Page 102 of The Prize
“I wouldn’t say that. Lately you’ve been acting spoiled with no thought to anyone else. And you need to let this Burell obsession go.”
“Can you blame me for wanting my paintings back? My family faced a great danger to get them out of Russia. My happiness is their happiness. My fate is their fate. This is about making their deaths mean something.”
“That was a long time ago, Zara.”
“No, I refuse to forget the past. I refuse to forget the names of those who gave their life so I could have a better one. Do you know the story of what happened to the royal Russian family?”
“They were killed.”
“In the dead of night, they were marched down into a small dark basement and reassured they’d soon be moved to a safer location. Minutes after Czar Nicholas, Czarina Alexandra and their five children were imprisoned they were under siege by an execution squad and warned that their deaths were imminent. That’s right, their murderers were considerate enough to put the fear of God in them first. Seconds later, the entire family were shot, bayoneted and clubbed to death. The children took longer to die because they’d stashed a few of the family heirlooms beneath their clothes in case they needed to sell them later to buy food. The bayonets kept bouncing off the heirlooms and missing their flesh. Their bodies were then mutilated and buried in unmarked graves.” I swallowed the agony of knowing this had been the fate of my ancestors. “Their crime? They were born into royalty. A prejudice you hold against me, Abby.”
Her expression softened, perhaps because she too imagined the screams of the children that night.
My voice strained. “My family risked their lives to get those paintings to safety. They believed in something greater than themselves. These are the same paintings that belonged to my father and were stolen from us and to hide the fact our home was set on fire. Those paintings are more than canvas and paint and profound talent and a treasure trove of art. They are hope, and faith, and love that endures. So, don’t tell me I should forget them.”
Abby swallowed hard and turned to face Bay’s paintings. In the aftermath of those passing seconds of my outburst I saw understanding in Abby’s eyes, sadness even. I turned to look upon the portraits, and it made me wonder if Bay had chosen these very subjects because all of them exuded a certain wisdom.
“Apparently, it took Rembrandt years sometimes.” Abby’s voice was infused with respect. “I wonder how long each one of these took.”
“They are beautiful.” My thoughts carried me all the way to mine, stashed somewhere so that no one could see them. My family had sacrificed their lives for them, and I was sacrificing my integrity to get them back.
She gestured with her chin to the other side of the room. “Wasn’t that drink meant for you?”
Tobias was talking with a pretty blonde and from their closeness they seemed to know each other. He gave her the drink he was carrying—my Bombay martini.
Then I recalled where I’d seen her before—
Wilder was talking with Elliot Burell’s granddaughter and though I’d only ever seen Paige Burell once, other than inVoguewhile researching her family, it was that vision of her in a wedding gown whooshing along a hallway in that Arizona estate that had stayed with me.
My gaze dragged around the room as I searched for Eli, and my attention snapped back toward Tobias. I watched him chatting politely with her.
My gut warned me to tell Abby who Paige was, but I put this down to my ego not wanting to get bruised from her assuming Wilder was womanizing. I wondered if Eli had sent his niece instead. He and Paige were around the same age which had confused me at first, but Eli himself had explained he was Elliot’s son. His father had him late in life with a third wife, or so I vaguely remembered.
Perhaps, I reasoned, Tobias was asking her if Eli was here, after all the fake auction was set for just after 10:00 p.m. I wondered how she’d gotten in past security. Tobias caught me staring and his eyes flittered to the ballroom exit in a subtle gesture to warn me to go to my room. My gut wrenched because that meant Eli was here.
“Come on.” Abby grabbed my arm firmly and led me toward the bar. “You need a drink.”
I assumed she thought I needed to drown my sorrows after we’d observed Tobias talking with a pretty blonde.
Abby got the attention of the barman and ordered two glasses of Chardonnay. Tobias could handle the Burells, I was certain of it. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to flit the occasional glance his way to watch his back. Sitting on a bar stool I observed the barman pouring our drinks and at the same time I used the mirror to survey behind me. Paige whispered something into Tobias’s ear—he whispered something back and she smiled.
Dread sent a cold chill through me as my gaze scanned the guests for her uncle.
This was really going down.
Vaguely, I noticed a glass of white wine being placed in front of me and a wave of nausea washed over me. I wasn’t sure my stomach could take much more. I slid off the bar stool. “I need to go to the loo. Will you be okay?”
“Sure.” Abby squeezed my arm. “I’m here for you. I know I can come over as a bit of a bitch sometimes. You had us all scared.”
“I’m sorry for all of that,” I admitted as my guilt burrowed deeper. “Hurting Adley hurts me too. It was never my intention.”
“If you need a shoulder to cry on.” She shook her head. “What am I saying, you’re stronger than this.”
“I am.”
“At least you got to see him before you left.” She pointed toward Wilder.
I headed out of the ballroom and glanced back toward the bar and saw Abby was distracted by the barman. Tobias was still deep in conversation with Paige.
