“It’s not the same.” I lean forward. “Photographs are just…replicas. Sure, you can change the lighting or highlight certain aspects of the subject, but if something’s not there for the camera to capture, it’s not there. Make sense?”
She nods.
“But paintings are different. Much more subjective. Artists can add or subtract whatever they want because it’s just them and the canvas and the brush. It’s like…an interpretation. Grandpa’s portrait shows all that’s best in me, the way my grandpa saw it.”
It also says that I am somebody. That I’m worthy of success and happiness. I don’t tell her that, though. Too private. Grandpa was the first one to believe in me, the only one to encourage me to pursue what makes me happy. “I tried to buy the portrait. The fifty million I offered was a fair price.”
Paige gasps.
I continue, “However, Dad refused, precisely because he knows how much the work means to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Empathy softens her face. God, she’s sweet.
Most women I know would be flinging whatever empty words they could come up with, all the while figuring out how to use me to become famous. Paige is the only one not in my immediate family who looks at me without calculation. Like I’m just a person with feelings, not Ryder Reed, the Hollywood icon, a stepping-stone to fame and fortune.
“Don’t be. It’s my fault I’m stuck in a situation like this.” I run a hand over my face.
She gives me a WTF? look. “None of us can choose our parents.”
“That’s not what I mean. My grandfather died seven years ago. I should’ve contested the will right then.” Old regrets and anger surge through me. I was so stupid back then, so stupid! Too obsessed with making my way in the world so that Dad would never have anything to hold over me. I thought having tons of money would do the trick. But no. So long as Dad has Grandpa’s painting, he has the means to make me dance to his tune. No amount of money can represent what the painting means to me. “Mira and the publicists thought it’d look bad to squabble over the paintings since they were worth at least fifty million bucks apiece. If they held no monetary value, then it would’ve been fine to sue because it’d look like I was just a grieving grandson who wanted something of his grandfather’s. All the people around me thought I should let it go because they were certain Dad would leave the paintings to us kids. What else was he going to do with them, right? And if he ever tries to sell them, we could buy them. But the idea that he’d actually use them as leverage never occurred to any of us. If it had, I would’ve acted very differently.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” Her voice is quiet, but outrage burns in her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s doing this to you just because you skipped the wedding.”
Her anger on my behalf is soothing, but at the same time it arouses a mixture of emotions that makes me want to squirm. People don’t feel anything just on my behalf. I’m too handsome, too rich, too whatever to deserve even an ounce of anything real. And the weird thing is I generally prefer it that way. “It’s not a big deal,” I say, hoping to defuse her. “It isn’t the first time.” The first time was much, much worse…and destroyed things too precious to be bought.
“It is a big deal. I don’t want to pry or anything, but…is your father always like this?”
“He can be nice when he wants to be, but he has his pride.” And boy was that pride hurt when he realized he had never been good enough. Mom made that clear somehow when they divorced, even though it was he who caused the rift by cheating on her.
You had to hand it to her. She hired the nastiest lawyer she could get and absolutely crushed Dad. Of course my grandmother helped too. Shirley Pryce was a scary woman without an ounce of warmth in her heart. I’m just glad she never had any interest in taking us in for a summer.
Paige takes a moment to process everything I just told her. Then she asks, “Why me, Ryder? You can have anybody.”
Because you’re hot, babe.
Hey, it’s your job to give me what I want, right?
’Cuz you’re available, doll.
Easy, casual answers fleet through my head. Every single one of them is acceptable for Ryder the movie star, but not the Ryder Paige wants to talk to. And I don’t want to give her one of my flippant answers. It feels like a betrayal.
“I’ll never find a woman who won’t turn against me in the next six months. Whoever I choose would want me to help them become famous, and if selling me out accomplishes that, they would create a huge publicity stunt around Dad’s proposition for attention, and mark my words, they will find out.” Dad will make sure of it to humiliate me, to make a point I’m nothing on my own. “If it was just me, I might risk it. But I don’t want my siblings dragged into it, especially Elizabeth.” Bitterness drags me down until I’m almost hunched over, my elbows resting on my knees. Understanding in Paige’s eyes pulls at me. “I don’t like it that I asked you because it makes you a means to an end. Most won’t know, but Dad and his wife”—I spit that word—“and my siblings will.”
“Thanks for explaining everything.” Paige is so quiet. Then she nods to herself, takes a few sips of ginger ale and places the glass carefully back on the table. Folds her hands in her lap. “I’ll do it.”
At first I don’t understand. I was bracing for a no. If I were a woma
n, I wouldn’t do it. I stare at her, my heart knocking against my ribs. “You will?”
She nods. Her expression is serious. “But I need to tell you something too.” She chews on her lower lip, making the plump rosy flesh glistening.
“Okay.”
“I was meaning to tell you anyway, but…” She drags in a lungful of air. “I’m pregnant.”
This is not one of the possible responses I imagined. “Pregnant?”
“Yes.” Her brow tightens.