Roman-1(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(56)
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
He shrugs dismissively and leans into the opposite corner, one arm flung across the sofa back as he sips his wine and considers me.
“For a woman of your family connections, you’ve chosen a rather difficult path to tread. You’re a brilliant talent, Sissy. Why not use your father’s connections to further your career?”
“Because I want more than a pat on the head and an easy ride. I spent half my high school career defending myself whenever Daddy made a contribution to the prom fund or the ninth grade camping trip. I want to be recognized on merit or not at all.”
His look says he doesn’t agree with me, as if my reasoning is faulty somehow, and I lose my nerves in favor of the irritation bubbling through me.
Why do I always have to explain and defend myself and my actions to people? It’s so annoying, and it makes me doubt myself in a way I don’t need right now.
“I leav—”
“You have no idea what it means to grow up struggling for everything you have, so forgive me if I can’t understand your need to live like a poor person. I’ve had to claw my way to the top, one inch at a time, for the last fifteen years. Hell, when I made my first million I was still eating canned soup and living in a bedsit. I understand your need to succeed, just not your desire to suffer while you do it.”
That surprises me enough that I feel my mouth flap and my eyebrows shoot to my hairline.
“But I thought your dad was some rich guy.”
His sardonic smile is so cold it sends shivers down my spine, and I shrink back into the sofa, breaking eye contact long enough to take a huge mouthful of wine.
“My father had no use for me when his new wife gave him a son. I spent my holidays in America because my grandparents couldn’t stand the thought of losing me. They paid for everything I had when they found out my father had stopped paying child support. I was sixteen before I had enough money to stop working at the café while Mum cleaned other people’s houses. So you see, I happen to appreciate everything I have, and every helping hand that got me to this point.”
While I’ve never wanted for anything until the day I chose to walk away from my family’s fortune. I want to laugh at the irony. While he’d been struggling his way through life, praying for help and despising his bastard father, I’d been merrily skipping my way through life, taking everything my parents had ever given me for granted.
I can see his point of view a little better now, but that in no way makes his judgment of my actions any easier to swallow.
“I had no friends. None. I spent seven years of high school being shunned by even the dorks that got wedgied. No one on the planet hated recess more than I did because instead of eating in the cafeteria I hid in the art room and choked down the healthy lunch option my mama made me take to school. We all have our own crosses to bear. Yours ain't no better or worse than mine, Vincent Blake, and best you remember that if you want me to paint your ass any time this century,” I warn, giving him the same look my mama gave me whenever I acted like a brat.
It seems to do the trick, because his face loses that hard cast and he gives me an apologetic smile.
“So no help then.”
“Nope. I want to win on my own terms. Now then, where’s this studio you’ve been promising me, Mr Blake? Daylight’s fading, and I do not paint by the light of the moon, no matter how romantic it may seem.”
“If I thought romance would work…but then, you’re too realistic for that, it seems,” he says, rising and holding a hand out. I take it, wondering exactly what Vincent Blake has in mind for me, and if I am even halfway experienced enough to handle it.
Chapter Five
“Holy shit.”
The studio is everything I could have imagined and then so much more. It easily takes up half of the third floor at the back of the house, and one entire wall is clear glass.
I’m so totally in love at the moment I can’t catch my breath.
“This is… You must really like art.”
He laughs and takes my hand, pulling me along till we’re standing right in front of the glass wall with nothing obscuring the view of the backyard and the city’s skyline.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s fully stocked, but if there’s something you need that isn’t here, Henry will get it for you.”
I take it all in. Fresh canvasses are stacked against the far right wall beneath a wall of shelves that hold every art supply I could possibly need. Except one thing.
“There’s…there’s no bed or settee or…”
I can’t say why I’m awkward all of a sudden, but perhaps it’s the reality of what I’m about to do in this room. Overriding the need to see him and do every dirty thing my mind can come up with is the need to get his true likeness onto my canvas.