Royal Blood Page 14

  Mr, Berkley held his sign high,

  "Do I hear four thousand?"

  Another bidder raised his sign.

  "Do I hear four thousand five hundred?"

  Mr. Berkley raised his sign.

  "Five thousand," Ruby White suddenly burst out. "Going once, twice… Sold for five thousand dollars." I cheered, but when the couple in front of me turned around, I tried to play it cool.

  When another painting was put on the easel, the members became very excited again. They thirsted to get their hands on an original painting by this hot new artist.

  When they revealed it, it was a portrait of flowers, obviously painted by an artist other than Alexander. Mrs. Mitchell went on to talk about this artist, but the bidding didn't start high, nor did it skyrocket.

  The crowd waited impatiently for the next painting to be presented.

  And when it was again one of the European artist's creations, the hands began waving.

  It was now becoming clear to me after seeing these paintings one by one-the cemetery under the soft glow of moonlight; the rail yard, with its bright-colored boxcars and sunfire yellow weeds; the front of the high school, its American flag blowing in the wind; the swings underneath a blue sky at Evans Park; the drive-in running an old movie-that even though Alexander only visited these places at night, he was seeing Dullsville in brilliant colors and happy hues rather than the dark and dismal black and white I'd seen it in my whole life. These were the places we'd visited together. My heart melted seeing that I'd had something to do with Alexander's happiness here, and that his vivid impressions were of our experiences together. Finally they revealed the last painting. But this painting was unlike the others. It was a picture of me.

  The members sighed,

  "That's not the European artist," many of them said.

  "No, that's not his work."

  "Bidding starts at one thousand dollars."

  No one raised their sign.

  I quickly calculated my notes and realized we had fallen short of what Alexander needed.

  My dad looked around. Here was a picture of his daughter and no one was buying it.

  "Do I hear one thousand?"

  "I'll bid one thousand," my dad said, waving his sign proudly.

  Then Jameson got into the game. "One thousand five hundred," he called.

  "Two thousand," my dad said.

  "Do I hear two thousand five hundred?" the auctioneer asked. I peered around. No signs were waved. "Going once, going twice."

  My heart dropped. We'd raised a lot of money, but we hadn't raised enough to buy the mansion.

  "We're short," I said to Alexander. "Do I hear two thousand five hundred?" I shouted.

  Alexander grabbed my arm.

  "We have to get the bidding up," I whispered to him.

  "Two thousand five hundred." Jameson raised his sign

  "Two thousand five hundred. Going once, going twice."

  "Three thousand dollars," a new voice, coming from the back of the room, called.

  "Do I hear three thousand five hundred?" the auctioneer asked. He banged his gavel. "Then sold for three thousand."

  Alexander and I stood up and hugged each other. We were so ecstatic we didn't care that anyone saw us. And I was too excited to wonder who the mystery bidder was.

  "Now we just have to get that money to Mr. Berkley before Mr. Mitchell does."

  A few volunteers brought out all the auctioned items and displayed them so that everyone could take a last look at what they'd won and what they'd lost.

  Mr. Sterling put on his reading glasses and examined the tiny inscription about the rising artist whose work had quickly sold out.

  Then he turned straight back to us.

  The club members were milling about, talking to one another and discussing the auction. But there was only one member I wanted to speak to: Mr. Berkley. I weaved between the members until I spotted him.

  After a brief conversation with him, I raced over to Alexander, who was waiting by the kitchen.

  "Here," I said, showing him Mr. Berkley's card. "You have an appointment tomorrow night at eight."

  We lingered for a few minutes while the crowd talked excitedly about the evening.

  "I hear the artist is here," I overheard a patron say. "He is?" another asked. "I'd love to meet him."

  "The artist has been here the whole time," one woman said.

  "Which one is he?" a man asked.

  "The one in the cowboy hat?" another man inquired.

  "No, he must have been the one with long gray hair," the woman said.

  "I think you should meet your public," I said.

  "I'm not sure that now is the time," he said anxiously, his face white as a ghost.

  Alexander had done enough tonight. Though he was beaming from his sudden acceptance, he was too humble to accept fame.

  We ducked through the kitchen and out a side exit to the opposite end of the club where the members were exiting. We were afraid that if anyone found out the artist was Alexander, they'd demand their money back. We were leaving through the patio exit when we were blocked by a thin wooden stick.

  We froze.

  Mr. Sterling stepped in front of us.

  Alexander and I didn't know what to do.

  "You have your grandmother's gift," he said in his thick Romanian accent.

  "It's just a hobby," Alexander said.

  "I think you've just proved to me-and to yourself-that it's more than that. I've found that new artist I was looking for. I just didn't realize he'd been here the whole time."

  30

  Mrs. Naper handed back our graded English career essays. Matt and Trevor and all the other jocks were off preparing for a pep rally, so I wasn't going to have to face Trevor. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that made school exciting.

  "I'm hoping you can give the papers to your partners," Mrs. Naper said to us.

  "I sure will," Becky said, excited. "We got an A."

  "No surprise," I said.

  "What did you get?" Becky asked.

  I opened Trevor's Dullsville High School folder and saw the scarlet A next to his name. "Well, Trevor got an A of course." I designed my folder like it was the cover of a gothic magazine, complete with pasted headlines, gothic fashions, and teasers. I opened it and hoped for a good letter in the alphabet. "So did I!"

  After school, I biked over to Oakley Woods.

  Mrs. Mitchell answered the door. "Hello, Raven."

  "Hi, Mrs. Mitchell. Is-"

  "It was quite a surprise to learn that the European artist was actually Alexander."

  I waited. Maybe we had embarrassed her at the auction. It was as if at any moment the Wicked Witch of the West would point her broom at me.

  "I must say your boyfriend is truly talented. What a wonderful surprise to know that we had such a fine artist among us. It's a shame he'll be moving. We'd love to have his work in the auction next year."

  "Uh… thanks, Mrs. Mitchell," I said, relieved. "Is Trevor home? We got our grades back from our English assignment."

  "Come on in. Trevor's upstairs."

  I quickly raced up the main staircase and found Trevor's bedroom door ajar.

  I tapped it. "Hello. Soccer Boy?"

  No answer.

  I could have waited in the hallway, but that wouldn't have been any fun at all.

  Trevor's room was still a shrine to himself. I nosed around his awards and trophies and framed soccer jerseys.

  I noticed something large was covered in the corner. Maybe it was a mirror.

  I snuck over to it and pulled back the cloth so I could take a peek.

  Staring back at me was me -the final painting of Alexander's sold at the auction. I was shocked.

  I heard the door begin to creak open and quickly recovered the painting.

  "What are you doing here?" Trevor asked.

  "Uh… I wanted to tell you we got an A."

  "So?"'

  "I just thought you'd like to know."
>
  "What else would we have gotten? You're not used to getting good grades."

  I had done my duty and there was nothing left to say. I started for the door when he blocked my escape.

  I was alone with Trevor in his room-a dangerous place to be.

  "Anything else you'd like to do?" he asked.

  I wanted to say, Get that picture back, but I sensed Trevor wanted a stolen kiss-a treasure that was far more valuable than an A..

  I'd never let myself succumb to that. Even if I wasn't dating Alexander, nothing would ever be sacred or special with Trevor.

  I didn't mention seeing the painting. I was too touched and slightly bothered that he'd spent his money on a picture of me. It was ironic that Trevor would be the one to help Alexander buy back the Mansion and divert his father from his plans.

  It would be awesome to throw it in his face. But I didn't dare do that to my partner.

  I offered my hand instead. I figured I was safe with that.

  He held it like he didn't want to let it go.

  His golden hair was perfect against his suntanned face. I knew he wanted to kiss me-and I wasn't sure whether it was love or lust or just because I was a girl alone in his room.

  "I know there's a part of you that wonders what it would be like," Trevor said.

  "I already know," I said. "The cheerleaders have it written on the bathroom walls."

  I withdrew my hand and left his room before he tried to hold any other part of me.

  31

  "Hello, Miss Raven," Jameson said as I entered the Mansion. "Alexander will be down in a moment." I waited in the parlor room.

  "Hello, Raven," Mrs. Sterling said, stepping into the room. "Did you like the auction? I thought it was a blast."

  "Yes, I'm so proud of Alexander."

  "I always knew he was talented. But Constantine-he knows now," she said with a wink.

  "I just got off the phone with Mr. Berkley," Mr. Sterling said in a low voice as he entered the parlor. "He said someone made an offer and they are going to come for a tour of the Mansion."

  "When will they be here?" Mrs. Sterling asked. "We already have company" she said, referring to me.

  "He told me he should be here by now."

  "I hate lateness," Mrs. Sterling said. "It is so rude."

  Alexander came into the parlor.

  "A prospective buyer is coming to the house. We'll be able to sell the Mansion and return… Where is that man?" his father asked, agitated.

  "He's here," Alexander said.

  "Where, standing in the hallway?"

  "No, standing right in front of you."

  "I don't understand."

  "I am going to buy the Mansion."

  "You?"

  Mr. and Mrs. Sterling were bewildered.

  "I've been trying to tell you," Alexander said. "This is my home. In this house, in this town, with this girl." He smiled at me.

  I was so proud of Alexander for taking charge of his life but was sure I was going to be in big trouble with his parents. I was ready for them to scream at me or throw me out.

  "Maybe I should be leaving…" I said.

  "No, stay. You need to hear this," Alexander said, and turned to his parents.

  "Don't you see? I've been successful on my own since I arrived here. And these accomplishments are because I met the girl of my dreams, Raven."

  His parents looked at me, and I felt an immense pressure build.

  "Because of Jagger, I've had to leave Romania several times. And now that I've helped the Maxwells, I'm supposed to leave this town. I'm not leaving anymore."

  "How did you plan to purchase the Mansion?" Mr. Sterling asked, still shocked.

  "I'm going to use the money I raised from the auction as a down payment. And when I turn eighteen, I'm going to pay off the monthly mortgage with my trust fund."

  "That money is for your future " his mother said, "Your grandmother wanted you to have it for that reason."

  "This is my future, Mother. Grandmother wouldn't want it any other way. And neither would I. This mansion may not mean anything to you. But it means everything to me."

  "I don't understand," his mom said. "I want you to live with us."

  "I know, Mother," he said, and held her hands. "But I'm almost eighteen. I could be going off to college, taking night classes. Instead, I'll be here. Painting and being with Raven."

  Mr. Sterling paced around the room, wiping his hair off his brow. "This is quite a shock, you must understand. I didn't realize, Alexander, how you have grown. That you are so much like your grandmother. That you both are…"

  Alexander and I felt a glimmer of hope.

  "When I saw that you were the artist behind those paintings, it was clear to me then that you'd found a home here. But…" He paused. "There is no way you are buying the Mansion."

  "I am!" Alexander said boldly.

  "No, Son, I'm taking it off the market. It is rightfully yours. There is no reason you should have to pay for it."

  "But, I want to-"

  "I know. And that is the reason you shouldn't. Because you care so much about so many things. I'm not allowing you to buy the house from me. We'll invest the money you earned. My mother must be watching over us right now. I know she is smiling at you-and frowning at me. I made a big mistake looking at others when it was you I should have been showcasing. My own son. Jameson, get Mr. Berkley on the line."

  "Mother, I'm sorry-"

  She put her fingers to her lips. "You are the kind of man I always wanted you to become-you just became one a lot faster than I was ready for."

  "I have to confess I haven't slept well since we decided to sell the house," Mr. Sterling added.

  Jameson walked into the parlor..

  "Jameson, there has been a change in plans. The Mansion will remain a Sterling legacy. Mrs. Sterling and I will be returning to Romania, but Alexander will live here. I understand you will be returning with us and we'll find another butler for Alexander."

  Jameson stood as straight as he could and took a deep breath. "Sir, if you don't mind, I have a reason for staying in town, too," Jameson confessed. "Alexander is not the only one with a soul mate."

  32

  Jameson stood outside the Mansion, packing the Sterlings' remaining bags into the trunk of the Mercedes. I held Alexander, who was anxious, around the waist. I wasn't able to calm him.

  A gentle rain began to fall, and within a few minutes a trickle turned into a shower, but Alexander and I stayed put.

  Mr. and Mrs. Sterling descended the front steps of the

  Mansion.

  "It was lovely meeting you, Raven. We hope to see you again soon " Mrs. Sterling said, offering me her hand. "Welcome to the family."

  Instead of taking her hand, I leaned in and hugged her hard. It was as if I were breaking the rules and hugging the queen of England, but I didn't care. This woman meant the world to me.

  "Alexander, darling, you know I love you," she said with a strain in her lyrical voice. She was trying to mask her emotion. She kissed her son good-bye on both cheeks.

  She stood back as Mr. Sterling extended his hand to mine. "It was a pleasure to have met you, Raven. We are all happier for it." He gave me polite kisses, one on each side of my face.

  "We will not be such strangers anymore," he said to Alexander. "I'll await your next round of paintings."

  Alexander's eyes lit up as he shook his father's hand.

  "Thanks, Dad," he said.

  Both men were surprised by his sudden affection.

  "Well, we must be off," his father finally said. But there was something missing from Mrs. Sterling's wardrobe as we all stood in the downpour.

  "Where is your parasol?" I asked.

  "Who needs an umbrella in the rain?" she said, and stepped into the car.

  We continued to stand there as the car slowly pulled away and drove down the Mansion's drive, past the gate, and into the street. Mrs. Sterling didn't look back. Perhaps if she did, she would never have bee
n able to leave.