Promise

Chapter 4: Hope

I picked up my menu, looking through the vegetarian options when Damon showed up–gray eyes, tattoos, and a leather jacket. He kissed Mom on the cheek, ruffled my hair, and sat down next to me, looking every bit the mob boss that he was.

"How are we doing today, family?" He asked.

"Haven't burned my empire to the ground yet, have you?" Dad played, not taking his eyes off the menu.

"Not yet. There's still time."

Mom rolled her eyes. "I will not ask about your work, Damon."

Damon smiled. "I wouldn't tell you anyway, Mom. I'd much rather hear about how Robyn's doing. How's work?"

"Sta andando bene," I said, dunking tofu in peanut sauce. It's going well.

"Isn't there a bidding war for one of your works right now?" Damon asked.

"You are not supposed to know that!"

I hadn't told anyone, so how did he know? But asking my brother how he knew things was pointless. He always looked out for me. Protective, loyal, and unspeakably strong. My brother was a fortifying strength in my life and my shoulder to lean on.

"Why?"

"It's anonymous. No one knows the true artist behind the art that's displayed at these things until it's finally sold."

"Nothing remains anonymous around me," Damon smirked. "So is there a bidding war around one of yours or not?"

I grinned, a blush covering my cheeks. "There is."

"Which one?" Mom asked, her mouth agape. "I didn't know!"

"That's because your daughter is the most humble person the world has seen," Dad drawled. "I only find out because I have ways."

"Your ways are illegal, Dad."

"I won't apologize."

"You don't even know the meaning of the word," Damon drawled.

"Oh and you do?"

"Sure I do," Damon scoffed. "Ariadne makes me apologize all the time. Right up there with please and thank you."

Oh Ariadne. A truly loyal, beautiful, and loving rose. My best friend was fierce, but unwaveringly kind to the people she cared about.

"That must be harrowing for you," Dad drawled. "Though it sounds incredibly familiar."

Dad looked down at his food for a split second, more than likely thinking of his best friend in the whole world—Catherine Ryder. A sad expression crossed Mom's face as she took his hand and squeezed it once.

As far as we knew, they were all good friends once upon a time—Anthony Hale, Catherine Montgomery, Jackson Ryder, and Maria Ashbourne. A story none of us fully knew, but one that altered everything.

"Anyway," Mom grabbed our attention again. "Which painting, Robyn?"

"Uh," I hesitated, "You guys haven't seen it yet. Only people who place a bid are able to see which painting it is. It's what makes the final reveal so very tantalizing."

And anyway, this particular painting wasn't one that I wanted anyone to see. It was... different than my usual ones. Though I normally looked at nature as my muse, this one was painted when I was deep in the throes of pain. Tendrils of despair had wrapped around my heart and my wrist as the strokes of my paintbrush caressed the canvas. I hardly even knew I was painting it until it was over.

It was a piece that no one would ever associate with me, and yet it was the most raw, honest, and truthful one I'd ever painted in my entire life. The one that reflected me at my very core.