The Painting
WESTLEY
YOU MADE THE right decision. You won’t regret it-those were the last words that kept taunting me after I signed the contract and walked out of the publishing house. I hope I wouldn’t regret it because that story was very important to me. It was like I opened my soul to those who read it. It was the story of my life, my autobiography.
“Are you ready?” My dad emerged from the door with a smile on his face. I made the right decision to give him a chance. He’d been nothing but thoughtful when I thought I couldn’t have my life back.
“You look well-clean up, Dad.” I looked at him through the mirror. People always said that I got his eyes and lips.
“You are beautiful and the strongest young woman I’ve known, Harry.”
“Thanks, Dad. I guess I got those qualities from you.” I smiled. I could see the love and admiration glittering in his eyes-that was enough for me.
“Let’s go before your boys would think that we are ditching their exhibition.”
When we got to the car, his driver steered the car out of the mansion. When I thought visiting back here would give me a deja-vu, I was wrong.
I always loved this place even though most of the time, I had terrible memories. When Dad planned on putting this place on sale, I quickly opposed his idea. We may have some experience here it was not too late to start a new one.
“Dad,” I called him while I kept my gaze out of the window.
“Yes, Harry.”
“I know you said before that you don’t wanna run again, did you regret it? It’s not too late, you know. For the next campaign.”
“I made my decision, Harry.” I felt his hand on mine, squeezing it. “I’d rather spend time with you after traveling and meeting with our investors and shareholders. I know you have a life, and you would be busy too, but I make sure to meet you at least a few times a month.”
I looked at him. “I just don’t wanna be the reason why you’re holding back the things you wanna do. You’re not too old, you know.”
“Like dating someone?” He shook his head. “If your mom is not the one for me, then maybe no one is out there.” I knew he loved my mom, but he was too busy building his empire back then, and he forgot that he also had a responsibility to his family.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy as long as you are. And Clyve seems to care a lot about you.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “I care about him too, Dad.”
I thought we didn’t have a lot in common, or we were too much opposite, but lately, as I spent a lot with him, I realized, we were almost alike regardless of the food we ate, or we didn’t have the same taste in music, but he loved art, and I loved literature and designs. We were both broken, had been lost, longing for the love of our parents, and those things that brought us back together.
Clyve was my light, who guided me to the right path. He was my anchor. If it wasn’t for him, I might still in that place doing the same thing. I didn’t regret my decision. I did that for Keene, but I also need to grow up on my own. Whatever happened to my marriage, maybe it was for my own good.
“You’ve been silent, Harry.”
“I was just thinking about Keene.”
“Haven’t you two talked yesterday?”
“We did. I’m glad he is happy and enjoying his vacation in Fiji.” He sent me a bunch of pictures. I saw a lot of changes in him. He wasn’t the guy who worried about tomorrow anymore. He started to live his life the way he wanted.
I cried when I realized I was his burden because I was his best friend. He just couldn’t voice it out to me.
“Is he doing okay?”
“Yes. I think he’s dating his nurse.” I chuckled.
“As long as he’s happy, Harry. He’d been through a lot, too.”
We arrived at the art exhibit. The last time I was here was two weeks ago, and it didn’t look like this. The old building turned out to be a well-renovated Italian-inspired 19th-century museum.
The media were already gathering in front of the entrance. My nerve was racking as soon as I saw the light and the backdrop. My hands started to sweat. It didn’t go unnoticed by Dad.
“You don’t have to answer if they will ask you. Remember your briefing?”
I looked at Dad. “I think I got this.”
“If you feel claustrophobic, just say a word.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Dad and I posed for the sake of the media. I tried hard to smile nicely even though my heart was pounding a million a mile. After a few flashes, the reporters started asking.
I took a few deep breaths. Of course, I was expecting this, and their questions were related to my old job.
“Let’s go, Harry,” Dad whispered.
“I’ll answer a few questions.”
He looked worried as he looked at me in the eye. “Are you sure?”
I met his gaze. “Yes.”
The media moved forward and formed a ruckus.
“Is it true that you are writing a story about yourself?”
“Since your father admitted that you were in that video, we want to know what pushed you to do it?”
“What inspires you to write a book?”
“What can we expect in that story?”
“Is Sindy Kate really gone?”
The questions continued, and I was like a deer caught in the headlight. My teeth started to tatter, and the flashes were blinding me.
I swallowed all my nerves and smiled. “Yes, I am writing a novel. It’s fiction but inspired by my life experience. I want to inspire all the women out there, in all walks of life, that it is okay to dream high, and not to give up when things get tough. I want to show them that I may be born into a privileged family, but life isn’t always perfect.”
“Are you dating Clyve Linton?” A lady in a white blouse asked.
“I’d rather keep my life private. Thank you.” I smiled. My mind went back to how lucky I was to be with him. He made me utterly happy, and I’d like to keep my relationship with him private. Dad’s security pulled me out from the reporters.
When we got inside the exhibit, my eyes widened in awe as I swirled my head around. The soft background music reached my ears. The first thing that caught my eye was their signature pieces-my brother and Clyve’s works. There were already framed paintings and textured artworks hanging on the plain walls and sculptures on the tables. There were a lot of unfamiliar people, art patrons, and potential buyers as well.
I spotted my brother talking to a man in his late fifties at the left corner, but I had not seen Clyve yet.
“Let’s go meet your brother,” Dad said.
Before we could reach closer, Austen saw us first. He smiled. “Harry.” Then he looked at the old man again. “Of course, you already know Lyndon Bloom.”
The old man smiled and did a handshake with Dad. “Nice to meet again, Lyndon.”
“You seem to have not aged, Arturo. This is my daughter, Harry.”
“Arturo Carilli, my dear.” He shook my hand, and I saw a glint in his eyes.
“I know you see me in the video.” My mood turned sour.
“Video?”
I stilled when I shifted my gaze to Austen, he was already clenching his jaw with wide eyes, telling me to shut up.
“I was thinking about that.” Arturo pointed at the biggest painting on the wall.
My jaw literally dropped. My eyes might be bigger than saucers. I found myself sauntering toward the painting that had the biggest audience-most of them were discussing in a low voice, but it felt like a buzz to my ears.
“Oh, my god.” I stared at the painting, transfixed. “It’s me. I was in that painting.” It was the photo shoot I did while my brother was painting me, and I still remembered I quit that day.
“Mr. Westley won’t sell it. I thought you can convince him for a hundred?”
“A hundred dollars?” I faced Arturio, seemingly insulted.
“Hundred thousand dollars?”
I turned to the painting again and studied it in awe. My eyes were sad. My hair was perfectly falling down my shoulder while I was gripping the satin sheet to cover my chest. My legs and half of my thighs were exposed. It felt like I was brought back to that day when I was broken-that was how I interpreted the painting.
“Perfect and gorgeous,” a whispered in a low and deep voice in my ear that had me yelping.