The Casanova by T L Swan
KATE
I lie on the couch while eating Nutella out of the jar with a spoon.
“You know that shit gives you a fat ass, right?” Daniel says as he puts his laundry away.
“Nobody is going to see my ass anyway.” I sigh.
“Oh, except Elliot Miles. What’s happening there anyway, you haven’t mentioned him all week. Is that what’s wrong with you?”
“This has nothing to do with Elliot Miles,” I lie.
Maybe a little.
“What then?”
“The fact that my sister is a bitch. I just want a sweet sister who cares, you know? Sisters are supposed to be built-in best friends.”
He smiles and sits at my feet, picks them up and puts them on his lap. “That’s it, I’m dragging your ass out tonight.”
“I’m not going out.” I sigh.
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I raise my eyebrow. “You always say that.”
“And it always is.”
“Where are you going?”
“An art auction.”
“What?” I sit up. “Where at?”
“Here in London. Do you want to come?” He smiles sweetly.
“Actually.” I bite my lip as an idea rolls around in my head. “Maybe I do.” I stand with purpose. “But first you need to make me look insanely hot.”
Daniel chuckles. “Mission accepted.”
It’s nine when we walk into the Halifax function room, a ballroom at the Conservatory of Music. The venue for the art auction.
I’m wearing a deep-blue fitted dress with long sleeves and a low back, sky-high stilettos, and my hair is down and full. I’m totally dressed up in designer samples and I look good.
At least I hope I do.
To the left of the room is a bar and everyone is mingling; canapés and champagne are being walked around on silver trays. To the right of the room an auction is going on, and you can hear the auctioneer calling. The crowd is eclectic and the sound of jovial chatter is loud as it echoes around the high ceiling.
I look around: Where is he? Is this even the right auction?
“Let’s go and look at the auction,” I whisper.
Daniel puts his arm around me and we walk over to that part of the room. There is a huge painting on an easel and about fifteen people are gathered around it.
“One point one,” I hear the familiar voice snap. Elliot is standing front and center, bidding.
I pull Daniel back so we can watch unhindered.
“I hope his dick is as big as his wallet?” Daniel whispers.
It is.
I giggle.
“Be nice,” I whisper back.
I watch as Elliot bids on the painting, completely focused on his task. He’s wearing black jeans and a black knitted sweater; his dark hair is messed to perfection. His words come back to me.
I was too attached.
I smile to myself as the bidding war continues. We stand at the back and watch the proceedings; I don’t know whether I’m appalled or impressed at his drive to own the painting. It’s obvious for all to see that he won’t back down, that painting is as good as his.
It’s unsettling to watch him like this, cold and detached to achieve his desired outcome. His words come back to me: I’m looking for extraordinary. Is this what he would be like to achieve that goal? Emotionless and hard; is that why he pushed me to the side . . . to make way for his extraordinary woman?
“Sold,” the auctioneer yells as he slams the hammer down. “Mr. Miles, congratulations.”
The crowd all clap in awe.
“Honestly, he has more money than sense, the painting isn’t even that great,” I say.
“Do you see that handbag?” Daniel leans in and whispers. He gestures to a woman.
“Yes.”
“Fifteen thousand pounds.”
My eyes nearly pop from their sockets. “What the hell?” I whisper.
Daniel laughs and pulls me closer with his arm around me as we chat.
I glance up to see the glare of Elliot, the fury emanating from him is thermonuclear.
Huh?
He marches over. “Get your fucking hands off her,” he growls.
My eyes widen in horror.
What?
Daniel’s grip around my waist tightens. “Go to hell.”