Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“Oh, you know, because the original three were purchased before the show even opened.”
I blink. “Before the show opened?” I ask and then I understand: I hadn’t spaced the gallery opening; it hadn’t even happened yet. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I ask, “Who was the buyer?”
“Anonymous.”
I stare at Liam, kneeling in front of me, so happy for me. So proud. So unsurprised by all of this. “Anonymous buyer,” I say quietly, and his smile falters for just a breath. “At five times the sticker price, too.”
“Amen,” Mel sings. “Okay, sweets, I’m hopping on another call, but we’ll talk soon.”
“Absolutely.” Numbly, I press End Call and stare down at the phone in my hands.
“So?” Liam says, tracing his fingers up and down the back of my calves. “Tell me the good news.”
I turn my face up to him. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
His expression freezes, and then he tries on another smile. “What was me?”
“The buyer,” I say. “The person who bought the first three paintings.”
Liam’s eyes flicker back and forth between mine. I silently beg him not to lie. “Yes,” he admits, finally.
A stone drops in the hollow of my chest. “Why?”
“Because you wanted it so much,” he says. “Because this is how these things work—buzz builds.”
“You’ve never even seen my art.”
“I saw it in your apartment before we left. I’ve seen your drawings on the island.”
I move to stand, and he has to shift back, standing, too, reaching for my hands, but I pull them up to my chest, curl them into my body. “I feel…” I shake my head, out of words. Honestly, I’m gutted. “I feel so incredibly stupid.”
“God, why?”
“Because I thought the person who bought the paintings had seen them and loved them.”
“I have seen them. I will love them because you made them.”
“This isn’t a third-grade art project, Liam. That’s not how it works.”
He steps closer, but I turn and walk over to the dresser. “Anna. Getting noticed in the art world is—”
“Are you really going to explain this to me? Because you’ve spent so much time in art circles?”
He frowns. “Well, I do know a bit—”
“Because your family is wealthy, and you know a lot of patrons?”
Liam steps back, sits at the end of the bed facing me. He’s still dressed in his suit from the wedding and I’m suddenly so happy that I showered, that I washed every trace of that place off me. “Okay, stop,” he says. “It was only a few thousand dollars.”
“Only a few—” I cut off, so irate that I’m shaking. “Do you realize that for someone like me a few thousand can feel as impossible as a few million?”
“This isn’t about our backgrounds,” he says steadily, so calm. “This isn’t about money. This is about helping you build a name for yourself.”
“This is only about money,” I tell him, feeling the tight strangle of tears in my throat, the weight of his necklace against my skin, the ring on my finger. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did. When Mel called the first time with the news that the paintings sold, you could have told me it was you. Better yet, you could have told me before you did it. You could have run it by me.” I stare at him, devastated. “How long were you going to let me think that someone else bought them?”
Liam sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “I thought it would be romantic if you saw them for the first time in my house.”
I’m so exhausted, I just want to get off this roller-coaster ride. “Liam, that’s what happens in movies.”
He nods, his posture deflating. “Yeah.”
“But in reality, what it feels like is you just using your money and influence to direct the path of my career because you think you know what’s best for me, and I’m not sure, but I think that exact same situation is why you’ve been frowning out windows for the past six hours.”
“Anna, that’s not—”
“It is the same.”
“I’m not doing what my father did,” he says, jaw tight.
We stare at each other, suffering through the fucking brutality of this moment. Nothing feels lonelier than fighting with him right now.
“You’re right. You bought my paintings out of love—or something that looks like it. Your father’s actions aren’t motivated by that. Intent matters.” I take a steadying breath, nostrils flared. “But you can’t buy my love. That part of me wasn’t ever for sale. I gave you my body and my heart because of what you make me feel, not because you’re rich. Your money is the thing I like the least about you.”
“I know.”
I search his eyes, trying to understand him. “And if the distinction is so important, if what your dad is doing is so abhorrent, tell me why you’re going along with it. Jake, Charlie, even Alex—they’ll be fine. Who needs that much money anyway? It’s clearly made you all miserable. Do you see that? You’re all rich and completely miserable, and yet you want more?”