Elliot takes a couple of slices of bread and puts them on the table in front of me, along with a fried egg and a few strips of crispy bacon.
“I only wanted the toast.”
“Gotta have some protein. Ninety-five percent of your body’s tissues are made of it,” he says, pouring two glasses of orange juice.
I shake my head. “Okay, Mom.”
“I thought the name was A?”
I flush.
Elliot rubs his eyebrows, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “There are things I need to say, and they’re pretty messed up, but I want you to hear all it from me rather than someone else.”
Unease ripples over me, but I manage to say, “Okay.”
He waits, eyeing my food. One thing I know about him is that he can be stubborn, and he isn’t going to take no for an answer. I start eating.
“I’m telling you this because I trust that you will be discreet. I also don’t want you to feel bad about yourself over it.” He pauses. “You’re perfect the way you are, and nobody you meet, whether they’re my friends or family, is better than you.”
I swallow, and the toast sticks in my suddenly dry throat. I choke it down. “If you’re worried about me bailing on dinner with Gavin and his wife, don’t be. I’ll go and do my best to enjoy myself there.”
“This isn’t about them.” He takes a sip of his OJ. “Okay. First item. Our contract is for one year because I needed to be married for a year in order to inherit a portrait.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Isn’t marriage a bit extreme for a picture?”
“Normally, yes. But it isn’t just any picture. Thomas Reed—my grandfather on my father’s side—was a famous painter. Still celebrated. His works are sold for millions.”
“Oh,” I say without really understanding why he’s telling me this. “But…you’re rich. I can’t believe you need the money.”
A self-deprecating smile ghosts over his lips. “It isn’t about money. More of a sentimental thing.”
Right. Elizabeth said something like that, too.
He takes a slow swallow of his juice. “When my siblings and I were old enough, our parents shipped us off to Europe to attend boarding school. The best education money could buy…without the hassle of actual parental supervision. An excellent situation for the adults involved.”
That’s so far from what I experienced that I can’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve been like. Yes, there were times I chafed at my parents’ restrictions and rules, but ultimately home was the anchor that provided stability.
“When holidays came around, we didn’t come back to the States. Our parents weren’t all that interested in having us underfoot, so we usually ended up going to Italy to stay with our grandfather. We were complete terrors, except for Elizabeth, of course. She was an angel back then too. Anyway, he loved us unconditionally. He’s the one who told me and Lucas we could be anything we wanted, do anything we wanted so long as it was something we were truly passionate about. When each of us turned eighteen, he had us sit for a portrait. He spent the entire summer, and they’re…stunning.” Elliot closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they’re focused somewhere beyond me, and his voice is tinged with awe. “And humbling too, at least in my case. He saw all the potential in me when I didn’t really believe in myself. Back then I was too busy being an asshole rich kid.
“After he passed away, the portraits ended up with Dad. I tried to buy mine, but he refused to sell it. Then suddenly he decided if all of us marry within six months and stay married for at least a year, we can have them.”
“That’s…unusual.” I had no idea people still did stuff like that. “Is that even legal?”
Elliot snorts. “It’s not, but if we don’t do as he says, he’ll stack the portraits up in his backyard and burn them. His words.”
I gasp.
“Don’t be shocked. It’s more or less par for the course with my father.”
“I’m sorry.” My dad was a fraud, but at least he was a good parent. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for Elliot to grow up with a father who didn’t want or care about him.
Elliot shrugs, but his throat works. “It wasn’t that horrible. At least we had enough money.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
He drops his gaze to the huge six-carat Asscher-cut diamond ring on my finger, the one he gave me. “No, it isn’t,” he agrees quietly. “But sometimes it’s all you’ve got.”
The pensive expression makes my heart ache. I’m beginning to realize he doesn’t think he has anything to give other than money, and that is the most tragic thing about this whole ridiculous situation. He’s too brilliant, too gorgeous and too talented to feel this way, and I hate his parents for having done this to him.