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If he had been simply a gorgeous face and a body to match, maybe I could have walked away after having that first taste. But Kathryn is right. There is far more to Dominic Baine than just his amazing good looks and seductive persona.
It was his contradictions that did me in. The paradox of the cold, intensely private loner and the complicated, sensual man who stripped away all of my defenses.
It is these secret layers that I’m peeling back only now that make me love him even more.
Kathryn presses her fingers to her brow. “I’m feeling a bit flushed. Would you mind fetching those pills from the side table and pouring me some water?”
“I don’t mind at all.” I get up and bring her what she asked for, waiting as she takes a couple of fever reducers and washes them down with a cut-crystal glass of water. When she’s finished, I return the pill bottle and glass to the table, then rejoin her on the sofa.
She closes her eyes for a moment, then continues where she left off. “When I saw that he seemed to have more than a passing appreciation for art, on a lark I asked Dominic to accompany me to another event the following week. I was shocked when he agreed. And thrilled. Things between us . . . progressed from there.”
I try not to hear the wistfulness in her voice when she talks about her time with my man. Except he wasn’t mine then. As much as I want to think he is now, I can’t pretend it doesn’t wound me to realize how little I truly know about him, his past.
And maybe it serves me right, considering all of the secrets I hope I never have to share with him.
I swallow past the guilt that seems ever-present in my throat. “How long were you and he together?”
“A few months, perhaps close to a year.” She shrugs vaguely, but by the regretful look in her eyes, I’m certain she could tell me the precise dates if I pressed her. She chases the expression away with a light wave of her hand. “I brought Dominic to parties with me and social events. He didn’t seem to mind so much. Aside from being ridiculously good looking, he was also intelligent. Shrewdly so. I’m sure there were many who disregarded him as just another pretty, dull-headed piece of arm candy, but Dominic wasn’t like that. He paid close attention to the conversations going on around him. Powerful, wealthy men discussing investments and business ventures. He made no secret of the fact that he wanted something more out of life, and I could see that he was capable of accomplishing anything he put his mind to.”
I recall that Nick made his first million in real estate investments by the time he was twenty-two. And he’s told me that in three more years’ time, his net worth had reached a half a billion dollars. But what I didn’t know is where he got the initial nest egg to make that first purchase. Now, I think I do.
“One day, Dominic came to me with a painting he’d done a few years before—the only piece of his work he said he had left. He asked if I would be interested in buying it. I was amazed at his talent. The piece was exquisite, one of the finest modern expressionist works I’d ever seen. Of course, I had to have it. After I bought it, he then invested that money into some real estate stocks he’d had his eye on. The rest, as you know, is history.”
“Do you still have his painting?”
“Sadly, no. I don’t.”
“He told you it was the only one he had left. If he painted others, where are they?”
She blinks and looks away from me for a moment. “None of his work exists anymore. There were four others—pieces he brought with him to New York, along with the one he sold to me. I’d discovered he had sold the earlier ones to another collector. I made it my private mission to try to track each one down and buy it back.”
From her somber tone, I realize this story does not end well. “Were you able to recover any of them?”
“Oh, yes. I found them all.” She smiles sadly. “Each one was more stunning than the next. I was so proud of him. I believed in him so much, I wanted the world to recognize how gifted he was. I decided to host a party at my summer house in the Hamptons. Everyone I knew from the art world was there—critics, curators, collectors, other important artists. They’d all come with the promise of meeting this undiscovered new talent I had found. I hadn’t told Dominic what I was planning. He had no idea that the party was intended to be anything more than one of my seasonal soirées.”
“Did he know you’d found his other paintings?”
She shakes her head. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought he would be thrilled to see that I’d bought them all back for him. On the day of the party, only moments before anyone arrived, Dominic figured out that I was keeping a secret from him. He found the paintings. When he realized I intended to show them publicly, he flew into a rage. He took them all down . . . then he destroyed every one.”
I gasp, horrified. “Oh, Kathryn. He didn’t.”
“I’d never seen him so furious. He saw it as a betrayal. I hadn’t realized how deeply it had wounded him to lose his ability to paint until that moment. Of course, by then it was much too late. He accused me of using him—of wanting to destroy him—when in fact harming him was the very las
t thing I ever wanted to do.” She releases a deep, rattling sigh. “God . . . I loved him so hopelessly I would’ve done anything to make him happy. I truly thought I was. Instead, everything blew up in my face. He left, and we’ve hardly spoken since.”
I feel for her, and for the pain she’s reliving by sharing this memory with me. We were strangers when I walked into her house, but not now. I reach over and cover her hand with mine. Instead of pulling away, she glances at me in mild surprise before nodding silently, understanding the unlikely bond we’ll share after today.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “For you, and for him.”
I’m sorry for the tragic, irreplaceable loss of Nick’s art, something I’ll never see for myself.
No one will, which was apparently his intent when he destroyed it all.
She begins to cough and I let go of her hand. She’s tired from her medical treatments, and talking with me isn’t helping. I don’t want to add to her burdens, especially when I’ve come here today for admittedly selfish reasons.
I get up and pour her another glass of water. She takes it from me with a weak smile and dark, shadowed eyes. As she drinks, I walk over to my paintings and begin to replace them back into my portfolio. I doubt she has any interest in them, aside from the curiosity that spurred her to invite me to come in the first place.
“Do you despise me now too?” Her voice drifts across the room, thin and quiet. “Is that why you’re running away so quickly?”
