Bittersweet Truth (The Patricians Book 3)

by R. G. Angel

  “Okay! Be back as soon as I can.” I blew him a quick kiss. He chuckled at my excitement. Closing the computer, I grabbed my satchel and booked an Uber.

  Saint-Germain-des-Prés, here I come.

  I arrived just in time for dinner despite the lack of an invite. I knew grand-mère would be happy to have company though. She never wondered why we all avoided her; she was the epitome of the bitter mean old shrew to all except me because apparently, I was the spitting image of my dead grand-père.

  I entered the dining room, closely followed by the majordomo who was trying his best to take both my coat and my bag as I kept on walking.

  “Antoine, mon petit!” My grand-mère beamed as she sat at the humongous dinner table on the seat closest to the fireplace. Her white hair was held in an impeccable high bun and she was wearing a designer dress, her diamonds on full display. That was who she was - always perfectly dressed, always ready for the grand ball even if she was alone at home with her staff.

  “Mamie! How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Are you coming to dine with me?” She turned to the majordomo. “Have Solange add a plate for my grandson.” Turning back to me, she asked, “How are you? How is school?” She pointed at the seat across from her. “Please tell me everything.”

  I nodded. “School’s fine, much easier than anticipated.” I smiled. “I already know most of it thanks to your education.”

  Her smile widened. I knew how to butter her up like no one else.

  “You’ve always been the smartest.”

  I raised my wine glass, which had just been put in front of me, in a cheerful gesture.

  We ate part of our soup in silence. She eyed me every so often, clearly wanting to say something. I needed to know what, so I could use it as leverage.

  “So your father said you went home at Christmas with the Oppenheimer girl. Is there anything you would like to say?”

  I chuckled. “Are you fishing for information?”

  She laughed, resting her napkin on the table. “I’m a very old woman, Antoine, and you are my favorite. Can I dare hope I’ll be participating in nuptials in the near future?”

  “It’s not impossible.”

  “I knew it!” She rested her hands on her heart. “Well, she wouldn’t have been my favorite choice. She’s a bit too plump and American for my taste. I still believe that Cecile De Bergerac would have been better.”

  Cécile De Bergerac was a snobby, cold bitch - my grandma “reborn” and probably the only girl able to turn me more gay.

  “Taylor Oppenheimer is the only woman for me,” I admitted and it was the truth.

  “And I care enough about you to accept her.”

  “Thank you for your understanding.” It was so hard for me not to sound as sarcastic as I felt. “Talking about Taylor, we’re working things out and as you know, she enjoys art too.”

  “Yes, I’m pleased by this. It’s your legacy.”

  “There’s this young artist she worships, so she took me to his art show. He has so much talent, grand-mère. I’d like to offer him patronage.”

  She shrugged. “Do it.”

  “What?” It couldn't be that easy. There had to be a trick.

  “You want the Saint Academy to offer him patronage? Do it.”

  I frowned. “But the candidates are approved through the committee and -”

  She waved her hand with a laugh. “That’s what I say to your cousins and the rest of the family so they leave me be. The Committee does pick most of the candidates, but ultimately the choice is mine, your father's, and yours… The quota for the year is already reached? It doesn't matter.”

  “I see.”

  “Did this artist apply?”

  “I don’t know, but I would assume so. We are the Saint Academy of Arts.” I was not even trying to butter her up. Every artist knew that if they got the Academy’s patronage, then they would be set for life.

  “Yes, we are. Do you believe he has talent?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I do. His paintbrush strokes are out of this world.” And his tongue? Lord have mercy!

  “Go to the Academy in the morning and tell them to make an offer to whomever. It is your birthright. You are the Saint Academy, Antoine.”

  I almost started to feel some love for the woman, but then I remembered that if she knew who I truly was, she would turn her back on me and wish me hell.

  “Thank you, grand-mère. I’ll do just that.”

  I excused myself just after dessert, pretending I needed to study. It was not completely a lie. I loved learning all the different ways I could make Grayson come through the virtual universe.

  That night, when I spoke to Grayson, I was finally able to leave Conti behind, knowing there was no way anyone would ever choose Conti over Saint Academy.

  The next morning, I dressed up in a suit. I whined to myself, throwing a pity party for one over having to wear these stupid clothes, but I had no choice.

  Every time you walk through these doors, son, you’re representing the St-Vincent legacy. You’re not allowed to be anything less than impeccable. I grimaced, tightening my tie. There was a reason why I’d never ventured even close to the doors of the Academy unless obliged to.

  Damn you, Grayson Clay. What wouldn’t I do for you? A voice quite similar to Taylor’s added, For him? Are you sure?

  “Okay, let's go…” I sighed before walking the few blocks to the academy. I entered the huge modern building my family had acquired a few years ago - a purchase made solely to show how well we were doing and how we were reigning over the art world.

  Swiping my pass at the side entrance, I took the elevator up to the directors’ level and headed for the ugly yellow art deco desk labelled ‘reception.’ The lady behind it looked much more like Cerberus than a receptionist.

  “Can I see Mr. Beaujet?” I asked as politely as I could.

  She looked up from her screen, her cat-eye glasses low on her nose, and held up her pencil. “I don’t think so. The Artistic Director of the Academy is a busy man and doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”

  I nodded. That was fair even though her haughty tone had rubbed me all the wrong ways.

  “Could you just check?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  I chuckled, looking behind her at the portrait of my grandfather. Had she never looked at it? I was his spitting image, albeit forty years younger and much cooler.

  “Okay then.” I knocked softly on her desk. “You tell him that Antoine St-Vincent came here to see him and you dismissed him. We’ll see how well that goes for you -” I trailed my eyes around her desk to find her name - “Sandrine.”

  She paled. “No. I’m sorry, sir. It’s just - So many -” She was in complete panic and I decided to let her suffer. “It’s just -” She grabbed the phone and pressed a button. “Mr. Beaujet, Mr. Antoine St-Vincent is here to see you.” She looked up at me completely dejected. “Sir, I’m truly sorry. I just -”

  “Antoine, mon garcon! How are you?” Beaujet interrupted the apologetic receptionist as he walked toward me with a big smile, his arms opened for a hug I was bracing for. Why was he so obstinate in calling me his boy?

  I smiled at him, but it was forced. He gave me a quick hug. He was a short, balding man with a bit of a gut. He was probably in his late fifties, but I remember seeing him here when I was a little boy. He’d always been part of the background. He was not a bad man, just over eager and I never really liked people like that.

  “Your grandmother said you would be coming to discuss an artist.” He gestured me toward his office. “Please come in.”

  I nodded. I knew grand-mère had been full of shit. You can just go and do as you like, right! She’d only given me the illusion of power. She'd clearly called Beaujet to give him preapproval.

  “Oh, before we go in, would you like something to drink?”

  I looked at the receptionist with an eyebrow raised. She was squirming on her seat. “I would not want t
o be an imposition.” I wanted to enjoy her suffering a little more.

  “Nonsense. Sandrine?”

  She stood up briskly. “Of course, what would you like to drink?”

  “Cappuccino, extra foam.”

  “Right away, and for you sir? The usual?”

  He nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  He took the lead to the office. “I’m sorry if Sandrine's attitude might have taken you off guard, but she is a great assistant and young artists are trying to make their way into my office more times than I’d like.”

  “It’s the price of success I guess,” I joked, sitting on one of the comfortable leather chairs in front of his desk.

  He laughed. “I guess that’s the truth. So, Antoine, tell me about this artist. He has to be quite talented to make you come here.”

  “His name is Grayson Clay. He lives in Oxford, I believe.”

  Beaujet typed on his computer. “Ah yes, Grayson Clay. He is in our system. He applied and did make it to the final board decision despite looking for a fixed term patronage.” He shook his head. “We don’t do that.”

  “We do now.”

  “Excuse me?” he asked, visibly taken aback.

  “We do now. We’re going to give him an offer of six months for four creations for the Universal Art Exhibit. Free range with a monthly allowance of £3000 and a 70% commission on any sales.”

  He frowned. “That’s extremely generous. I don’t think we’ve ever given such a deal to a young artist before. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “No, he is not.” He is so much more. “But Taylor is fond of him.” That was also the truth. “And I’m fond of her.” Another truth.

  “Very well then. The offer will go out tomorrow,” he added, taking some notes.

  “Today.”

  “Today?”

  I stood up. “Today,” I repeated clearly with a sharp nod.

  I left the building without a look back, embedding the power of my legacy.

  Chapter Eight

  You’re so dead! Taylor’s text reached me just as I deboarded the train in Oxford. I froze, looking around the platform, almost expecting to see her scowling at me in the crowd.

  Why? I texted quickly, shouldering my Berluti leather holdall and making my way to the taxi station.

  You know why.

  I sighed. Climbing into a taxi, I gave her address to the driver. That was the problem though. I’d done so many things behind her back recently that I wasn’t sure what she'd caught onto.

  I’m in a taxi to your place. Be there in five.

  K. Thanks for the advance notice.

  I winced. Fuck, that was cold and not something Taylor usually subjected me to.

  Had she found out about the Tinder account? I shook my head. That was improbable and even if she had, so what? I’d done it for her.

  She’d been wallowing in self-pity ever since she’d left the US. She was not moving on from Archibald and I loved her enough, I wanted her happy even if that meant kicking destiny’s butt and forcing her out of her comfort zone. The way she was living now was not the way to go. She was a beautiful, smart, and kind-hearted young woman. She needed to share this with the world, not stay home watching hot Vikings - at least not exclusively.

  I took a deep breath as the taxi pulled up in front of her building. She sat on top of the stairs, arms crossed on her chest, foot tapping rapidly. Yes, I was in for a sermon of biblical proportions.

  “I thought I was welcome anytime. Isn’t that true? Am I not your best friend anymore?” I asked, trying to play her sensibility cord as I passed her to go into the apartment.

  She slammed the door behind us. “Antoine Francois Gabriel St-Vincent! What did you do?”

  Fuck, she was going full name on me. She knew the truth.

  I swirled around, raising my hands in surrender. “Listen, it’s just an app and -”

  “He’s never going to forgive you for this,” she continued, interrupting me.

  “What?” I frowned, suddenly lost.

  “App? Whatsapp?”

  I raised my hand dismissively. “It doesn't matter. What are you talking about?” Close call, Antoine.

  “Saint Academy of Arts, ring a bell?”

  I just stood there silently.

  “He’ll hate you. If he ever finds out it was you, he’ll never forgive you.”

  “I could not let him go to Conti.”

  “Is that the only reason? We both know Grayson can handle himself.”

  I shrugged.

  “Antoine, you heard him talk about his opinion on favors and special privileges. He won’t forgive you.”

  “He doesn’t need to know.”

  “But he will.” She sighed, her anger morphing into weariness. “Truth has the bad habit of always coming out.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not like I'm doing him a favor. He’s gifted.”

  She nodded. “I know that and you know that… Hell, he even knows that. But he got refused at first and I saw his letter this morning. This deal -” she rolled her eyes - “is ridiculous.”

  “He accepted it though, right?”

  She snorted. “Of course he did! Straight away.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  “When he finds out -”

  “He won't,” I interrupted her. “I’ve yet to meet any of the Academy’s patrons. I made sure he’d stay here to work so you don’t lose your roommate. He’ll never find out.”

  “I just -”

  “What?”

  She took a step toward me with uncertainty. “You'd said you never wanted to ask for a favor from your grandmother and the artsy side of your family. You’ve always said how grateful you are that your father had made his money from his engineering company, so you’d never have to owe your grandmother. Why?”

  “Some things, some people, deserve sacrifices.”

  “Antoine?” She took another step forward, concern etched deep in her face and eyes. “Are you- Are you in love with him?”

  I cocked my head to the side. That was a loaded question. One I was a little too scared to really look into because once I acknowledged it, then what would become of me?

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “All I know is that what we’d shared that night has changed me in ways I hadn’t known were possible. I know that I haven’t wanted to have sex with anyone else since then and I also know that our late night chats have rapidly became the highlight of my day.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Am I in love?” I shrugged. “All I know is that I can't go back to a life before him.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yep.”

  “Fuck.”

  I nodded. “Indeed.”

  “For all that matters, I think he is right there with you.”

  I gave her a small smile. “Meaning we’ll both end up with our hearts in a blender.”

  She winced. “Thanks for the picture.”

  I shrugged. “Accurate though.” I sighed. “Where is the boy wonder anyway?”

  “At his studio. He gets so absorbed when he is creating a piece, he sometimes forgets to eat.”

  “I’ll go see him.” I was so excited to see him in person, much more than I cared to admit.

  She nodded. “I presume you'll put your bag in his room?”

  “If I’m lucky.”

  She came closer to me and rested her hand on my cheek, cupping it. Such gentleness still choked me. “Be careful with this heart of yours, Antoine St-Vincent. It’s more valuable than you think.”

  I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll try.”

  She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go to class, but I’ll see you later. Spare keys are in the cutlery drawer… Don’t ask. See you later.”

  I looked between Taylor’s and Grayson’s rooms. Despite my desire to put my bag in his room, I didn't want to be presumptuous.

  Fuck it. I dropped my bag on the floor, grabbed the keys, and rushed to Grayson’s studio.

  Once I go
t there, I took the stairs up two at a time. Standing in front of his door, I took a deep breath, trying not to look as eager as I felt.

  Then I knocked once and it took a good few minutes for Grayson to answer.

  He seemed happy to see me, but also uncomfortable with my presence given he only opened the door halfway. “Oh, hi, Antoine, hey! What- What are you doing here?” he asked, still standing in the doorway.

  I couldn’t lie. His rebuttal hurt. But that was the thing about feelings. Once you’d caught them, you were fucked.

  I looked at his disheveled state, his fingers stained with paint.

  “I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

  He looked behind him before turning toward me again.

  “Well, yes - No, it’s-” He pulled the door tighter against him.

  I waved my hand dismissively, forcing a laugh that actually sounded pretty decent. Hiding who I was for so long did have its advantages, after all. “Ah, I see your other boyfriend is here,” I jested, but the thought hit me so deep I had a hard time breathing. I’d never been the faithful type, never had a relationship. We hadn’t committed to each other that night. It had just been an impulse. I’d been faithful by choice, faithful to a one-night stand who’d imprinted on my heart and soul. I shouldn’t have expected him to do the same and yet, I realized that I had.

  “Okay, I’ll see you later then.” Guess I'll be sleeping in Taylor’s room.

  “Boyfriend?” he asked as I turned around to leave.

  I froze, replaying my words. I grimaced. Fuck it! I had said that. I rolled my eyes. Here I was sounding like a twelve year old girl. Fuck. Me. Sideways.

  I tried to smooth my features before turning around. “I’d just meant it as a joke. You know me!” I snorted. “There’s not a serious bone in my body.”

  He looked up and opened the door wide. “Oh, what the hell. You’ll end up seeing it anyways.”

  I took a step forward, but he raised his hand to stop me.