have a charity auction tomorrow night.”

“For your foundation?”

“That’s right. I wanted to ask if you’ll donate something. Your art is always hunted down for big money. I want some of it. The money, that is. Not your art. I have enough of that.”

“Oh? For what?”

“We need to fund buying some more land, building another home, and furnishing it. Your stepmom has donated her design skills to the interior, so we just need to raise the money to pay for the land and the building of it.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Great.” He turns to leave, then stops. “Oh … one other thing. I want you to be there.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Bigger draw. If they hear the artist is there, more people will show up. More people mean more bids, and that, my friend, means more money.” He grins at me.

“You know I won’t give up my anonymity.”

He shrugs. “Not asking you to. I just want them all looking around and trying to guess who you are.”

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