The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “I’m sorry. He knocked and so I answered the door and then he just came right in. I didn’t know who he was until afterward…” she rambled softly.

  “Shh, shh, Ellie, it’s ok,” he comforted her, clasping her face in his hands and raising it to tenderly kiss her lips.

  “As much as you know that I always enjoy a good show, Tris, we have business to discuss,” Pierce interjected into their moment, his tone a mix of entertainment and annoyance.

  “Are you ok?” Tristan asked her, staring into her eyes and completely ignoring his friend, waiting until she nodded before continuing. “Did he do anything…say anything to you? I’ll fucking kill him, if you tell me he did.”

  “No, Tristan, I’m fine,” she reassured him, putting a smile on her face to try and calm his concerns. “Honestly, I think he’s harmless.”

  “Of course, you would,” he laughed, resting his forehead on hers. “I’m sorry. I knew he was going to stop by this weekend, but he didn’t tell me when exactly.”

  “It’s ok, I have some stuff I have to take care of, too.”

  “Alright, I’ll call you later, ok?”

  “Yeah.” She reached up and kissed him one more time before turning back towards the door, and the devil that was standing in her way.

  “You don’t have to leave sweetheart. You’re more than welcome to stay for the party. ‘The more the merrier,’ I always say,” Pierce said with a wink as he stepped directly in her path.

  “Maybe another time, like never,” she retorted, knowing her attitude seemed to make him more amenable.

  “Pierce,” Tristan’s voice came from the other side of the room, warning his friend to tread very carefully.

  “Alright, alright,” Pierce replied, his hands moving up in mock submission, allowing her to pass and make her way to the entrance, yelling after her just as she opened the door to walk through. “Well, it’s been an interesting pleasure to meet you, Miss Ellie…” He trailed off, expecting one last response from her.

  Turning back towards him, she glared at him and responded before Tristan could see it coming or make a move to intervene. “Carter. It’s Ellie Carter.” She watched his eyes go wide in complete shock of recognition before she turned and left, letting the door close behind her, but not before she heard the devil’s howls of laughter echo out into the hallway.

  Part of her wondered what was so funny, but that curiosity was quickly extinguished as she pulled out her phone to see the messages that were left on it: a missed call and a voicemail from an unknown number – probably from Dr. Sion, and then two missed calls and a text from her dad.

  Crap.

  Her fingers fumbled clumsily to open her phone as she stepped out of the elevator, trying to avoid the mass of people surrounding her in the process. Rushing outside, away from the crush of people, she sucked in a huge breath of fresh air, suddenly feeling like invisible walls were closing in around her. She quickly texted her dad to let him know that she was alright and that her appointment with the doctor had to be rescheduled and that she would keep him posted.

  With a deep breath, she went straight to the voicemail from Dr. Sion, tapping on the play button, her breath held for what she was about to hear.

  “Hi, Ellie, it’s Dr. Sion. I’m so sorry about what happened earlier, I got stuck in surgery and anyway, I’m sorry that you had to wait so long for nothing. I wanted to give you a call because I got the preliminary results back from your blood test.” Ellie heard the pause and sigh in the message and knew what would follow would break her. “The first results were inconclusive, unfortunately. I wanted to tell you in person because I know how concerned this will make you. The results weren’t good, but they weren’t bad either, Ellie, so please, try not to read too much more into this. Sometimes when you are recovering from the flu it can make the numbers unclear. Either way, I’ve sent it out to a different lab for a more in-depth analysis and should be back on Monday, if you are available to come in; I’ve let the front desk know to expect your call.

  Ellie felt the world disappearing around her. “I don’t know if these new tests will reveal much more or if we will have to take some more samples in order to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, I want you to take two of the pills that I gave you instead of just one per day. If you need a new prescription, just let the front desk know and Marge can get it taken care of for you. Most importantly, Ellie, remember that we know nothing for sure yet, so try to relax and not assume the worst. I’ll see you soon. Sorry again for not being able to see you earlier –”

  Ellie hit the button to lock her phone, effectively ending the voicemail. She stared at the dark, blank screen in front of her, her eyes unable to focus on anything else.

  Inconclusive – her life summed up in one word.

  The crushing weight of those four syllables drew her back into the dark place that she hated, the place that Tristan had managed to pull her from. Ellie saw drops of water begin to appear on the glass screen, not grasping that they were her tears. She tried to breathe, air filling her lungs in awkwardly strangled gasps as she tried to tell her body that ‘everything was going to be ok,’ that ‘this isn’t the end.’

  Her body knew better than to buy her lies.

  Someone bumped into her walking by, throwing her easily off-balance in the heels that she had on. She stumbled forward, catching herself just before she toppled over. Her gaze refocused on the world that was still continuing to spin around her, even though she felt like her world had come to a dead stop.

  One step at a time; one minute at a time; one day at a time.

  Her conditioned mantras began to replay in her mind, pulling her back into a functional shell of herself. Her breathing slowed as the needs of the immediate future presented themselves: go home, change, call her dad.

  The tasks became a guide, a glimmer of light for the murky path ahead. She looked up the tall expanse of Tristan’s building one last time, pain blooming in her chest, thinking about him in his apartment. He was so close, his comfort was so close and yet, from down here she felt like he was living in a castle in the sky, in a happy-ending tale that she was getting farther and farther away from. She closed her eyes for a second, searching the depths of her heart for the vibrant memory of everything that had happened between them last night, everything they had shared, but mostly for everything that he had made her feel.

  He’d made her feel alive, if only for a night. Like Cinderella, the harsh toll of her malignant midnight had sounded, putting an end to her fairytale of freedom.

  Chapter 25

  Tristan glared at his friend, wanting to rip his laughing head right off of his shoulders.

  “That’s fucking good, Tris,” Pierce managed to get out between howls of laughter. “So. Fucking. Good.” He bent over, his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath while Tristan watched in brooding silence, waiting for the show to be over. “I’m right, though, or you’d be ripping into me right now… Ellie Carter, as in Jack Carter’s daughter. Holy shit, that is rich.”

  “You done yet?” Tristan asked, his irritation palpable.

  “For now, I think.” Pierce finally stood up straight, still wearing a giant smile across his face. “You know, I came here all prepared to rip you a new one for fucking punching me in the face, but now, after seeing this, I don’t even care about being pissed off at you anymore.”

  “Oh, you don’t? Great, then we are done here,” Tristan replied, walking into the kitchen to grab himself a bottle of water. He knew that wouldn’t actually be the end of it though, hearing Pierce’s shoes click across the floor, stopping when he reached the kitchen island.

  “Nah, not yet, my friend,” Pierce said, a devious look in his eyes, “got anything good to drink back there?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Mmm…how about the water of life?” Unlike Sloane, Pierce didn’t give a shit what time of day it was; it was always time for a drink. Tristan pulled out the bottle of Jameson he had stashed below the cou
nter, pouring Pierce a generous glass and sliding it across the granite.

  “So, what’s the plan, Tris?” Pierce asked, taking a long swig of the drink. “Does she even know her dad has your portrait?”

  “No,” Tristan responded tightly, really not wanting to share any more information with Pierce than was necessary.

  “You owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you shit except an apology, which I’m more than happy to give,” Tristan bit out. “I shouldn’t have punched you and I’m sorry. Now, can we move on?”

  Pierce’s eyes narrowed, his face shadowing with seriousness for a moment before he spoke again. “No. You lost something of mine, permanently it would seem, and I lost something of yours temporarily, but then you went and punched me over a goddamn joke, albeit crude. You fucking owe me a decent explanation.”

  Tristan’s mouth thinned. Pierce was just trying to torture him – he didn’t need an explanation, he just wanted to hear about Tristan’s suffering as recompense.

  “I, temporarily, lost control of my emotions – that is my explanation.” He wasn’t going to give in that easily.

  “Why? What is so special about this girl, besides the fact that she is Jack Carter’s daughter? If anything, I would think lewd jokes about her would be welcome after he refused to give you back the portrait,” Pierce surmised, taking another sip of his whiskey. “So, I’m curious about your plan. If it were me, I’d be fucking her and leaving her, but I don’t see any signs that that is what’s happening. Well, the fucking part definitely is.” He paused here to chuckle to himself, watching Tristan fume on the other side of the counter. “What is going on in that head of yours, Tris? Or are you no longer thinking with your head?”

  There it was.

  The gauntlet had been thrown. He owed his friend an explanation, and that explanation was something that he hadn’t even had a chance to admit to himself, even though he’d known what conclusion all the signs are pointing to.

  “Christ,” he spat, pulling another glass out of the cupboard and pouring himself some of the Jameson, taking a long sip, refusing to meet Pierce’s penetrating eyes.

  “Look,” Pierce said, the anger evaporating from his voice, “I just want to know what the fuck is going on. Honestly, if you care about the girl, which I can see why, she’s a fucking spitfire – it’s incredible…if you care about her, then I probably deserved to be punched in the face. For the record though, I will never admit that again or recall ever saying it after leaving here today.”

  Surprised by Pierce’s sudden change in demeanor, Tristan took advantage of his compassionate misstep and told him what he needed to hear. “I do fucking care about her, and no, it wasn’t the fucking plan. Fucking her and then leaving her was the plan, to see if breaking her would change her father’s position on returning my property. I don’t know what fucking happened and that’s the truth. I’m here – I care about her, I can’t stop thinking about her, and I don’t know what I’m fucking going to do.” He stopped in frustration, draining the rest of his glass waiting for Pierce’s response.

  Pierce finished the rest of his drink, too, just staring at Tristan with his darkly brooding eyes. After a minute of silence, Tristan finally spoke again, unnerved by his friend’s lack of response. “Well? Is that enough of an explanation?”

  A smile broke over Pierce’s face. “Yes. That’s enough.” He let out a small laugh and Tristan took a deep breath, only imaging the ways their conversation could go from here.

  “You know you’re royally fucked, right?” Pierce asked, his eyes alighting with entertainment.

  “Yeah, I know,” Tristan admitted. It was a painful and aggravating truth, but not one worth denying – not at this point.

  “Because, let me see if I get this straight. Granted, I’ve never cared for anyone so I can’t speak from experience or certainty, but if there is one thing that I do know how to do, it’s scheme.” Pierce began to toy with his glass, spinning it on the counter in front of him as he continued, “so, if you care about her, and want to pursue a relationship with her, you’ll have to tell her about your mom’s portrait, and her dad’s relationship to it – either that or she’ll find out the hard way the second she goes to introduce you to him. Or, knowing that the certain outcome of that option is losing her, you decide to preemptively break her heart and hope that at least you can get your mom’s portrait back out of the deal.” He paused again, thinking for a moment. “Did I miss anything?”

  Tristan glared at his friend and the truth in what he said – a truth that his brain had been subconsciously taunting him with for days now. He didn’t need to respond, and he didn’t want to. There were layers of complexity to the situation that Pierce wasn’t aware of, that only aggravated the options he’d already laid out.

  “Well, my friend,” Pierce sighed, “from the perspective of a schemer, I’d say you are shit-outta-luck.”

  “Yeah,” Tristan responded wryly, “no shit. Any other gems of wisdom that you got for me? Maybe ones that would actually be helpful…”

  Pierce laughed, the tension between them finally dissipating. “No, unfortunately, that’s all I can do. Once emotions get involved, that’s my cue to leave; I have no experience with anything of the sort.”

  “I figured.”

  “Watch it, Tris. That tone is what started this whole ordeal,” Pierce warned him lightly, even though there was a thread of hardness running through his words.

  “Yeah. So, we’re good then?” Tristan asked, trying to return them to the whole point of this conversation.

  “Yeah, we’re good. You’re suffering far worse than anything I could have inflicted on you, which is why I’m just going to sit back and enjoy the show.”

  “Fucker.”

  “Hey,” Pierce interjected, throwing his hands up, “it’s not my fault you let your fucking emotions get involved. I told you a long time ago to leave that shit alone; it will literally destroy you.”

  “God, I wish I could, man, you have no idea,” Tristan laughed in spite of himself, “I wish I could; you know how important lighting is when you are taking a photograph?” He paused, waiting for Pierce to nod in acknowledgement. “Well, Ellie, she’s become my light source; without her, everything seems dark, but when I’m with her, the world is lit up on fire – the level of inspiration is off the charts.”

  Tristan thought he saw a flash of recognition, of a true understanding of what he was trying to tell Pierce, but just like a flash, the light disappeared a split second later replaced by a blank stare. The vacant look was Pierce’s attempt to show only a superficial understanding to what Tristan was trying to explain.

  “Tris, that might be the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, but I get what you are trying to say. Don’t really understand it all – hollow inside, remember?” Pierce rhetorically asked as he pretended to knock on the left side of his chest where his heart ‘should be.’

  “Whatever, man. I just don’t fucking know what to do.”

  “Do you love her?” Pierce asked bluntly, saying the word ‘love’ like it left an acrid taste in his mouth.

  Do I love her? Is that what this is?

  Tristan just stopped and stared at his friend, his mind processing the suggestion. He knew lust and desire and need, but not love like that. The last person he remembered loving was his mother, and he’d lost her. He loved his father, but he’d lost him, too. It seemed like every person he loved at that level he had lost. Was he willing to risk that kind of pain on loving Ellie?

  Did he even have a choice?

  “The point is, I don’t know what will happen if I lose her.” Tristan evaded answering the question because he couldn’t handle the possibility that this was love that he was feeling, especially in front of Pierce.

  “Well, then you better figure out which option is going to leave the least number of casualties. Usually, the more secrets, the more casualties.”

  “Yeah,” Tristan sighed, resting his elbows on the granite and putting his he
ad in his hands.

  “And I wasn’t just talking about yours…” Pierce said, his dark eyes flaring. Tristan glanced up, his brow furrowing in question, wondering what Pierce could possibly know about Ellie’s past secrets. Nothing, he probably knew nothing, but Pierce had an uncanny way of knowing just when people were hiding something, and just what buttons to push to bring it out. Before Tristan could think of how to respond, Pierce continued, “Damn, the way Sloane talked about this did not make it seem as bad as it is, didn’t make you seem like you got it as bad as you do,” Pierce mumbled.

  “He doesn’t know much, for the exact reason that I knew he would tell you,” Tristan said in annoyance.

  “Chill, he didn’t tell me anything. I pried, he told me in generalities that I’d have to talk to you. I’m just talking body language. You know Sloane can be like an open book with that type of thing. I’m just surprised I didn’t get such a serious vibe from him.”

  “Well, like I said, he doesn’t know much, so that’s probably why.”

  “Yeah…” Pierce trailed off, looking around the apartment, letting everything that was said and revealed between them to settle. “Alright, I’m going to get going. I have a hot date tonight, well two, actually, if you want to be specific. I’d invite you, but I have a disgusting feeling that you’ll turn me down for reasons that I will never understand.”

  “Well, you’d be right,” Tristan smirked, the days when he’d eagerly take Pierce up on his offers seemed so much farther away now.

  “Actually, speaking of my dates, what does this mean for the competition? Are you forfeiting? You better not be.” The spark of playful competition chasing the seriousness from his friend’s face.

  “I don’t know. I need to figure my shit out, and even if I was, I don’t think I would tell you – wouldn’t want you to get lazy or anything,” he taunted back.

  Pierce just laughed. “Well, I’m gonna head out then. Good fuckin’ luck with it all. Not to be a Debbie-downer, but when your heart gets fucking trampled, you let me know and I’ll show you how to effectively remove it from your chest.” He winked with his offer as he stood and began to walk towards the door.