"La Clairière" by Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1885), stolen 1987, recovered 2009 - value unknown

Chapter Twenty

"Eleanor Vaycker! What a surprise."

I hated the smug voice that called from across the gallery. I loathed it, but I plastered a smile and turned. I was gripping Simon tight, one arm looped with his and my other hand clasping his forearm. To my surprise, Simon didn't pull away; instead, he bent his elbow to better allow my grip.

Both of us looked to the man approaching us. The smug voice belonged to an even smugger douch—

...man.

To make a long story short, and their complicated personalities simple, the Ponting brothers were pretentious. Even for me, their use of wealth and reputation was off-putting.

It was Daniel who came to a stop before us, plucking his sleeves and smiling too bright. James was probably prowling elsewhere; even in adulthood, the twins never seemed far from the other. Although, I certainly wasn't complaining of his absence. Daniel was more than enough on his own, reminding me of a dragon in its cavern of wealth where he stood.

"Daniel! How lucky to see you," I lied. My voice was too smooth, too easy, too well-practiced. I swallowed my grimace like I was raised to do. "I didn't think you'd be around tonight. Is James here as well?"

"Ah, he's around here somewhere," Daniel brushed off, flicking his hand. A ring flashed on his finger like a glittering scale would. He was always gaudy in his wealth. Some things never changed. "We're always available to help our lovely patrons—present company included. I noticed your interest in 'Laura'."

"It's very nice," I agreed, glancing at the painting. I'd hardly looked at it, having been much too occupied with Simon to give it due diligence, but I nodded along anyway. There was a gleam in Daniel's eye I didn't like.

"It's a new addition. Buyers are already lining up, surprisingly enough. We didn't expect it to be so popular. Who knows with these new wave fans and wannabe critics, right?" He cracked a patronizing smile, chuckling in superiority.

I nodded again, but his ring wasn't the only part of him that gleamed in greed.

"Yet, James and I must be mistaken. It must really be worth something if Eleanor Vaycker herself has deigned it worthy of her time."

"Well, I—"

"If you're looking to purchase, I can always make a deal for you," his head tilted to Simon with a knowing smile, "anything for an old friend."

"I wouldn't—"

"Of course, you'll have to pay for it. Not sure how they do it at good old 'hill these days, but we personally don't like to give anything away here," he quipped. He paired it with a nauseating wink, as if that'd do any good to imbue his coarse comment with humor. "We don't let our pieces leave without a little something in return."

He just couldn't resist, huh?

Simon scoffed at his words, but I squeezed his arm in warning. It was a low blow, screaming distasteful manners that money couldn't fix, but I expected nothing less from him. A man who believed he was God's gift to women didn't err on the side of caution. Daniel hadn't been sent to the lion's den; he was the lion. Unfortunately, Simon's disapproval was enough to earn Daniel's attention.

"Oh, how rude of me!" The arrogant snotwallet pasted even more exaggerated niceties on his facade as he introduced himself. "Daniel Ponting, co-owner of Ponting and Painting Gallery. My apologies, I was just so thrilled to see Ellie here, I forgot we never formally introduced. But, hell, can you blame me?"

He whistled in appreciation, sweeping his eyes down my figure in shameless lechery. "Damn. It really has been a while. You're looking good, El."

I'm going to throw up in my mouth.

It was Simon's hand covering mine then, giving a knowing squeeze before offering his own to Satan. "Simon Gatz. Nice to meet you, Daniel."

The men shook hands, and I hoped Simon was crushing Daniel's fingers at least a little bit. I tightened my own grip on Simon's arm, hoping it'd be enough to ward off the bad omens emanating before us.

It wasn't.

"How do you know Ellie?" Daniel inquired maliciously, dropping the shake. He pointed his intact finger between Simon and I with a flat smile.

"We—"

"We're together," I blurted.

I was ashamed of myself, but it'd be better that way. I knew from experience how much easier it was to hide behind a fake relationship than deal with blustering ego from Mr. Hot Shot. Girl power would have to take one for the team while I dodged bullets of past nuisances.

Simon glanced at me briefly before nodding in agreement. His words were smooth as he joined in my lie. "Yes. Over a year now."

"And yet no ring on her finger," Daniel prodded with a hum. He shook his head lightly, apparently unable to resist adding fuel to the fire. "I'm surprised. Her mother was always saying how Ellie was such a family girl."

This mother—

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Simon responded coolly before I could. Daniel was lucky, I'd been ready to retort with a not-so-nice wake up call. Though, I kept it ready, because Daniel still had that awful grin of arrogance.

"No, I suppose it isn't, anymore," he acknowledged.

"It never was!" I rebuffed, momentarily losing my grip. "I was never any of your concern. Even back then."

I'd been trying hard to maintain my composure, but I was flabbergasted at how awful Daniel was acting. It was egregious behavior, even for him. He was a known asshole, sure, but why was he leveling a spear to my chest? Why was he now removing the safety of his weaponry, when before he'd only ever fiddled with it in empty threat? He was the type to ruffle feathers both unintentionally and intentionally, but his actions were too crude and churlish to be without reason. It didn't make sense; I'd hardly seen the guy since we'd escaped the walls of our private educations. Why was he being so rough around his sharp edges?

"We just came to look at the art, but we're done now," I stated. "We'll be going."

"So soon? What a shame, I'm sure James would've loved to see you."

My teeth were going to crack under the pressure of my bite, and I worried Simon's would, too. His jaw was tight and his eyes were angry as he stared Daniel down. I had a feeling it'd be quite wonderful to let them go toe to toe, to let pride clash with prowess, but Simon didn't deserve to become embroiled in trouble because of me. Whether I liked it or not, the Ponting brothers could cause more trouble than they were worth. Lord knows they'd caused me and my friends enough grief back in the day.

"Let's go, Simon. Have a good night, Dan."

I began to pull Simon away, but we weren't quick enough in our retreat to avoid another of Daniel's nasty remarks. He directed it at our receding backs, words like arrows hoping to bring me to his new low.

"Remember paintings are for buying, Ellie!" His words echoed and he aimed again. "Would hate to have another FBI investigation open up, you know?"

Daniel's chortles were poisoning the air. Simon tensed as if to turn around, but I took my arm out of his and wrapped it around his waist instead. I held him tight for everyone's sake, murmuring into his side, "C'mon. We'll just leave."

"Which one was he? Fiddle-dee or Fiddle-dum?" Simon muttered back. Then he shook his head. "I thought you wanted to show me something else."

"They have a different security plan than the museum, but it's deeper in the gallery. It doesn't matter. It's not worth it, and there's other places that do something similar. I never should've brought you here," I whispered regretfully. I chanced a look back and saw the jerkwad had found his brother. I shivered when I realized their gazes were both on me, James speaking quietly in Daniel's ear.

I hastily turned, tugging a silent Simon to the door a little faster, but it was pointless. We didn't make it. A man stepped in our path, holding up a hand to bring us to a halt. With a wave of wariness and exasperation, I saw the man looked to be a member of the gallery's security team.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm going to have to ask you a couple of questions before I allow you to leave," he said to Simon. He hardly glanced at me.

"Allow him?" I asked incredulously, jumping in anyway. "What are you talking about?"

I stepped forward in concern, ready to take the lead, but the man lightly pushed me back and gave an austere reprimand. "This doesn't concern you, ma'am. Please step back."

Long fingers wrapped around my arm in a vice, a presence gracing my back once more as my own security stepped in. He was close enough to make me feel a hollow ache behind my sternum, tickled by a thrilling heat skittering across my shoulders, as if I hadn't been about to square up with a man twice my size.

"Don't touch her," Simon warned. His voice was low and controlled as he pulled me back. I was having déjà vu—I'd seen this fiercely dangerous side before, the one beginning to emerge in grim caution. I'd seen it the day he'd dug me out of rubble created from greedy reporter's ruin. However, this time he wasn't shielding me from questions; he was standing before me with all weapons aimed on him. "If you have questions, ask them."

"It's about a painting." The man jerked his thumb at the wall, towards the abstract work we'd first looked at. The replica of Swigfreid's masterpiece.

Simon's spine stiffened further.

The man grunted his issue. "I was told you were touching it. It's a priceless work of art."

"It's a fake!" I exclaimed. "Why does it matter?"

"Excuse me?"

"You've got it all wrong. Besides, he didn't touch it, I did."

The man looked unconvinced. I angrily looked around, searching for someone to corroborate my story. Instead, my eye caught on the silently watching twins, still standing where we'd left them. As if spurred into action by my anger or discomfited by my furious gaze, they began to move, casually walking over in false heroics. Their acting skills were as bad as they'd been during our senior year production of 'Little Shop of Horrors'; the two of them had been the worst ensemble members anyone could've asked for.

"What's going on here?" Daniel asked, clapping a hand on the shoulder of the guard. His brother was quiet; James was always silent when he watched his twin spin twisted webs. I was having flashbacks to school, when James would be the eyes and ears and Daniel would be the mouth that wouldn't shut the hell up. It was an old wound, and its reminder caused dredges of memories long-forgotten to stir with a growl.

"You know it wasn't Simon who touched the painting," I hissed. "It was me. And you also know as well as I do that painting is a fake!"

Daniel's eyes darkened. He took a step closer, but Simon's fingers squeezed my arm in warning; he moved forward in silent challenge and met him without hesitation. There was an 'I dare you' emblazoned across him. Daniel didn't say anything about it, but he eyed Simon's stance where he stood slightly in front of me.

Daniel paused for a fraction of a second longer, looking for weakness with a beady gaze. Then he turned, facing me with a low, angry order. Clearly, we weren't faking niceties anymore.

"Keep your voice down," he snarled like the brute he was.

"No, I was the one who told you not to buy the damn thing! Or do you not remember?" I hissed. "Not only did you buy it, you hid it. That's a fake, and people deserve to know!"

The indignation of their misconduct was to be spewed right then and there, prompted by my retelling of the story to Simon. It'd only been a few minutes since our conversation about Swigfreid had ended, but it felt like ages ago. I was rapidly escalating. My control had been yanked from underneath me; my temper was snapping its jaws like it'd done at the museum.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, I don't know what game you're playing with this bullshit," I said, waving my hand at the guard, "but we're leaving."

"How do we know you aren't here to scope the place out?" Daniel provoked, nodding at Simon with contempt in his eyes. "Did you bring your buddy to help plan something?"

"Are you shitting me right now?" I growled.

He'd crossed a line. The jabs at me didn't matter, but I wouldn't stand for him implying Simon was a thief. Simon was too good for any smear of dishonor to cross Daniel's lips.

I straightened my back and waved my hands. "Fine, you caught me! Better watch your backs, dumb and dumber, the big bad thief's looking here next. Oh, screw you, Daniel. Get out of my way."

"Just like high school," Daniel sneered. "Always hiding behind somebody. Tell me, are you still buddy-buddy with August Whitehill now? How is that pompous ass?"

He stepped closer, the glisten of achievement from some long-awaited success burning in his hard eyes. "Actually, it doesn't matter. I don't care. Do you really think anyone can protect you after what you did? Do you think anyone would want to? We all know you had something to do with that stolen painting. You're all over the news. I'm not surprised, though, it's just the right amount of classless for someone like you."

"I don't need anyone's protection. You forget who I am. Get out of my way."

Simon's hand was stone by his side. He was teetering on his own brink. I reached for him, tangling his fingers with mine, and stomped past the group with Simon in tow. I didn't care anymore. I'd drag him out if I had to, but we were leaving. I wouldn't stand by while Daniel Ponting tried to settle some long-forgotten score from our youth. I had to be better than that.

What rotten luck—I hadn't known the Pontings would actually be there. Last I'd heard, the schmucks were boozing their way through Europe.

Probably looking for more artists to disrespect until daddy dearest pulled their leashes back.

"See you around, Ellie. Let me know if you need a good lawyer," Daniel called out.

I couldn't believe it—he'd lost his damn mind.

I turned, the straw that broke the camel's back heavy on my shoulders, and let two choice words lash from my tongue. I paired them with some delightful hand gestures. Unfortunately, I didn't get to do much more, as it was Simon's turn to pull me away. His hand didn't move from mine; he forced me forward with him, and my feet stumbled and tripped as I spewed insults. My body mindlessly followed the guidance of his warm grip.

It was entirely dark when we burst outside. I was blazing. The worst part was I'd known it was a possibility; I'd known there was a chance I could ruin Simon by association, or cause him trouble he didn't deserve. I hated that it'd actually happened. I hated that I was right, that I'd done the wrong thing again, and I loathed the fact that I'd known it and still invited him out anyway. I was as awful and selfish as the Ponting brothers; I couldn't lie to myself anymore.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought you here," I blurted. "I'll send you a list of places to go. They all have different approaches to security, and you can bring someone else. Anyone else. I don't need to be here."

Simon ignored my babbled regrets and kept pulling me along the sidewalk. I had no idea what'd just happened, or what'd caused such a rapid devolvement, and I had no idea where we were going. I didn't really care. As long as it was far away from the gallery and my social demise, I would follow. As long as I didn't have to admit I was truly at rock bottom, or how much I feared I'd bring Simon down with me, I'd let him guide me forward. As long as I didn't have to admit enemies I'd thought I had left behind had set their sights on me again, along with every new foe I'd made along the way—and how they were more than willing to turn on their own.

Ever run into someone from the past and gone "wow, you haven't changed one bit, and neither has my anger"? Or is that just me, and my grip on grudges that's tighter than death itself?

Please remember to vote, share, comment, etc.! It's seriously so thrilling to interact with you guys. I get so excited I have to do deep breathing so I can respond like a normal person. So share your thoughts, likes/dislikes, predictions, anything and everything. It reminds me I'm not just shouting into the void here!

- H