Beautiful Lies (16 page)

“Yes,” I agree eagerly. I lean forward in my chair as he begins to remove the cloths from each painting. My first impression is
wow.
His paintings are so lifelike. I literally feel like I am looking at real people. The three paintings are all of the same girl. She looks at least fourteen years of age. In each painting she is in a ballet outfit but positioned in a different dance move. Her outfit is the same in each picture accept for the color. The first is white, the second is blue and the third is pink. It is clear that the girl in the three pictures is a good dancer. Each pose that she strikes is so strong. Every picture shows her performing a dance move in front of a panel of mirrors.

My eyes focus more intently on the reflection of the young girl in the first painting and that’s when I realize that the reflection is slightly different. When I look closely at the mirror image I notice something dripping down the thigh of the girl and that’s when I finally understand why people would compare his work to Artemisia Gentileschi’s as well. My eyes scan each painting in awe and I immediately see the running theme in every reflection. In the first painting while the little girl is happily dancing away, blood is trickling between her thighs, which--when I look closer--are also covered in bruises. In the second painting, her hands are outstretched high above her head, but when you focus, she has identical cuts on both of her wrists. One of the wrists has blood trickling free, and my heart feels for her instantly. When my eyes fall on the last painting, I see the hidden message instantly. The last dancer has a bruise the shape of two hands around her neck as though she has been strangled. The bruise is faint but still visible. My eyes dart between the little girl in reality and the one inside the mirror and my heart hurts for her. The paintings tell me two things…she is trapped…and she is suffering in silence.

“Wow.” It is the only word that I can utter after I take each image in.

“Now you understand why I said that you would love Mr. River’s work, correct?” Alfred says.

“I do,” I reply, still in awe. “These are amazing,” I say, turning to Jack. I feel a strange dizzy spell because I moved so fast but I ignore it so that I can speak to Jack about the theme behind his work.

“Thank you.”

“I noticed that in each painting it is the same girl. What inspired them?” I ask, my eyes still scanning the paintings.

“My mother.” That catches my attention. I turn to face him and he continues. “She was a dancer. A ballet dancer. Based on what my grandmother told me, she loved it. She danced all the time. Day and night. Finally, my grandmother agreed to her having dance lessons. Unfortunately the dance instructor’s husband had a thing for younger girls. My mother in particular. He began abusing her from the age of eleven right up until thirteen when she fell pregnant with me. My grandmother didn’t have a clue and when she found out, she was distraught, but my mother was already too far gone with me. She died during child birth,” his words hit something deep in my core. I feel my eyes swelling.

“The paintings are to honor her memory?” I ask.

“Yes, but to also raise awareness. To teach people to look out for signs that they may miss; things that are not necessarily as visible on the surface, hence my use of the reflections. My grandmother said that because my mother always loved dancing and seemed so happy when she was performing, she missed the signs. I paint these to hopefully raise awareness about all issues that affect young girls. I always use this dancer to do so.”

“The girl in the painting, is that your mother?”

“Yes, I have a couple of photographs of her dancing and I use those to help me to create my pieces.”

“That is amazing. I’m sure she would be very proud,” I whisper, looking at his work with so much more understanding.

“I hope so.”

“Mr. Rivers also donates a tenth of all that he receives from his paintings to a different charity every month,” Alfred adds.

I smile at Jack before turning to Alfred. “We’ll take all three.” I say.

“Do you need to discuss it with Mr. Adams first?” Alfred asks.

“No, he would definitely support this, I assure you.” This is what separates Rick’s gallery from most. His paintings all have heart. They mean something and stand up for something bigger than we could ever truly understand. I would have loved for him to see them but things are better this way.

“Then I will send through the paperwork in the morning and we can start the arrangements,” Alfred smiles at me.

“Alfred said that you would like them. I’m glad that you think so highly of them,” Jack beams.

“Alfred knows my taste very well. I am very impressed and I’m sure that this will not be the last time that we work together,” I smile.

“I hope not,” Jack adds.

“Ah, Mr. Black! Just in time. Ms Carter is in a buying mood,” Alfred winks at me playfully. I smile but my eyes fall on Taylor’s face and all my previous concentration has been erased. His eyes are locked on mine and it feels like the walls of the room are drawing in on me.

“Can I get anyone a drink?” Jessica’s voice breaks through my trance. All three men turn to face her now and I am so thankful for the distraction.

“I have an appointment, so unfortunately I have to be going now. But thank you very much for the offer,” Jack replies politely. He says his goodbyes before heading out of the gallery.

“Anyone else?” She asks once Jack has left.

“I would love a cup of coffee...black,” Alfred replies. Jessica nods before turning toward Taylor who seems to make her appear slightly nervous. Seeing her react to him in that way causes a strange pang in my stomach but I push it away instantly.

“Coffee would be great,” Taylor adds before his eyes fall on me again.

I quickly turn and focus my attention on Alfred. “I’ll quickly go and help Jessica, which should give you enough time to set up, right?”

“More than enough,” he assures me.

“Great,” I say before making a beeline for the door.

“Who was that?” Jessica asks when we are a little further from the viewing room.

“Who?”

“Mr. tall, dark and edible?” I know that she’s talking about Taylor and I hate it.

“Oh, Mr. Black,” I try to sound casual. “He’s just an artist that was at one of Alfred’s exhibitions. We might feature some of his paintings in the gallery.”

“
Just
an artist? That man is many things, Paige, but he is not
just
anything...he is so much more,” she giggles.

I throw a fake smile her way before trying to divert the topic.

“I’ll make the coffee, can you just set out the cream and sugar please,” I say as I rush inside the kitchen. I stop short and lean against the counter before closing my eyes.

“Whoa, are you ok?” Jessica asks, panicked.

“Yeah, I just went a little dizzy, sorry. I skipped breakfast today and I think I’m just a little light headed.”

“Ok, you should probably take a seat. I’ll make the drinks and get you a glass of water.”

I want to argue and tell her not to make a fuss but I don’t actually have the energy. I make my way over to one of the stools that we have in the kitchen area and take a seat. I fan my face with my hand as I watch Jessica spinning around the kitchen. I try to ignore the slight pounding in my head and try to figure out how I am going to deal with the current situation.

I need to remain professional regardless of how I am feeling toward Taylor. This is work and just as I told Rick, it can’t be anything else here. My thoughts are interrupted as a glass of ice cold water is placed in front of me.

“Thanks,” I say before taking a swig of the cool liquid.

“You should probably eat something, too, you know.”

“I will, after they leave, but I need to get this out of the way first.”

“Ok. How’s it going so far?”

“Very well, the first artist’s pieces were amazing. I said that we’d take all three. And I’ve seen Tay-Mr Black’s work before, at the exhibition.”

She gives me a strange look but doesn’t say anything about it.

“That sounds great. Right, are you ready or do you want to sit here for a little while longer?” She asks.

“Nope, I’m all good,” I lie. I still feel slightly dizzy but I’m not about to let Taylor think that I’m just back here avoiding him.

“Ok, if you’re sure?”

“I am. Let’s go,” I say, jumping up from the stool and heading toward the viewing room. I hold open the kitchen door so that Jessica can get through with the tray in her hands.

“I’m not the greatest at making coffee, so I hope they like it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“You’ve never tasted a cup of
my
coffee, that’s why,” she says with raised eyebrows. I giggle at her comment, before we are back within the confines of the viewing room.

I feel Taylor’s eyes on me instantly and as much as I should look away, I don’t. Jessica hands them both their drinks before disappearing from the room again.

“Mr. Black and I agreed that it would be best to bring along the paintings from the exhibition the other night since those were the ones that you were interested in,” Alfred begins.

“Yes, that’s great,” I mumble trying to blink away the blurry feeling out of my eyes.

“Are you quite alright, Ms Carter?” Alfred’s voice sounds concerned.

“Yes,” I manage even though my head feels as light as air and the feeling of throwing up has come over me.

“Paige, is something wrong?” It’s the first time that he has spoken since he has got here. I turn and see a panicked look on Taylor’s face right before the entire room fades to black.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

PAIGE’S STORY

Taylor’s POV

I
watch as she falls to the ground and everything just stops. She hits the floor and my stomach drops. Every guard that I’ve put up and every barrier that I’ve designed, disappears in that moment. My need to protect her heightens. I rush to her side and fall to my knees. Her body is lifeless and I can feel my stomach churning inside. Jessica is screaming and Alfred is frozen in shock, just watching everything play out. My eyes never leave her beautiful face and finally I allow myself to touch her. Her skin is beautifully smooth, just the way that I have always imagined it to be. In fact, it’s better. She is so beautiful, so much more beautiful than in my dreams. She’s so much more. I get a flashback that I instantly push from my head.
I can’t think about that right now. I can’t let it creep in.

“Paige,” I call her name softly, as I gently pull her into my lap. She is limp and heavy. My chest is rising and falling at an increasingly fast rate. I’m trying to remain calm but inside I am losing my mind. I
need
her to be alright because this is my chance to fix everything. I need to make everything right. I can’t let anything happen to her. I should stay away; it would be the right thing to do. Deep down I know that I have to stay away from her, but my need to protect her is more dominant as twisted as that sounds. I shouldn’t even feel this need to be near her or protect her. I already discovered that she was fine, the night that I first saw her at the gallery. That should be enough. I shouldn’t need anything more. I should be letting her live her life…sticking around makes me feel sick and twisted, but staying away bothers me even more. Seeing her lying here bothers me. I have to know that at a moment like this, I am here to shield her. I can’t leave her like this...alone. I have to protect her.

I’m angry at myself for a moment as I try to contemplate my reasoning for this.
What do you want from her? What do you expect? I don’t know…
I can never expect her to understand the choices that I’ve made in my life. The decisions that I’ve made. Even if one day I can find the courage to be completely honest with her, how can I expect her to even be able to look me in the eyes once she knows everything about me?

But all this time, I never knew that this was an option. I never thought that her being here with me could be a possibility. Maybe this is a second chance to make things right. Could this be my opportunity to make things better? Maybe I messed up back then but fate is giving me this second chance. A chance with
her.
I can’t deny the connection that I feel. It’s strong, but I have to fight it.
It’s wrong. I shouldn’t feel like this.

Maybe I can do this...just this. I can protect her without feeling anything more than a need to look after her. Everything else can be put to the back of my mind if I just ignore it, but I have to be here for her. I need to protect her...It’s my job.

I can’t fail. Not like with Marie. Paige...I can’t let you down...not again...

“Paige,” I whisper again. Her eyes flicker open and I know that I have a problem because the moment that they connect with mine, this becomes about so much more than just doing the right thing...so much more....

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

PAIGE’S STORY

I
awaken to the feeling of a warm hand stroking my cheek and the sound of my name being called softly.