A Wife for the Billionaire
Chapter 128: RICHARD

Chapter 128: RICHARD

Tearing my eyes away from the painting, I asked, "What’s it called?" walking away, even when it was the last thing I wanted to do.

From behind me, I could still feel the painting calling out to me, my eyes itching for another glance.

"You... you mean the name?" my host stuttered. I was certain my words rang loud and true, so why was she acting dumb?

"What else would I be asking of?" I chided, "every piece has a name, doesn’t it or is theirs a radical?" I emphasized by pointing to the supposed artists.

I didn’t believe for a second that they painted that. And from the way they were shifting closer to their mother who swallowed nervously, I couldn’t be more right.

I just needed the name so that I could look it up, perhaps get to know the real artist and her other works.

"It’s called Garden, Sir" Sofia said, just as her stepmom opened her mouth to speak.

"Oh yes, that’s true" Alicia added, chuckling nervously, "Sofia dear, my late husband’s illegitimate child, helped name it. Her own way of contributing"

Kind, my ass! The woman was anything but. If this was how she went about telling everyone that Sofia was illegitimate, then she was just cruel.

And I guess that’s what vexed me the most, the hiding. The lies. One should never hide his nature, if you are cruel, then let the world know exactly who you are, likewise if you are kind, rather than cloaking one with the other.

"Is that so?" I mused, genuinely surprised that someone so cruel could allow her stepdaughter name something her daughters had created, "Nice name, if not a bit literal, ’Spring’ could have been a better choice, hinting at the setting while maintaining the nostalgia theme figuratively"

The suggestive part had been to spite Sofia. And she knew it, her lips parted to offer a retort or a counter view, but then she remembered her place and kept mute.

"If ’Spring’ pleases you then perhaps we should call it that" Alicia suggested quickly. The woman was too eager to please, and I wasn’t a fan.

"Where’s the originality in that?" I asked, staring at the fire, my hands tucked into my pockets, "An artwork should never be renamed, it rids it of originality, like shredding a design of its brand, it puts its authenticity into question. Whatever name a piece was given at first should remain so till its death or the time it ceases to exist."

"You are right, Mr Well..." The eager host tried to agree once again, but I wasn’t about to endure such patheticism the second time.

"Let’s get to why I’m here," I said, veering to face her and cutting her off, "as you know, I’m a very busy man"

She wasn’t used to been cut off like that, but she took it in good stride, as she asked,

"Would you like anything, tea, coffee or even a meal?"

I allowed myself a smile. She might play the dutiful host all she wanted, but I wasn’t going to forget that this same woman kept me waiting for more than a minute. A whole fucking minute, not to mention I wouldn’t be here at all if she hadn’t called Sofia.

She was going to pay and I was just warming up.

"A meal?" I repeated, "but it’s barely time for dinner, and it’s too late for lunch. You know, this situation has got me thinking. A meal between breakfast and lunch is called brunch, what of a meal between lunch and dinner? Perhaps I will check it out later. But there will be no need for any of that. I would have settled for wine, but I doubt you have one worthy of my taste palette, so let’s just discuss"

As if I had all the time in the world, I walked to the leather armchair at their right and sat. Surprisingly, Lanke strolled to where I sat and stood behind the chair, like he was my bodyguard. The man did too much at times. And it was already too late to relieve him of the duties he had given himself.

"And not offer the great Mr Wellington anything, no now, it’s not right. Dear Felix!" Alicia called.

"Ma’am?" The stout man, Felix answered, appearing from the entrance hall.

"Get a bottle of those vintage wines"

"You mean after your late husband’s indulgence, there’s still any of that left?" I asked, crossing my legs.

Alicia stiffened. The widow’s face contoured to rage and hurt. It was undeniable in her expression, from the red blotches that spotted her face, making her freckles stand out, the firm set of her jaw and the rigidity of her posture. I had struck a nerve, let’s see her pretend now.

She opened her mouth to speak, only to bite on her lower lip before any words escaped. It was taking a lot for her not to return my insult in kind.

"The death of my husband," she finally began, not meeting my gaze, "was an unfortunate..."

"A very unfortunate tragedy," I cut in, massaging my jaw, "but do go on"

She pouted her lips in frustration, sticking her tongue in both cheeks. She must hate me now, but I was just getting started.

I plan to end up at the very top of her enemies list by the time I exit those doors. For her to know that she wronged me and I wasn’t going to let her off that easily. Anyone who crossed me, always paid the price, always.

"Right" she concurred, even though she gritted those words, "a very unfortunate tragedy, it wasn’t planned or anything, but one thing my husband always planned for, was the shortage of his vintage wine collection. Even if he had to borrow to stack it up. So, yes, there are still some bottles left"

That wasn’t what I heard, read rather. Several news blogs and columns had written that the widow auctioned her late husband’s vintage wines first before moving over to the artworks. But of course, journalists and blog writers would spin any story to get readers. Except it could be true, I mean why keep the same thing that led to the death of her husband?

"Hmmm," I muttered in disbelief , "these news and blog writers should never be believed. Writing about selling your house arts and properties to pay off your late husband’s debts. And if perhaps that’s not true, but if it is then shouldn’t the vintage wines be the first to go? Even if it’s not as a means to pay off the debts then to rid yourself of the bitter memories surely, am I wrong?"

Her daughters shifted in their seats. Their faces bearing curiosity and confusion. They had been too young when their father died, five from what I read.

But they should most certainly know. A man going broke and drinking away till death was hardly a forgettable news especially in this internet age. Surely they’ve heard of it, their mates from highschool must have bullied them with it, or even at college. People are too cruel not to have.

From the looks on their faces, it was clear they didn’t know. I should have felt a pang of guilt, but I didn’t. My conscience died the very day I learned that my days were numbered.

"Mama, but... but you said..." the twin on her left was saying, before her mother cut her off,

"I know what I said, dear. Just be silent"

So that was it. They heard of it, but she led them to believe otherwise, how motherly of her. Except her twins didn’t feel like she was being motherly in that moment, not with that icy tone. And I could tell, they weren’t used to that tone.

They shied away from her. They did it quite unintentionally, like it was a reflex.

"If you don’t mind, I would like to discuss the present. The past to me is a touchy topic, so if you don’t want the wine, that’s fine." Alicia said, forcing a smile, her teeth baring like sharp fangs ready to sink into my neck.

It was obvious how she had managed to survive that scandal, raise her daughters while also making it back to where she used to be.

Of course, along the way she had made a lot of sacrifices. I read that she dated the young popstar, Hope. The boy was about her daughters’ age, but she had been seen with him on different occasions.

That scandal had placed her name among the top searches on Google during that time. Even earning her a hashtag, #Alicia. It didn’t last more than a week especially after the rising pop star gave a public statement denouncing the claims of fans about the widow being his lover.

What better way to get over a scandal than with another?

Alicia was the kind of woman who knows what it will take to make it and will also be willing to do it, no matter how dirty. And she was fearless, especially when it came to her daughters.

But I couldn’t give a damn,

"They don’t know," I pointed to her twins, "like really know, do they?"

"Know what, mama?" the one on her right blurted. They were identical with hardly any difference. Same hair, same eyes, same mannerisms.

They were the type of twins that could do something and get away with it, by confusing the hell out of people.

One more reason why I needed Sofia. She had lived with them a long time, so I bet she knew who was who.

"What’s he talking about, mama? What don’t we know?" the other one asked in the same voice as her twin, just as their mom tried to speak.

"They really don’t know, how interesting" I surmised, enjoying every moment. The confused stares the girls threw at their mother and the glare Sofia directed at me. Or the dangerous look the widow gave me.

It was now without doubt, she hated me. I have no doubt that if given a knife, she won’t hesitate before driving it deep into my guts. In fact, I know she will smile doing it. But that didn’t scare me. Years of dealing with enemies could do that, make a new number on the list feel like a normality. Something very much expected.

Still throwing me daggers with her glare, the dowager said, forcing out each word,

"What they know and don’t know isn’t any of your business, so, respectfully, can we discuss why you are here"

Her daughters stiffened beside her. They knew who I was and what I could do and their mom just defied me. Sofia on the other hand wasn’t in the least afraid, which wasn’t a surprise. She looked happy even, as if she wanted to hug and congratulate her stepmom.

The dowager didn’t even look apologetic. Not even as I made sure that my expression hinted at my displeasure with her words, she didn’t cower. She maintained her straight backed posture, her face raised high, and her brown eyes glinting with defiance.