Page 84 of The Cost of Love

“Do you have more?”

I point to the wall where stacked canvases rest against it. She walks over and starts turning them around, taking her time looking at each one. The whole time, her face is stoic, and she is giving nothing away. I hold my breath and wring my fingers.

“So?” I finally ask.

“You got talent, kid,” she says while slowly clapping.

I chuckle and do a bow.

“Can I have one for my room?” She picks up a painting of a man staring off into the distance. His features are blurred, so you can’t discern exactly what he feels. But the way the color gets brighter the further you are away from him, you can guess at a feeling.

“Yeah, of course.”

She tucks it under her arm, but doesn’t move towards the door. Instead, she stares at me head-on.

“So far, you seem decent. I like you for my sister. But we’ve seen what men are capable of when they don’t get what they want. I say all of that to say this: If you, at any moment, think you are so entitled to her that you can cause her harm, I will ruin you.”

She looks so serious, I take her at her word. As young and ill-equipped as she is, I know she will still find a way to do it, and I admire that about her.

“I won’t, I promise.” I offer my pinky out to her, and she takes it. Squeezing tight, she gestures between her eyes and mine before letting go.

Rejoining the others in the living room, they gush over her new art for her room. Of course, that makes the other two want one, so I tell them to go and pick something out.

Once back, Jamal eases down next to me.

“Can you paint a portrait of us as a family? Like some medieval type stuff.”

“I would love to be a princess.” Gabby twirls around, holding on to the edge of her shirt.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Cool.” He goes back to eating his ice cream while beaming.

“Does this mean you’re finally ready to share your art with the world?” Chanice asks.

I shrug, but she doesn’t leave it alone.

“Why won’t you?”

A million reasons, but the one that stands stark against my mind is that I don’t feel like I can be the artist and the CEO. If my artwork is what my associates and competition are coming to look at, it will impact the way they see me in the boardroom.

I shrug again, but it doesn’t look like she accepts that answer. So when the kids are sleeping in my guestrooms, she brings it up again while we drink wine on the couch.

“So, I know you’ve said that you have to run your family’s company. But if you could do anything else in the world, what would you do?”

Her question reminds me of when I asked Elizabeth the same thing, and now that I’m the one having to answer, I want to be as honest as possible.

“I would love to be an artist. I would love to travel for fun and not work, and I would love to just be able to live my days as I want.”

“And you can’t do both?” She leans her body against mine and rests her hand on my chest.

Putting my arm around her shoulders, I pull her tighter to me. “If only it were that simple.”

“Who do you feel like you owe this to?”

“You know my father is dead. That’s why I’m running the company now. My mother has as much say in how things are done as a random person on the street. But I still feel the same weight they placed on my shoulders when I was five, and they wrote down on my homework that I wanted to be a CEO when I grew up. I don’t know how to walk away from a destiny that was hand-picked for me. Especially since it’s one my grandfather wanted for me as well.”

The same thoughts that always run through my mind at that statement make their appearance, as I battle with what I think I know and what I’ve been informed.