“And maybe I am.”
“Spencer!” Mocking.
Spencer raised those dark eyes at her, and Duncan’s heart skipped. “Fuck you, mother. What do you know of anything? Of me. I am maybe at the level of your expensive crystal vase.”
“How dare you! I suffered with your birth.”
“I never wanted to be born, did I? So fuck that.”
“You’re spoiled rotten. You owe us everything, including your success because it is surely not your looks, or your ‘talent’ as an artist that got you where you are.”
Duncan and the others stood in that uncomfortable silence, exchanging some quick looks.
Spencer poked his tongue out between his teeth. “I see…”
“What can I say? You’re a disappointment. You don’t even have a fiancée, a marriage to look forward to, fucking whoever lays their hands on you. That girl, Mia? I feel sorry for her. And all the girls you sacked after a few weeks. Shame.”
“Fuck you know about shame!” He almost stood when Henry appeared on top of the stairs, hurrying down.
“Sorry, I had to finish that call.” Smiling. “Can we go now?”
Martina stood and laced her arm in his. “Spencer is being an ungrateful brat, as always.”
Spencer’s eyes filled with hate. “I shall still drag my talentless ass to your miserable function.”
“The least you can do. The least.”
Henry shot them a puzzled look, but she dragged him away. Cole, Sully and Vic followed them, and Duncan followed Spencer who lagged a bit behind. He staggered, so Duncan caught his elbow to steady him.
Spencer leant against him, his voice, soft. “I wish I could just pull out of this nightmare…” Dizzy, he clutched at Duncan’s arm.
Duncan looked down at him, meeting those dark eyes framed in that black make-up. Wrath, a sea of it above that despair. “You’ll manage, come on. Drag your talented ass there.”
Spencer scoffed, that self-doubt burning his throat. “Talented, right…”
Duncan squeezed his elbow to get his eyes. “Fucking talented, yes. Come. Let’s go.”
Spencer sighed. “Don’t be too far from me.”
“I’ll be close.”
Spencer closed his eyes, but never let his arm go. Not until he sat in the car, and Duncan had to sit in the front. Spencer buried himself in his phone, in meaningless texting and messages exchanged with his friends, with Mia, with his social media followers. Not drunk enough not to care, not stoned enough to laugh, listening in the background to his parents arguing, knowing they would give wide smile to the press as soon as they got out.Fuck this.Thanking all the stars that they left him alone. Burning, his body still filled with Duncan’s touch. That craving for it so strong, he had to swallow.
The car turning on the street, they could hear the crowd, the photographers and press.Shit.The door opened then, and his parents got out. Spencer just sat, the lights flashing in. A fear there he had rarely felt. A shadow, blocking out those blinding lights. That hand he knew, waiting. Spencer grabbed it and let Duncan all but pull him out, steady him. He stepped back then, but stayed close as Spencer climbed the steps. Turning to the crowd and press for the photos. A grand charity night, organized by one of the biggest real estate realtors of the city.
They went inside and found their table, and Spencer just took a bottle of champagne and filled his glass up, keeping the bottle close. As ever, his parents didn’t care, and after the opening speech, the biddings started. One after the other, the donators standing, smiling. Spencer lifted his eyes to Duncan who stood close, a bit opposite him. He lifted his glass, giving him a smirk.
His painting was next, a vast painting of black ravens soaring on that white canvas over a battle field. Only the blood red, itwas dripping down to the edge of the canvas. Gasps from the crowd, and Spencer had to stand at his name, bow a bit and wave around as his name was announced. He sat then to listen to the biddings, convinced it would go for nothing, but the price kept climbing, earning some cheers and claps. A man stayed last, competing with a woman in her fifties. She raised a last amount, insane, and he bowed out. The gavel. Sold. Claps and cheers, that astronomical sum projected on a screen. Spencer could hardly breathe, in shock.What the fuck.Downing another glass of whiskey, but more people had started to come to their table to ask about his paintings. His mother talked to them, reassuring them that they would have an exhibition soon. And maybe another auction.
That woman walked over to them then, and offered her hand to Spencer. A tall woman, her dark hair in a bun, some rogue curls around her temples. Red lipstick, matching her dress.
“So young and so talented already…”
Martina perked up. “Yes, we are very proud of him. Thank you for being so generous.”
“I couldn’t let that painting slide out of my hands. It will have a prime place at home.” She took a small golden card out of her purse and handed it to Spencer. “You are welcome to see it once it’s been set up.” Grazing his fingers when he took it. “It’s always good to have the artist’s opinion on the placement.”
That touch rushed down Spencer’s spine like dry ice.Oh…“I’d be honored but…”
