Seeing your art up close after a long period of time absent from it feels like seeing an old friend.
Mantelpieces, carvings in stone banisters, even statement pieces were all familiar, yet it felt like a surprise to run into them. They were what made the home luxurious, a simple statement of wealth and taste, all of which could be considered narcissistic to say since they were all mine.
Yet I couldn’t help but feel like their ownership was my first sellout, not just creatively, but that I’d given pieces of me away.
Even so, now it felt like I’d traded them for a wife.
“Arkady!” Mrs. De Villier appeared at the top of the grand staircase, shimmering as she fluttered down the steps to meet me like she had so little time but much to do. “My husband is in his study; go straight down the hallway and in the first door on the left.”
I knewvery wellwhere the study was.
Even on arrival, it was a lot different in the full light of day.
Adrien De Villier was tilted back in his leather chair leafing through papers. The light from the outside shifted over the desk and rug. The birds fluttered around the bushes crowding the window, shadows flickering from behind the figure.
“Mr. Kamenev! My good man, how are you?” Mr. De Villier glanced up from his papers, gesturing to the seat in front of him. “Come, sit.”
“Faring fine.” I slid into the curve of the wooden seat. “You summoned me here, it sounded urgent.”
“You sound tired. My daughter hasn’t worn you down, has she?”
“Of course not, nothing outside of my abilities to manage.”
Mr. De Villier snorted, shaking his head as he tossed his papers on his desk with a slap. “I am glad you are a good sport about it. Everything is less fun when people aren’t team players.”
“I am no stranger to wild women,” I joked, forcing a genial smile.
“Me and you both.” He reached over for a decanter and two glass cups with a single hand, pouring a drink for each of us. “Speaking of, I have a favor to ask of you.”
I reached for the glass, inspecting the liquor that stung my nose when the scent finally reached me.
“Unless it has to do with artwork, I’m not sure how I can help.”
A small smile pulled at Mr. De Villier’s face. Not a pleasant one, an expression of slight annoyance. “That is where you are wrong, my good fellow.”
I placed the cup down on the arm of the chair, turning the glass and watching the light break on its way through the crystal.
“Get Petronille under control.”
“Pardon?” I looked up at her father, his expression blank and cold, losing the previous hospitality.
“It’s easier than you think, I promise.” He sipped his drink, looking absently at his bookshelves. “I’m beginning to think you are a neglectful husband.”
“I assure you—”
He raised his hand and sighed, shaking his head at me. “I mean this as no insult. She is difficult, of this I ampainfullyaware; for the past twenty years, I have become accustomed to her tantrums and outbursts.”
I didn’t care to comment. I barely cared to be here. I had no desire to do him any favors after the way he spoke of her. While Petre was strong-willed, being married to her never felt like a chore. In the beginning, it felt like cohabiting with a stranger, which was what our union was.
My father-in-law opened his desk drawer, producing two pieces of paper. He held them up pointedly, looking me in the eye before sliding them across the desk. “Take her out. Show her off. Keep her away from those she shouldn’t fraternize with. Building a good rapport with the public will always be a smart investment, especially as two young people with the means to do so. So far, they love you. But be warned, they can turn on a dime.”
I picked up the pieces of paper. I didn’t have to read the bold typeface before seeing the illustration of a horse and jockey. Derby tickets.
“People ask me all the time, who is my artisan? They know your name but not the face!” He laughed, slapping the desk with his fingers before wagging one playfully. “It’s about time you showed it off. What better way than at the derby? She can dress well, and so can you.”
“It is generous of you to support our endeavors, sir.” I tried to seem grateful as I clutched the flimsy paper in my hands.
“Of course! You are doing us such a favor. The poor thing, she isn’t well.”
