Page 11 of Inheritance
He gave me a satisfied look, calm, in control, like I was exactly where he wanted me. He sat beside me, close enough to feel, but didn’t say a word.
He passed me my drink and I gulped it down.
"Feeling better?"
I nodded, still dazed. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He smirked, watching me for a long moment, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his drink between his hands. His tone softened, but the edge of purpose returned to his voice.
“You know,” he said, “you’ve always had the skills. The eye, the discipline, the creative drive. The only thing you were ever missing was access—elite connections, the right platform.”
I blinked at him, heart still fluttering from the afterglow. “What? Oh, right.”
“You have that now,” he said simply. “With me, you have access to the elite, and they love art almost as much as themselves.”
He let the words settle for a moment, then leaned back into the daybed, finishing his drink. “There’s a private museum uptown. They hold quiet auctions every week. Not for the public.”
I sat up slightly, wrapping the thin blanket at the edge of the daybed over my legs.
“I want you to debut there,” he said, not missing a beat. “The right people will notice. And when they ask who you are, you won’t just be some girl from a gallery by the beach selling undervalued art to tasteless tourists.”
I had promised Emma that I would go to that art school, but if I was being honest with myself, I wouldn’t be doing that. This was a good alternative—no, a far better alternative—and she wouldn’t even be upset about it. I felt a pang of guilt at the thought that I hadn’t talked to her in a while. Worse, I hadn’t even thought about her. I pulled myself back into the moment, blinking, then pressed my lips together in a forced smile as he watched me.
“You’re right to be a little apprehensive,” he said, “but not because you lack skill or talent.”
“Why then?”
“My family is not welcome at those auctions anymore. We were shut out recently. A Russian family owns the museum, runs the operation. That family doesn’t have much of a presence in this city, so they always stayed on friendly terms with everyone who mattered, and the museum was neutral ground. But, for their own reasons, they decided to side with the Sinclairs. So you would have to go alone.”
“And you want me to do this, because they don’t know I’m connected to you.”
“It’s not why I want you to do this, it’s just that what benefits you also benefits the family. Nikolai will be there and he’ll place a high bid to buy your piece with our money. That’ll clean some old funds. But after that? You’ll have real presence. Your name will be in the room. And real buyers will follow.”
My mouth felt dry. “So I’d be laundering your money.”
He turned to face me fully now. “Yes, but soon, you’d be taking commissions. Selling on your own. Authentically. Making what you’re worth. No more three jobs. No more people deciding your value based on what they think art should be worth.”
I looked down at the glass in my hands, I couldn’t think.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to become intimate again. “You’d only have to paint, show up, mingle, and they’ll see that you belong.”
I stayed quiet.
“You don’t have to decide now,” he added. “But I do have a surprise for you.”
I buttoned my jeans, took his hand, and followed him back to the mansion. His pace was slightly faster now.
He made it sound easy. Like all I had to do was step into the light and become who I was always meant to be.
As if it were that simple.
Sophia
All I could see was darkness. I tried to peek through the cracks between Gabriel's fingers as a door clicked shut behind me, but his hands had anticipated my curiosity, covering my eyes just enough to keep me blind.
“Are you ready?” He asked warmly.
“Yes.”
