Page 194 of Double or Nothing

Unyielding.

I try my best to fight it. I hold on to the memory of the new paintings. I picture them in my bulldozed mind.

The bend. Barely there, but real.

“That doesn’t mean my work has no value,” I argue. “Parker or not.”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t. I’m telling you not to confuse a few whimsical sales with independence. A serious plan would involve more than selling three paintings at a private auction.” His eyes are cold. Threatening. “Accept reality, and stop this pitiful attempt at rebellion, please. I’m tired of it.”

There is the word.

Reality.

The black line through the centre of everything.

Dad looks pointedly at my shaking fingers.

“To continue with this career of yours, you need to position yourself properly within the family structure. It’s a far more important asset than whimsical canvases.”

“Position myself? Where exactly?”

“The Otleys are practically family. It’s time we acknowledged that.”

There it is.

Christopher enters the room without being here. Yet again.

Mum suddenly looks busy with the cuff of her sleeve. She fake clears her throat and takes a sip of water.

“Trevor and I are entering an important period,” Dad continues. “Christopher’s return will strengthen the partnership considerably. He understands responsibility. He understands legacy.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’ve never had to.”

“Because you’ve never allowed me to make a decision without rubbing in what it costs, Dad.”

“That’s a very childish interpretation.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” Dad’s patience tightens. Ready to snap and break. “You’re an only child. One day, a great deal will rest on your shoulders.”

“You mean your money. Sure, what a burden.”

“I mean this family!”

The anger explodes in his tone, but it only fuels the sparks of mine.

“No. You mean the name. The properties. The investments. All of it carrying on exactly as you’ve designed it!”

“Yes! And are you capable of living up to that?! Or will you throw away everything we’ve spent our life building up for you, you ungrateful little madam?”

That’s an insult from Dad. A major one.

Ungrateful.

My mind flicks back to twenty years ago, saying thank you for everything, even my first pack of pastels. I’m not ungrateful. I’ve never been ungrateful.