Page 26 of Scrooge

“If you look at how everything is positioned, you can actually tell a lot about the subject. See here,” she says, pointing, and I step closer to her. My hand rests on her lower back, liking how soft she feels, keeping her close to me as I lean forward to where she is pointing. “You can see the apartment in the reflection of their pupils. A sofa, the television is on, kids’ toys on the ground.” She is right; you can see everything, yet had I come here tonight by myself, I would not have even noticed.

“The Simpsons,” I say, and she looks at me.

“What?” she asks with that cute pinch to her eyebrows. We are close, an inch or two apart, and my gaze flicks down to her lips before I force it back to her eyes. “They are watchingThe Simpsons,” I explain, and she looks back at the photo and grins.

“That they are,” she says, nodding before we move across to the next one and dissect that as well. I start to relax a little. With each photo we admire, she becomes more and more animated, and my hand doesn’t move from her back. Keeping her close to me is what is required, I remind myself, regardless of how comfortable it actually feels. We finish up at the photography wall, then we move on to another artist farther down the back of the gallery. Tonight's show is a montage of artists, from painting, sculpting, and photography. Each of them owns their own small piece of real estate. Maddison is known for finding unknown artists and throwing the spotlight on them. She has made many careers.

“Ohhhh, wow,” Haylee says, and I look up to see which one has her attention. It is a large framed painting of a landscape. It has many layers to it, a soft color palette, almost every color a pastel.

“You like it?” I ask, not sure if it is my thing.

“It’s amazing. Look at the brushstrokes here.” Stepping forward and pointing, she highlights the artwork. As she does, my hand falls from her waist, but she runs hers down my arm, putting her hand in mine. I curl my fingers around hers, her hand soft and small in my own. As she talks again about the brushstrokes, I am not entirely listening as I watch her eyes come alive, her breathing becoming rapid with excitement as her fingers squeeze mine with every little movement. She is smiling as she talks, the topic bringing extra life to her body, and I step closer to her, just wanting to be in her orbit.

“What do you think?” she asks me, and I shake my head a little, trying to get my mind back on the artwork and away from her. “I appreciate art, but I am clearly not the connoisseur you are. Your landscape in the toy store was better in my opinion, though,” I tell her honestly as I hear her inhale a sharp breath as she looks up at me. I move my hand from her grip and wrap it back around her waist, pulling her closer to me again, liking the feel of her body against mine.

“Hmmm, I have been watching you…” a female voice says from our side, and I look up.

“Good to see you, Maddison,” I say, shaking her hand and immediately looking behind her. “Nice to see you too, Sebastian.” Offering my outstretched hand, he takes it in a firm grip. He is never far away from her; his protectiveness of his wife runs deep. The whole city knows it.

“Alexander, who have you brought tonight?” Maddison practically gleams at Haylee.

“This is Haylee Tucker. Haylee, this is Maddison Miller,” I introduce them, and for the first time, I see Haylee absolutely lost for words. I slide my hand from her lower back until I find her hand, giving her a squeeze of support.

“Hi. So great to meet you. I just love your gallery,” Haylee gushes, and I grin, looking at Sebastian who is watching Haylee with interest. I swallow, because Haylee doesn't need to be associated with the mob, so the less he knows about her, the better. But as I take a quick look around, I see most people’s eyes on us. Although that was the aim of coming here tonight, I feel less okay with that fact as the date progresses.

“Oh, thank you. I have been watching you dissect all the artwork as you walk around. Are you an artist?” Maddison asks her, and I think I see a faint pink tint to Haylee’s cheeks.

“No. I mean, yes… I dabble… kind of.” Her words stumble over each other as she grabs her ear subtly. From what I have seen, her artwork is amazing, yet she doesn’t seem overly confident about it.

“Haylee is a painter,” I say proudly, and her eyes shoot at me as she takes a deep breath. I nod to her, trying to encourage her to shoot her shot.

“I paint for fun, mostly. I like photorealism,” she says, and Maddison looks impressed.

“I would love to see some of your work. Are you showing anywhere?” she asks, and Haylee huffs a laugh.

“No, although maybe at the local flea market soon,” she says offhandedly.

“Well, maybe you can bring in some of your work sometime? I would love to see it. Photorealism is really taking off at the moment, but I haven’t found anyone yet who hits the mark I’m looking for,” Maddison offers.

“Oh, I would love that,” Haylee says, the grip on her ear not failing, her lobe now bright red.

“Come. Tell me what you think of this piece.” Maddison grabs Haylee by the elbow, steering her away from me and over to the next piece. I fall in line with Sebastian, and we follow them as people look on. I don’t make a habit of networking with the mob, but we are known to each other, and all our dealings have been amicable.

“Word on the street is that you are looking into Asia for advancement next year,” Sebastian says, getting straight down to business.

“I’m looking at a lot of options,” I tell him, my eyes not wavering from Haylee, not wanting her too far from me in this crowd. Everyone looks amazing, some dripping in diamonds, the ladies all dressed up, the men suited. But a crowd like this is full of sharks, just waiting for fresh blood, which is exactly what Haylee is. There is media everywhere, not to mention the usual flock of socialites who will spread any rumor they wish to suit their own agenda.

“Your father was always keen to invest locally,” he says, and I frown.

“I didn’t know you knew my father.” Of course they probably had some contact. I would be gullible to think otherwise, but we never had dealings with the mob, and it isn’t something I am thinking of starting.

“I did. I did, indeed,” Sebastian comments, nodding, and something about the way he says that makes me feel uneasy.

“He casts a large shadow, that’s for sure,” I admit. I sigh as I feel the familiar pressure on my shoulders of doing more, being more, and succeeding more in order to keep my father’s legacy intact.

“Parents often do. But we need to run our own race. Do what is right for us and our time. I learned that the hard way.”

While I remain quiet, I think about his words. It is no secret that he overthrew his father in what I can only assume was a hard fight, both mentally and physically. But it isn’t my place to have an opinion.

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