Later, after they sat down at their table for an elegant dinner of salmon in sauce, roasted fingerling potatoes and fresh spring vegetables, Daisy could hardly eat. She barely said a word to the guests sitting around them, in spite of their obvious curiosity about her. She let Leonidas speak for them. Yes, she was his date. Her name was Daisy. They were good friends. He was proud to say they were expecting a child together in June.
And all the while, Daisy was wondering how he could have done this to her.
During the days she’d stayed at his house, he’d gone out of his way to be kind to her. Leonidas Niarxos, the supposedly ruthless tycoon, had spent almost no time at work, other than the day he’d taken her shopping at Liontari’s luxury boutiques. Instead, he’d kept her company doing the activities she enjoyed, like walking the dog, watching movies on TV and playing board games. Leonidas had listened patiently for hours as she’d read aloud from her pregnancy book, especially the section titled “How To Be an Expectant Father.” She’d started to think he cared. She’d started to think he actually...liked her.
So why was he trying to hurt her like this?
“Cheer up,” Leonidas whispered, as dinner ended and they rose to go out on the dance floor. “The auction will be fun.”
“Easy for you to say.” Daisy tried not to feel anything as he pulled her into his arms. He was so powerful, so impossibly desirable in his sleek tuxedo. As he swayed her to the music, an old romantic ballad from the forties, he was the most handsome man in the world. Damn him.
He smiled down at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”
“Yes, it will,” she retorted. “Because I’m leaving before the auction starts.”
His smile dropped. “No. Please stay.” Licking his lips, he added, “For the kids.”
“For the kids,” she grumbled. But it was strange. He didn’t seem like a man bent on her destruction. Was it possible Leonidas wasn’t actively trying to wreck her, but honestly believed someone might bid for her awful painting—against all those other amazing auction items?
If he did, he was deluding himself. Just like Daisy had, for years. In spite of getting mediocre marks in art school, she’d always hoped that somehow she might succeed and make a living from art, as her father had. That she’d find her voice, as Leonidas once said.
But she never had. Instead, she’d spent years suffering that terrible hope, getting gallery shows in Brooklyn, Queens and Staten Island through her father’s connections, only to sell nothing. Friends had offered to come to the shows and buy her paintings, but of course Daisy couldn’t allow that. Her friends didn’t have money to waste, and anyway, she would have been glad to paint them something for free.
But none of her friends had asked for a free painting. Which could mean only one thing: even her friends didn’t like her art, not really.
Even Daisy herself wasn’t sure about it. But she’d still tried to force herself to be upbeat, desperately trying to promote her art to bored strangers.
A year of that. Of awful hope, and finally crushing despair. There had been only one good thing to come from her father’s trial—a horrible silver lining that she’d never admitted, even to herself. He had needed her, and that had given her an excuse to surrender the horror of her dream.
But now, Daisy was being forced to relive it all. She would never forgive Leonidas for this.
“Are—you—ready?” The auctioneer chanted from the stage. There was an excited hubbub from guests at the cleared tables. Women in ball gowns and men in tuxedos sat on the edge of their seats, ready to bid vast fortunes for amusements and whims. For the kids, Daisy repeated to herself.
Leonidas put his arm around her. “Try to enjoy this,” he whispered. Daisy stared at the oversize arrangement of white and red roses on the table and tried to breathe. Soon this would all be over.
“Let’s get started,” the auctioneer boomed into the microphone. “For our first item...”
Everything sold quickly—the guitar, the autographed book, the week in the Maldives. The audience was full of smiles and glee, happily getting into bidding wars with their friends, as if they were bidding with counterfeit money, and no amount was too high.
And finally...
“For our last item, we have an unsigned painting, by Anonymous. Do I have a bid?” Even the auctioneer sounded doubtful. “Uh, let’s start the bidding at...two hundred dollars.”
It was the lowest starting bid of the night, by far. And Daisy knew that no one would even want to give that much. She braced herself for a long, awkward silence, after which Leonidas would be forced to make a pity bid, to try to save face. He would see he had no reason to believe in her. Even he would be forced to admit that Daisy was a talentless hack. She was near tears.
“Two hundred dollars,” someone called from the back.
Who was it? Daisy blinked, craning her neck.
“Three hundred,” called a woman from a nearby table. She was a stranger. Daisy didn’t know anyone here, except Leonidas.
“Five hundred,” someone else said.
“A thousand,” cried an elderly man from the front.
The bidding accelerated, became hotly contested—even more than the guitar once owned by Johnny Cash. Daisy sat in shock as the number climbed.
Five thousand. Ten. Twenty. Fifty thousand. A hundred thousand dollars.