19. Valerie

Chapter nineteen

Valerie

Y ou can't escape your responsibilities no matter how much you try. They always come back to bite you in the ass. I've been staring at an email from the insurance company for the last ten minutes, terrified to open it. The subject line titled ‘Outstanding Debt' doesn't seem all too promising.

The ringing of my phone pulls my attention away from the mail and allows me a few seconds to breathe.

"Hello?"

"Val, hey, how are you?" Antonio's voice comes through the receiver more cold and clipped than usual.

My brows furrow at his tone, I would have thought he'd be happier to finally speak considering how busy he's been with the prep for his trip.

"I'm great, and yourself? How was your trip?"

"Shit, we couldn't come to an agreement due to some drama with the stock prices. It was weird not being at the dinner though, but I see you were there." I can hear the annoyance in his tone.

All it does is remind me how I was seconds away from kissing his brother, behind his back .

"Would you believe me if I told you Ambrose paid me to do it?" I try, a strained laugh follows the words as I hope he believes them because otherwise, I'll have to think of an actual lie.

"With everything going on, and how desperate Ambrose was for a date? Yes, I'd believe you."

Ouch . It was nothing I didn't already know, but hearing the words from Antonio somehow makes the realisation sting a bit more.

"How was it?" he asks.

"I spent most of the night staring at the art exhibit, which made the entire evening a lot more tolerable. I have no idea how you guys do that every year."

He laughs and a sigh of relief leaves my lips. That's two lies to two very important people in my life.

It's for the best .

Leonardo Da Vinci himself could have been painting live, in person, and Ambrose would have still held my attention in the palm of his hand.

"You get used to it, Adriano and I have a competition each year to see who can take the most shots and still look sober." Antonio laughs, and the idea of the two of them trying to act sober all while probably irritating the shit out of Ambrose and their father brings a smile to my face.

"Count me in for next year," I laugh, and it's only after a few seconds that I realise I'm the only one laughing.

"Next year? You'd go again?" His tone sounds even more upset than it did at the start of the call.

"Yes? Natalia said I could go with her next year," I say hurriedly, and I can hear the audible sigh of relief that leaves Antonio. "Are you okay?"

"That's actually why I called. I know everything with Ambrose was pretend, but I still wanted to warn you. I know you had that crush on him when we were younger, but he's not the same person he was back then..." He trails off. "None of us are."

My mouth runs dry as his words register. I didn't expect him to bring it up so directly .

"Nothing to worry about, Nino. It was one night, playing pretend for a couple thousand euros."

"I hope you got more than a couple thousand euros out of him, Val," he says. "I was hoping to take you out for breakfast to discuss this, but I got tied up with a fewthings Ambrose needed to be done."

The conversation goes on for another half an hour, us catching up on the last week and discussing some upcoming events the brothers have planned. The tension from his side seems to have dissolved, but it only feels as if it's growing on my side.

"So wait, why is there tension with Enzo? And are you and Mattia still speaking?" I ask, pacing my room as he rambles on about a disagreement between Ambrose and Enzo earlier this week that I apparently missed out on.

"Well, he recently took over—sorry. Yeah, come in,'" Antonio says. I can hear a deep voice in the background, but can't make out what exactly they are saying. My best guess is it's one of the brothers.

"Valerie," Antonio says. "Okay, I'll be out in a bit."

"Sorry, Val, Adriano came to get me for a meeting. I've got to go, but I'll see you on Monday."

"See you then," I say before hanging up.

Nausea swirls in my stomach as I stare at my phone. I know it wasn't a complete lie I told him, everything was fake, but something about what happened in that exhibit when we were alone didn't feel fake. The things he said didn't sound fake, and I know for sure what I was feeling was real.

That's what feels like a lie, I'm keeping all these thoughts bottled up. One thing is for sure, if Antonio knew what happened in that exhibit after how he reacted tonight, I can surmise he wouldn't be too happy.

After pacing around my room for a little while longer, I work up the courage to open the godforsaken email. My eyes scan across the screen and with each word, each line, each paragraph, my chest grows tighter.

Our family's original insurance company has recently been acquired by new owners, and they've completely turned around the system, re-evaluating each customer 's debt, and are sending out a current and updated invoice.

The number at the bottom of the invoice is now nearly double its original amount, because when we thought the insurance was paying for my mother's care, they weren't, and that debt has been accumulating this entire time.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." I slump my head into my hands and I can't help but burst into tears. My shoulders shake rapidly as I try to silently cry out the complete and utter devastation I feel.

I wipe my eyes and a sad laugh escapes as I stare at the number again. I don't think I'll ever see that kind of money in this lifetime. I bet the Vitales sneeze and wipe their nose with that kind of money.

It must be nice to never have to worry about trivial things like money, where your next meal will come from, or whether the roof over your head is paid for. It must be especially great to snap your fingers and have everything you want without doing much for it.

"Yeah, what I wouldn't give for another way to make even more money," I say, and snap my fingers ironically.

I open the last of my emails and see one from an unusual address, and as I'm about to send it to junk, the word 'commission' catches my eye. I stare at the mail requesting a piece inspired by Jackson Pollock and then down at my fingertips. A few moments pass and I wonder what the chances are that it actually worked.

"It's going to be an offer of at least ten thousand euros," I say, snapping my fingers again.

My fingers hover over the trackpad as I hesitate to scroll down, but when I do, the only sound you can hear is a gasp leaving my lips.

"A million euros are going to fall out of the sky…" I snap my finger and wait. "Damn, it was worth a shot."

My eyes scan the email again, looking for any red flags, but the buyer seems to know what they're talking about. They know exactly what they want, and they are ready to pay a large amount of money to get it.

Jackson Pollock's work is not difficult to draw inspiration from, they are essentially smears and splatters on a canvas. This is almost too easy.

I type an email in response, asking a few further questions and requesting a deposit in order to begin. Based on their response, this could be exactly what I need to start my art career again. That little push I need.