AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The Montgomerys did nothing small. Go big or go home was their motto.
And then it hit me, what Alistair had said before. “You said Gareth is an artist?” I pulled away from the window, leaning on the wall beside it. Maybe that’s why he was so off. Sometimes artists were weird. I knew that firsthand.
“He is,” Alistair spoke with a nod, eyes on me. “He’s… not like most other people. You have to be patient with him. It takes a long time for him to open up.” The way he said it made it sound like a warning.
His eyes fell to my feet, and he took a small step towards me. One of his hands was still in his pocket, but the other tapped against his side. His voice came out quieter this time, but it was just as intense as it had been before, “If you have a problem with him, I need you to come to me, first. No one else in Eastcreek understands Gareth like I do. No one can handle him like me.” His gaze lifted, his blue-eyed stare damn near pinning me to the wall.
“Do you understand me, Brianna?” Alistair asked. In a way, what he’d just said echoed what Rick had told me last night. Rick wanted me to keep our kiss a secret, while Alistair wanted me to go to him and no one else if I had a problem with Gareth—basically keeping it a secret from the world.
None of this sat particularly well with me, but what could I say? Alistair and my mom would leave for their honeymoon, which meant I’d be alone here with Gareth. One way or another I had to learn how to deal with him.
I nodded once.
The smile that tugged at Alistair’s face after that was almost vacant, a show. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good girl.” The words felt ominous, and as he turned around to leave, I couldn’t help but stare at him as he went.
Oh, man. Right when I thought I could do this, Alistair came and made me feel ill at ease all over again.
Great.
Once he was gone, I turned back to the window, staring at the pool house and wondering why Gareth needed an entire separate building for his art.
Chapter Six – Gareth
Alistair had hired someone to cook us meals for the first two weeks, just so we could all get used to a new routine. That first night, when all four of us had sat down for dinner, it was strained, mostly because I didn’t understand why my uncle thought someone like Brianna would interest me.
He wanted her to keep me out of trouble. Hah. Yeah, I got a laugh out of that, and then I just got annoyed at the whole thing.
I sat on the right side of my uncle, while his new wife sat on his left. Brianna sat beside her mother, poking at the food, not really eating it. Her mother didn’t pay much attention to her—I doubted she ever did—but I noticed.
She’d moved into the bedroom across the hall from mine. We had separate bathrooms, but all in all, we were too damned close.
Tonight was our last night as a family of four for a while. Tomorrow morning, I’d have to take Brianna to school with me, while my uncle went on his honeymoon.
He didn’t want to go, but he had to keep up appearances. How would it look to the world if he didn’t act happy about his new marriage for at least a month or two? Don’t make me laugh. Sooner or later, Alistair would tire of her. He’d want to get rid of her.
Hmm. Maybe I could get a new paint color.
Nicole was busy talking about the honeymoon and how she was so excited for it, but she was utterly oblivious to the fact that my uncle stared squarely at me, his face damn near emotionless. He watched me, wordlessly telling me that I had to be nice to Brianna, especially while they were gone.
Fuck that. I’d do whatever the fuck I wanted to her, and she’d have nowhere to run, no one to tattle on me to. He wouldn’t be around to stop me from hurting her if I wanted to—and right now, I was debating on it. Hurting people was my specialty, just like painting.
Later that night, as Nicole and Alistair were off making sure they were fully packed for their trip, Brianna took a shower. I took it upon myself to look around in her bedroom. This was my house, after all. Everything in it belonged to me, Brianna and all her shit now included.
Her clothes left much to be desired. She was apparently one of those girls who loved leggings and hated dresses—because she had hardly any dresses. Not that I saw, anyway, besides her Maid of Honor dress and a random black one. She stuck to either laced Converse shoes or pleather boots.
I frowned as I pulled away from her closet, unimpressed by what I’d seen so far. Turning around, I spotted something sitting on her nightstand, near her bed. My feet brought me over to it, and I picked it up.
A sketchpad, the paper coiled so you could flip to your next page instead of having to either tear the old stuff out or have it hanging there as you worked.
That’s right. Alistair had told me she was an artist. He’d given her another room to do her thing, but she hadn’t done much of anything yet, and it was making me wonder if she was indeed an artist or if my uncle was wrong about her.
And if he was wrong, well, there was no reason to keep her or her mother here.
I had no hopes whatsoever that I’d be impressed by what dwelled within the sketchbook as I flipped it open to the first page. When girls said they were artists, a lot of times they meant that they drew cartoons or anime—there was nothing wrong with that style of art, but it didn’t intrigue me at all.
What did intrigue me? That was a complicated question with a loaded answer.
The second my eyes scanned the first drawing, I was hit with a wave of incredulousness. I stared down at a portrait of a cat, but a thick black line was drawn down the center of it, right in the middle of its face. The left side was realistic, each and every hair drawn by hand, its eye so very lifelike. The right side was nothing more than a skeletal version of the other, but the way the bones were drawn—with such exquisite detail…
