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)
“You have made quite the name for yourself,” Arlo said, his deep voice as smooth as silk. “If Eva were alive, she would have been proud to call you her daughter-in-law. You have accomplished a lot in only a few years.”
My mouth fell open from his confession. It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me.
“I wish I could have met her,” I admitted. “I would have loved to paint with her.”
“You have a similar style, a mixture of Eva and Jean Metzinger.”
“My mom hates Metzinger,” I told him. “She also hates cubism and Art Deco. And I hate her. So, naturally, I loved Metzinger, Picasso, and similar artists. And through their work, I found Evangeline.”
“Your mother hated Eva, too.”
Not surprised by his words, I sipped my wine. My mother had often voiced her hatred of Evangeline’s paintings. She pitched a fit when my grandfather had sent Queen of Nothing to me as a birthday present.
“I know,” I said with a nod. “One night, when I was sleeping, she took a knife to Queen of Nothing, ripped the canvas to shreds. I loved that painting, and that bitch ruined it.”
Arlo smirked as if he understood why my mother chose that painting to deface. Another secret?
“Eva painted it for your mother.”
My eyebrows rose. “Really?”
He nodded. “Your mother and Eva were always in competition.”
I knew about my mother’s hatred for Evangeline Franco, but I didn’t know they competed. Compared to Eva, my mother was a child painting with Crayola watercolors. She had no vision, style, or taste. Her work was flat and lifeless with zero emotion—like her.
I grinned. “My mother was the queen of nothing?”
He bobbed his head, and I burst into a fit of laughter, now understanding the meaning of the painting. I’d always wondered why my mom was so mad that she destroyed it. Afterward, I picked up the scraps and mailed them to my grandfather. He gave them to an art restorer, who did his best to repair what my mother had ruined.
“I made my mother pay for that,” I admitted with an evil smile.
Outraged, I’d raced into my mother’s studio, which was a converted pool house not attached to the main house. I dumped all of her oils on the floor and lit a match, savoring every second as I watched her work burn. After locking me in my closet for years, it was the least she deserved.
Arlo flashed a semblance of a smirk. “Your grandfather had to pull a lot of strings to make your little stunt disappear.”
I beamed with pride because I was damn proud of myself for finally standing up to my mother and her bullshit. “I only have one regret.”
He cocked his head at me. “And what is that?”
“I should have burned down the studio with her inside.”
His gaze traveled over his sons, who had been so quiet, listening to us as they ate their salads. They all gave me pleased looks. I was just as much of a monster as them. Only I hid my inner crazy behind pretty dresses and fake smiles.
Arlo’s dark eyes flared with excitement. “All in due time, Alexandrea.”
What the hell does that mean?
“You have a lot more in common with Eva than you think,” Arlo confirmed with a somber expression. “She had a lot of fire. Passion.”
“Anger fuels my passion.”
“Eva wanted a daughter,” Arlo said between bites of his salad. “It was the only thing I couldn’t give her.”
Why did I feel like he was softening me up for the final blow? With Arlo, nothing was ever simple. Much like his son, he was only nice when he wanted something, and he was never this personal with me.
“Perhaps you will have a daughter with Luca.”
My mouth hung open.
“You are marrying my son.”
I held up my left hand. “I don’t see a ring on my finger.”
“It’s time for Luca to marry,” he insisted with fire behind his words.
So. Fucking. What.
I shot a glance at Luca. “Your son only wants to possess me like a toy or a pet. Luca doesn’t want a wife. He wants someone to control.”
Luca’s demon eyes burned a hole through me.
“Isn’t that right, Luca? You just want a plaything. Not a wife.”
“Don’t tell me what I want,” he snapped. “I don’t care if I have to break your finger to put the ring on it. You are fucking marrying me.”
A shiver skated down my arms from his threat. “And here, I didn’t think you could get any worse. I should have known better.”
He slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t start with me, Drea.”
“What’s the rush to put a ring on my finger?”
“Because it’s time for us to finalize this union,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I’m done playing games with you.”
I threw my hand over my heart, making a silly face. “I’m so touched by your declaration of love.”