Page 12 of Inheritance
He pulled his hands away, and I blinked against the light. As my vision adjusted, the room unfolded before me, one I hadn’t seen yet, filled with thousands of dollars’ worth of art supplies. Pristine brushes, canvases of every size. High-end oils laid out with careful, almost reverent precision.
“As you can see, I spared no expense for you.” Gabriel’s hand trailed down my back, settling lightly at my hip.
Excitement bubbled up inside me, but so did apprehension. The largest canvas in the room loomed over me, a silent challenge. Not just in its sheer size, but in what it represented. The unspoken pressure to create something perfect. Something worthy of the space. The money. His expectations.
I stared, wordless.
“Don’t you like it?” His voice was soft, yet commanding, as if he already knew the answer. Knew why I had no words. Leaningagainst the door frame, arms crossed, he watched me with quiet intensity, deep blue eyes locked onto mine.
“It’s… overwhelming, but great at the same time,” I admitted, running my fingers over the untouched brushes.
“You’ll rise to the occasion.” His confidence in me was absolute, as though failure wasn’t even a possibility in his mind.
I didn’t say anything. I only nodded, letting the pressure sit heavy in my chest.
“I’m going to speak with my father about some things,” he said. “Ill be back in a while.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and I was alone.
I exhaled, turning back to the blank canvas. Except I hadn’t said yes to anything. I hadn’t agreed to be a part of this scheme. I hadn’t even decided if I wanted to paint.
And yet, I found myself reaching for a brush. Maybe just to prove something to myself. Maybe because part of me missed it, missed the part of myself that used to paint for no other reason than to enjoy the simple act of creating.
I scanned the supplies again, high-end oils, specialty brushes, pigments in every imaginable shade. Brands I’d never dreamed of using, let alone owning. Everything here was the best money could buy, and I felt a twinge of unworthiness.
I paced in front of a medium sized canvas already mounted on an easel. I didn’t need to search for the image, it was already there. The gazebo. The white curtains lifted in memory by a breeze. The flicker of golden light through the trees. I could see the moment. I could feel it.
I dipped a brush into a pale ivory, softening it with hints of yellow mixed with white. That would be the curtains. Then a muted gold. The sunlight cutting through the trees. I mixed a cool gray with the faintest violet undertone and began sketching the pillars, barely visible yet anchoring the space.
Then red. A deep, earthy tone, not the center, but somewhere in the atmosphere, bleeding inward. And black, to weight the contrast. I didn’t try to replicate what I’d seen. I chased the way it felt. Only the quiet hiss of bristles against canvas remained in my mind.
Then I heard the door creak open. I looked over my shoulder with a smile meant for Gabriel, but Damien stood in the doorway, then he stepped inside.
"Is Gabriel in here?" He asked, glancing around.
I held my hands out at the obvious. “No. Just me.”
“Oh. Okay.” He said, frowning at the canvas. I waited, tension coiling in my spine.
“It’s… a start,” he said finally, his tone neutral.
I clenched my teeth. Exhaustion and pressure simmered beneath my skin.
A start?
“You don’t know anything about painting.” The words came out before I could stop them.
“You got me there,” He said absently.
I folded up a paper towel, wiped a drop of paint off the easel.
“Well, I was looking for my brother, but I’ll just tell you instead.”
I ignored him.
“We ran into a problem getting you into the auction. But I can see you’re busy so I’ll leave you to it.”
Guess I missed the family meeting. Because apparently, I was already going to the auction whether I agreed or not.
