SoHo Gallery Auction Annex

10:30 PM

The auction room was filled to capacity, with at least two hundred viewers in the audience. Ethan stood in the back with Jess and Bethany, waiting for the current painting to sell. As the gallery worker who checked them in had predicted, the competition for Callie’s artwork was fierce.

“One hundred and twenty thousand for Rein-Carnation,” the auctioneer announced. “Next bid is one twenty-five. Do I have –”

A woman up front raised her exhibit guide.

“We have a new bid from buyer twenty-nine. Current bid is one twenty-five…”

As the bids kept climbing, Ethan focused on the painting at the center of the feeding frenzy. He could tell right away it was Callie’s from the bold colors and kinetic brushstrokes. Dozens of carnations circled the canvas, some single stems and others in vibrant bouquets. The flowers formed a wreath, advancing in a clockwise direction through different stages of life: green buds, to blooms exploding with color, to fading petals and withered leaves, to decaying husks, back to buds again.

“One thirty-five!” the auctioneer called out. “One forty, now one fifty.”

Ethan found a better vantage point to study the piece. It struck him as brilliant but cerebral. Calculated rather than spontaneous. So different from the watercolor Callie had given him yesterday.

He closed his eyes and pictured the simple scene from the garden at Belmont. She’d painted herself in the background, gazing at the viewer with something hard to describe in her eyes. Above her stretched an azure, cloudless sky. Sunlight rimmed the puddle in the foreground, rippling at the edges like molten gold. Framing a face reflected in the water.

His face, painted with every color in the rainbow.

Crack! The auction gavel shattered his daydream.

“Sold! To number twenty-nine for one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. Congratulations, madam. You will enjoy this exquisite piece.”

The crowd murmured with approval. Ethan had no idea how much contemporary paintings like these usually went for, but judging from the excited buzz, Callie’s artwork was raking it in tonight. He wondered how much of that money she’d see after the gallery, Bridget and Elin took their cuts. 

As the gallery workers moved Rein-Carnation off the stage, Ethan followed Jess and Bethany down a side aisle to find Jason. Somehow, he’d managed to secure three extra seats with his jacket and Bethany’s sweater. Ethan could tell from the dirty looks thrown their way how well that had gone over. Instead of shifting over like a normal person, Jason let Bethany squeeze past him. That left two empty spots to his left.

“Here, Sacksie.” He moved his jacket and patted the chair beside him. “Saved you a seat.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Ethan sat next to him instead. Sorry asshole. You won’t be groping my fiancée tonight.

Red blotches bloomed on Jason’s cheeks, but he forced a smile. “Any time, Chase. The tickets are one grand a head, by the way. You can pay me later.”

Their neighbors hushed them as the auctioneer returned to the podium.

“This is it. Our painting’s up next,” Jace whispered loudly to Bethany. He turned to face Jess, reaching across Ethan to touch her knee. “How high should I go?”

“Don’t ask me.” She patted his hand, then brushed it off. “Check with your fiancée.”

The auctioneer cleared her throat into the microphone. “The next item up for bid is an oil painting on an alkyd-primed, medium weave linen canvas. Bidding will start at seventy-five thousand dollars.”

Jason rubbed his hands together as they brought War of the Roses onto the stage. The auctioneer described the history behind the painting, but Ethan’s mind kept straying back to the watercolor. Technically, it was so much simpler than Callie’s other artwork. So why did it move him so deeply?

That’s when it struck him. She had poured her creativity into the paintings on display tonight. The gallery was selling windows into her mind. But what she’d given him was something different.

She’d given him a window into her heart. He saw it in the colors she’d chosen to paint his reflection. In that sparkle in her eyes. What was it? Playfulness? Affection? Or something deeper than that?

He’d seen that look before. Earlier that night, in the photograph of her gazing up at her Dad.

His heart fluttered as images of Callie flashed through his mind. Sitting on the edge of her bed to towel dry her hair in the dappled sunshine. Listening to him as he confided his most painful secrets, her expression so filled with empathy. Or skipping over puddles, laughing as she splashed through the mud. As she gazed back at him with love in her eyes.

Fuck. I can’t feel this way.

But he did, and he couldn’t blame alcohol, or jealousy, or anything else.

Jason’s arm shot up to make a bid.

“One twenty-five,” the auctioneer said. “We have a bid of one hundred and twenty-five thousand from the gentleman in blue. Do I hear one thirty?”

Two other bidders got into the action, driving up the price, but Jason kept outbidding them. At one hundred and eighty thousand, one of his rivals dropped out. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he cursed whenever his remaining opponent raised the bid.

“One ninety-five. The bidding stands at one ninety-five.”

Jason waved his number, jaw clenched like a bulldog with a bone.

“Two hundred thousand! Two hundred thousand to bidder nine-o-nine.”

Ethan tuned out the noise and stared at Callie’s painting, suddenly wishing his sister could be here to see it. Abbie would have loved the creativity. She would have loved Callie too. The words of a poem she had written popped into his mind and he swallowed, emotion lodging in his throat like a stone.

Love doesn’t bow to reason

Or obey the farmer’s hand.

It will shun the fertile season

And bloom forth from ice or sand.

Ice or sand. Or a goddamned psych ward.

He loved Callie. He didn’t know what it meant – whether he loved her as a friend or something more – but he suddenly felt an overwhelming need to protect her. He’d only known her for one week, and still he loved her wild heart with an intensity that shocked him. It was like going into freefall with nothing to grab onto. No way to stop the momentum.

“We’re still at two hundred thousand, from the gentleman holding card number nine-o-nine.”

A hush fell over the audience. The other bidder had finally given up.

“Two hundred thousand going once. Twice…”

Ethan raised his number.

“Two hundred and five. We have a new bid for two hundred and five from the gentleman in pink holding number nine-o-six.”

Jess gasped. Jason and Bethany stared at him, bug-eyed.

“Next bid is two hundred and ten. Do I hear two hundred and ten?” the auctioneer asked.

“Bro.” Jason looked at him like he’d just grown another head. “Are you shitting me?”

Ethan ignored him.

“Two hundred and five, going once.”

Jason swore under his breath, then swatted the air with his exhibit guide like he was trying to kill a mosquito.

“Two hundred and ten. The bid’s now at two hundred and ten thousand.”

Jess grabbed Ethan’s wrist and mouthed “don’t,” but he raised his arm anyway.

“Two hundred and fifteen.”

Jason’s arm shot back up, prompting loud whispers from the crowd.

“Two twenty.”

Two hundred and twenty thousand dollars. That would wipe out the inheritance money from his grandparents, and he’d still need to take out a loan to pay the balance, but he didn’t care. No way was he letting that asshole own even a symbolic piece of Callie. He waited for the auctioneer to say “going once” before raising his hand again.

“Two twenty-five.”

Jess shook her head, muttering, “This isn’t happening.”

“Two twenty-five going once.”

Jason leaned in close to his face, spraying him with spittle. “What the fuck are you doing, Chase?”

“I’m buying a painting.”

“Two twenty-five going twice,” the auctioneer warned.

“Fine.” Jason crossed his arms. “Hope you choke on that piece of shit.”

The gavel crashed like a thunderclap. “Sold, to the gentleman in pink, for two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Congratulations, sir. This will make a stunning addition to your collection.”

My collection, Ethan thought, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. Now I own two of Callie’s paintings.

Jess glowered at him, her flawless skin as pale and frigid as ice.

And I’m totally screwed.

***

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