To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Twenty: Daniel and His Den

"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, 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 to be 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. "I didn't think you'd be around tonight. Is James here as well?"

"Ah, he's around here somewhere," Daniel brushed off with a flick of his hand. A ring flashed on his finger like a glittering scale would. He was always gaudy in his wealth, and 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 James and I must be mistaken. It must really be worth something if Eleanor Vaycker is interested."

"Well, I—"

"If you're looking to purchase, I can always make a deal for an old friend."

"I don't—"

"Of course, you'll have to pay for it. Not sure how they do it at your museum, but we 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.

He just couldn't resist, huh?

Simon scoffed angrily 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 exaggerated. "Daniel Ponting, co-owner of Ponting and Painting Gallery. My apologies, I was just so thrilled to see Ellie here, I didn't notice you. 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.