With nothing to be gained by answering truthfully, Alex gave an answer most of his acquaintances might expect—one involving monetary gain. “I see the product of an artist passionate about his work and a painting that’ll make an excellent investment, particularly if the artist’s passion continues with future paintings.”
The do-it-yourself art critic frowned, clearly disappointed. “That’s too bad.”
“Too bad?” Alex asked, surprised at the genuine sadness in the man’s voice.
“This piece is meant to be far more than paint, canvas, and a chance for financial gain.”
Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted their awkward conversation. “Oh, there you are.” Both men turned to face the new arrival. “I was wondering where you were.” Paul hurried over and kissed a stylishly stubbly cheek. “How are you, Eddie? It’s been a while.”
The man now revealed to be the reason for the gala smiled and said nothing, nodding his head toward the painting instead. Paul faced the wall and gasped. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed. “You captured the storm perfectly!”
With a smug grin, the artist responded, “I was inspired.”
Tired of being ignored, Alex loudly cleared his throat.
Paul’s eyes widened and he quickly stammered, “I… I’m sorry, Alex, forgive my manners. I’d like you to meet Edmond Strickland. Eddie, this is Alfred’s nephew, Alexander Martin.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Edmond said, offering his hand and nothing more, eyes returning to Paul even while he addressed Alex. “Your uncle is a wonderful man, and a very dear friend.”
“It’s nice meeting you, as well,” Alex lied, fighting a snarl. It seemed Isaac wasn’t the only competition he’d have to face tonight. He pasted on a fake smile and attempted cordiality while scheming ways get Paul to leave earlier than planned—say, in five minutes or less. “Uncle Alfred sends his apologies and speaks highly of your work.” He reminded himself that, regardless of a negative first impression, Edmond was his uncle’s friend. That alone earned the man some measure of respect.
With a flash of blindingly white teeth, Edmond replied, “While I regret Alfred couldn’t attend, I’m certainly glad Paul’s here.” To Alex’s dismay, Paul blushed at the thinly veiled flattery.
Family friend or not, Alex took an immediate dislike to Edmond’s easy familiarity and obvious flirting with the man who’d arrived with him. It might not have been an actual date, but Edmond didn’t know that, and the blatant breach of etiquette grated on Alex’s nerves. Ignoring the artist, he directed his attention to his nondate. “I’m amazed by this painting,” he said, seeing a chance to win approval since Paul obviously liked the haunting landscape too.
“It’s beautiful,” Paul agreed, eyes on the canvas and, thankfully, not on Edmond. “And has special meaning to the family.” He peered up from under long dark lashes, brown eyes glowing with excitement. “Is this the one you’d like to get Uncle Alfred?” Turning to Edmond, he asked, “It’s still available, isn’t it?”
“Now, would I offer it to another without allowing you and dearest Alfred first dibs? But don’t make a decision yet—I have another I’d like to show you.”
The artist sauntered away, casting a coy glance over his shoulder to ensure Paul followed. Was it Alex’s imagination, or was the man deliberately being provocative, and not to him, which he expected, but to Paul? Also, what did “special meaning to the family” entail?
Noticing he’d been deserted, Alex followed the two men. Paul stood stock-still, staring in rapture at another seascape—an almost perfect replica of the painting of Douglas, Jacob, and Byron that had recently hung in Alfred’s office. The lighting, beach, and surroundings resembled the original, as did the bathing suits. The only differences were the children themselves. Instead of the Sinclair boys, the youngsters in the painting were unmistakably himself and Paul, or rather, how they’d looked at approximately ten and five years old, respectively.
The likeness of Paul held the bucket and shovel, much as his uncle Byron had in the original, while a young version of Alex admired the bright blue sails of a toy boat, an occupation previously held by Douglas. The smaller child, Jacob, who’d been building a sand castle in the background, was noticeably missing. A red “Sold” sticker dangled from the gilt frame.
“Edmond! Why?” Paul asked, his eyes glittering with unshed tears.
Before Alex could act, Edmond stepped in and wrapped his arms around Paul, clearly horrified at his reaction. “I cannot apologize enough. I had no idea the painting would affect you so,” he murmured. “I suppose I should have warned you or arranged a private viewing.” If his words hadn’t rung true, Alex would have waded in and taught him a thing or two about causing pain to an unofficial Anderson, breeding and good manners be damned.
“Your uncle commissioned it months ago,” Edmond explained. “Apparently he forgot to mention it.”
Paul nestled into the hug, obviously comfortable with the close physical contact, causing a familiar stirring in Alex. Once again, his former rival inspired his jealousy, only this time Alex wasn’t jealousofPaul, butbecauseofPaul, nearly overcome with the urge to grab something heavy and bash the artist with it—repeatedly.
“Hey, handsome,” he heard purred into his ear. Alex glanced to the right and came face to face with an attractive, decidedly drunken female. She staggered awkwardly on her stiletto heels and grabbed his shoulder to steady herself, giggling annoyingly. She epitomized what he called “Hollywood gorgeous”: beautiful via money and cosmetic surgery, with lips too full and eyebrows fixed in permanent surprise from excessive facelifts. He’d also be willing to bet the breasts she’d been given by genetics weren’t nearly as large and perky as the ones currently spilling over the plunging neckline of her dress.
“Excuse me, I’m with someone,” he growled, peering over her shoulder to discover he’d lied. Paul and the hedgehog, as Alex privately dubbed Edmond, were nowhere to be seen.
It took some time to convince her he wasn’t interested, and he wondered, given her pouting reaction, if she’d ever been turned down before. Probably not, judging from her ample charms, but those didn’t last forever, and someone younger and prettier always waited in the wings to take their place in the spotlight.
Arguing with the tipsy, surgically enhanced female, it occurred to him how much alike they were. Only his looks were natural and he was blessed with charm, unlike this silly creature. The results were the same, though. They could snare whoever they wanted and had never crossed paths with anyone worth keeping, apparently, if they were both still alone in their thirties. Well, that was about to change for him, if he had anything to do with it.
He finally escaped when the inebriated woman found another prospect, one more eager to chat her up. Attempting nonchalance he didn’t truly feel, Alex hunted for Paul, unwilling to allow Edmond any more time with him than absolutely necessary.
Alex’s first search of the gallery ended empty-handed. On his second round, he found Edmond merrily chatting with a group of tuxedo-clad gentlemen and leaning into the embrace of an older Hispanic man. Alex felt a little better seeing him occupied with another, but his anxiety peaked about the noticeably absent Paul.
From behind a partially opened door came a familiar voice, though he’d never heard the dejected tone before. “I’m sorry, Jordan, I need to be getting back.”
Jordan? The guy who’d betrayed Paul?
