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I waited until I heard the door to that apartment close before leaving the elevator and going to check out what number. Knowing where she lived would make finding out who she was easier, even if she wasn’t eighteen. I had my ways.
I took a quick picture of her apartment number, and then I left. The rest, as they say, was history.
Her name was Brianna Dent, and she lived with a single mother… who just so happened to work at and manage an art gallery in the city, and that art gallery was hosting a local children’s night, where anyone under eighteen could submit their work and showcase it. The gallery’s website listed a whole bunch of children, along with Brianna’s name.
The night of the gallery showcase, I went. It didn’t take me long to zero in on her work. A giant canvas, situated in the back, where a few others had stopped to admire it. I had to wait until the others left to get a good view of it, but once they were out of the picture and I saw the subject of the canvas, I knew it.
That girl was perfect—for Gareth.
The canvas was split down the middle with a thick black line. One half was a self-portrait of Brianna, painted so realistically it felt like she was staring out at you, watching you while you studied her work. The other half was skeletal, again painted perfectly. She had talent, that’s for sure, and she knew what bones looked like, almost too well. It was eerie, studying the painting, like I could peer into Brianna’s soul and see her for who she really was.
I doubted anyone else in her life knew her the way I did. I’d been following her for a while, after that day in the park. She was a loner, the only child of a single mother. She never hung out with friends, never dated. Her social media was pretty vacant for someone her age—the opposite of her mother. Polar opposite.
I took a picture of the painting. I didn’t know if it was for sale, but it didn’t matter. The painting itself didn’t matter. No, as I stared at the painting, I knew the only thing that mattered was Brianna.
And to get to the girl, I’d have to go through the mother.
As if on cue, her mother left the backroom of the gallery, and she spotted me promptly. Her face brightened, and she sauntered over to me, standing beside me as she joined me in studying the painting.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she asked, though I noticed her gaze had flicked to me—and stayed there. While I stared at the painting, she was busy checking me out.
“It is,” I agreed. I knew I wasn’t ugly. Many girls while I’d grown up and women after I’d come of age had tried to come on to me, tried to throw themselves at me, both for the money and the Montgomery last name. The fact that I was handsome enough helped, though I always found them insufferable. I’d always made it clear to them that it would go nowhere, regardless of what they tried with me.
This time, unfortunately, I had to play the game to get what I wanted, and that was this woman’s daughter.
“My daughter’s actually the artist,” she told me. Nicole Dent was a woman near forty, though she tried her best not to look it. She wore her shoulders straight, her posture impeccable. Her short brown hair was slightly curled, and she wore short heels to match her outfit. “She’s been obsessed with painting, ever since she was a toddler learning how to finger-paint.” She laughed, though it almost sounded bitter. “The messes she would make.”
I nodded along. “I get it. My nephew is the same way. Ever since he could hold a paintbrush, he’s been obsessed.”
“Your nephew?” she asked. “Is his work here?”
“No,” I told her. “He isn’t interested in letting the world see his work. He prefers to hoard it all to himself after the pieces are finished.” I stuck my hands in my pockets, and I nodded to canvas in front of us. “Your daughter is very talented. I bet she and my nephew would get along perfectly.”
That got her to chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know about that. My daughter is… let’s just say she’s not the friend-making type.” Her eyes, bluer than her daughter’s, took me in again, slower this time. “If you’re interested in the piece, you can put an offer in. I do have someone else interested—”
“Tell you what, I’ll double whatever their offer is,” I said, a smile growing on my face as I turned toward her. “And I’ll take your number with it.” When she blinked in shock at my forwardness, I gestured to her left hand. “It’s just… I didn’t see a ring, so I figured—”
“Her father and I divorced years ago,” she was quick to say, jumping on it like I knew she would. Most women would, if given the chance. “I’m Nicole, by the way.” She offered me her hand.
I took her hand in mine, though I didn’t shake it. Instead, I bent my top half down and turned her hand so that I could kiss her knuckles. That earned a bubbly giggle from the woman, and when I let her hand go, I said, “I’m Alistair Montgomery.”
“Montgomery?” she echoed, eyes widening as she recognized my last name. Most everyone in this city would. “Not Montgomery as in—”
“Montgomery Enterprises, yes, though that was my father’s company before he died.”
All she could seem to say was, “Oh, my.” But I could tell I had her. She was intrigued by me and she’d like nothing better than to sell me the painting and give me her number. We spent the next few minutes talking, and then she got pulled away by someone else.
Nicole Dent was utterly unaware of the truth of the matter. She had no reason to believe I wasn’t interested in her, that the only reason I was doing any of this was to get her daughter under my roof. It would take a little more work on my part, but there was a way to do this legally.
Marry the mother, get the daughter. That was my plan, and given Nicole’s apparent fascination with money, it’d be all too easy to reel her in.
We started seeing each other shortly afterward, and the months ticked by. Nicole made it clear what she was looking for, and I happened to be the living embodiment of everything she wanted. A younger, handsome man who came from a well-respected family, who had money aplenty. When I got down on my knee and proposed, she was so thrilled at the ring and the idea of becoming Mrs. Montgomery that she didn’t even notice how my smile didn’t reach my eyes.
I pushed for the wedding to happen sooner rather than later. The quicker I got Brianna into the house, the sooner I’d know whether the whole thing would work. If it didn’t, if, by some reason, Brianna didn’t fit with Gareth…
No. I’d do my best to protect her, if it came to it. If she played the game, I’d welcome her into the family—and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for family.
The wedding came and went all too quickly, and soon enough Nicole and Brianna had moved into Montgomery Manor with Gareth and me. Nicole wanted to quit her job, but I managed to convince her to keep it. It provided an easy way to get her out of the house whenever I’d need her gone.
