Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Arlo tapped his serpent ring on the arm of his chair and studied me with fascination. “Tell me about yourself, Alexandrea.”
My stomach knotted as I recalled the last time he embarrassed Aiden and me before we even had the chance to eat dinner. I wasn’t the same girl who ran out of the house in tears. This girl had teeth, and she was ready to fight.
“What do you want to know?”
He stared through me. “Your secrets.”
Don’t bother beating around the bush. Let’s get right to it.
I tipped my head back and chuckled. “I’m too boring to have secrets.”
“I doubt that. Everyone has something to hide.”
“Not me.” I drank my wine and hid behind the glass. “No secrets to share.”
None I want to share with you.
Arlo leaned back in his chair, with his elbows rested on the arms as he studied me. “How is your art career going?”
Not this shit again.
After the dinner with Aiden, I never wanted a repeat of that night. I made a horrible decision by staying in Devil’s Creek. If I had listened to my head instead of my heart, Aiden would still be here.
“It’s going well,” I admitted. “I have another exhibition in two months. A showing at Tate Modern.”
“London,” he mused. “Beautiful city. Before her death, Eva was opening for Tate Modern.”
I nodded.
“The Many Faces of the Devil is still selling well,” Arlo said.
“It’s what I’m known for. People from around the world come to my shows for those paintings.”
Arlo scratched the corner of his jaw and fixed his dark gaze on me. “You seem to hate Devil’s Creek, and yet you chose the Devil as the central theme of your work.”
Nerves coiled in my stomach, wrapping around me like a scorching hot blanket. Arlo always knew how to provoke me, something his sons learned from him.
“My work has nothing to do with this place.”
He lifted a curious eyebrow. “Is that so? When I look at your paintings, I see a familiar theme.”
“You should see the Devil. That’s the point of them.”
“But he’s not always evil.”
I shook my head. “No, sometimes he’s kind.”
“You imply the Devil has a weakness in some of your paintings.”
“He does.” My eyes met Luca’s. “Me. He’ll never let me go.”
Luca consumed my dreams and my nightmares, making me want to sin with him. My Devil was cruel, loving, passionate, and hateful.
Luca Salvatore has many faces.
Arlo’s eyes shifted to Luca, then back to me. “Your last collection sold for a lot of money.”
Was there anything he didn’t know about me? At least I was certain no one from the Salvatore family owned the paintings. After Luca bought out my first exhibition anonymously, I had insisted the galleries only sell my work to people willing to disclose their names.
“Art has nothing to do with money.”
His lips curled upward. “So much like my Eva. She didn’t care about the money.”
“No respectable artist does this for the money,” I challenged. “Once money gets involved, it takes the fun out of a hobby.”
Just the thought of Evangeline Franco and how the Salvatores destroyed her sent a heatwave throughout my body. They caged her, ruined her, took away her freedom.
“I was working with Madeline Laveau on a church restoration before Luca summoned me to Devil’s Creek,” I said to Arlo. “I left my mentor in the middle of a project. She understood family comes first. But I don’t intend to give up my dreams so you can keep me locked in this house like a prisoner.”
Ballsy move, but I had to say it.
Arlo ran a hand across his jaw that could cut through steel. “You’re free to roam about as you please. No one is detaining you.”
Roam about? I’m not a fucking sheep.
“Good. Then, I’d like to drive myself because I’m getting sick of being chauffeured around.”
Arlo’s eyes swept over to Marcello, then back to me. “If you wish to drive…”
“Her doctor hasn’t cleared her to drive,” Luca cut in, and I wanted to slap him across the face.
He gave me a cruel smile.
Arlo ignored his son and said, “You’re not a prisoner here. But the security is for your protection.”
“From what? This place is like a fortress. I don’t need someone shadowing me inside your house or shopping for me.”
The last part I directed at Luca.
Crazy control-freak.
“You’re the only granddaughter of one of the wealthiest men in the world,” Arlo continued. “That makes you a target.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “I’m no one.”
“You are the only heir to the Wellington fortune,” Arlo pointed out.
Because your family made my brother vanish, like fucking Houdini.
“I don’t want my grandfather’s money,” I countered. “I have my own.”
“Money is power, Alexandrea. You don’t know what it’s like not to have it.”
Neither do you, Richie Rich.
“I just want to paint and travel. Money is nothing more than a tool to allow me to pursue my dreams.”