The gallery was practically packed when I arrived. I didn't think I'd seen so many people at a gallery before, but I guessed that was because I rarely attended art galleries, let alone ones hosting a show to sell pieces. Most of the gallery parties I attended were galas, made to bring in donations for a dying art program at one school or another. They were never places for the rich to buy pieces of art to hang in their living rooms, a sign of how rich they were. If I missed anything about Chicago, it was that.
I slipped through the crowd, glad that the woman at the clothing store I found had suggested white flats to go with the dark teal one shouldered dress, a dress that hit just below my knees and moved with me. The woman had called it Grecian style, but all I had seen was the graceful movements it created when I walked. With my hair down in soft curls, I felt more like I belonged in the Hamptons then Chicago.
I stared at an art piece that seemed to stand out from the rest to me, perhaps because no one was standing by it as I approached. I looked the piece over, trying to decide how it made me feel when a voice behind me caught my attention.
"Lovely piece isn't it?" I turned, forcing out a smile at the sight of Victoria Grayson.
In truth, it looked as though the woman hadn't aged a day since the last time I saw her. Maybe she had another line or two near her eyes, but mostly she looked the exact same as the day I had last seen her standing on the porch as my sister and I were dragged from our home, our lives. Her eyes still seemed to hold the same coldness I remembered seeing as a child, something my father had urged me to see past. He had told me of the affair long before Amanda found out, as unlike my sister, I was aware of how the world of grown ups worked for the most part. I had met her near the beginning of the relationship, and even then sensed something was off with the woman. My father had claimed I was just nervous about someone possibly taking my mother's place. I had let him think that, not wanting to make him unhappy, but looking at Victoria now, I wished I had pushed my point just a little bit further.
"It is," I said finally, knowing that just standing and staring at Victoria Grayson wasn't going to get me anywhere. "I'm surprised it's being sold," I said, knowing that it likely once belonged to Victoria. Her being broke and being here, clearly meant she was trying to sell these pieces off for some money, Amanda didn't have to tell me that.
"Well, sometimes you have to get rid of the old to make way for the new," Victoria responded, and I gave a small nod. She really was the same as ever, not willing to let anything past her, or an insult hit her, at least not without a way to reflect it. "So, are you interested in buying it?" I glanced at the piece again, my eyes drifting towards the price tag. The amount of zeros at the end of the number was a little staggering, especially when Alex and I had agreed after our original decorating spree that we would only buy new pieces together, or if the money went to a very good cause, and I was certain he wouldn't think Victoria Grayson was a good cause.
"I'm not sure. Truthfully, I'm looking for a piece for my daughter's room. She's turning five soon, and while I hate to admit it, she's growing out of the nursery rhyme theme we have in her room now," That was true, though the art portion was. Part of the reason Marisol was with my grandparents was so we could redecorate her room into something she could grow up with. The current theme had been there for her nursery, and now that she was going to be entering school Alex and I had thought it time to turn her room into something a little more mature. Not hot pink teen, but more fairy tale or Parisian theme she wouldn't want changed when she turned twelve.
"I can understand growing children. My own seem to be turning into adults before my eyes," I fought the urge to mutter something derisive as I turned back to the piece, giving it my full attention. "What's your daughter like? That might help me find you a good piece for her collection," Children and art collections, that thought made me want to laugh. My daughter was lucky to have a collection of stuffed animals at her age, she didn't need an art collection.
"She's a free spirit," I said, knowing that was half the reason Alex and I had yet to settle on a theme for her room. I thought Marisol might prefer nature over princess, but Alex firmly thought his princess deserved a room suited for a princess.
"Sounds like my daughter," Victoria responded, and I was tempted to ask if she was even speaking to her daughter when I spotted Charlotte. "Speaking of my daughter. Charlotte, I'm so glad you came," Victoria said, giving Charlotte a hug before turning her attention to me.
"I was just helping," Victoria frowned, clearly realizing she didn't have my name, something Charlotte seemed to realize as well as she started speaking.
"We've met. Mom, this is Genevieve Ramston," Victoria didn't looked phased by that information, just a little confused as to how Charlotte knew that. "She's Amanda's older sister," That got a reaction, as Victoria looked at me, and seemed to pale slightly.
"It's lovely to see you again, Victoria," I said, my eyes remaining locked on Victoria. I knew she was thinking of the last time we met, of that night she came in to give her security guy the computer. The night Amanda and I were hiding in the kitchen, up past our bedtimes wanting ice cream when we heard her come in. We'd both watched her go upstairs with my oblivious father, and that was something I never got to tell the police because of my father, but something I had never forgotten.
"Genevieve," Victoria said after a moment, evidently trying to process this new revelation. "I thought you were in Europe," A genuine smile came across my face at that statement.
"I was, at least until I turned eighteen and my mother no longer feared losing custody of me. Then I came back to the States, went to college, got married, had a family, and decided to come see what my little sister was doing before she died, and hopefully get to connect with the sister I never got a chance to meet," I said, giving Charlotte a smile before looking back at Victoria. "I've spent the last few years in Chicago, but my business now finds me spending some time in New York." I said as Charlotte looped her arm through mine.
"Isn't that great? I get to spend time with my sister," Victoria looked as though she clearly didn't find this idea great, but I knew she wouldn't voice that.
"I see you two found each other," Amanda's voice said, causing me to turn my head to see my sister. She clearly knew how to dress for these things, and I wondered if I'd be able to get the name of where she shopped as she smiled at Victoria. "I mentioned to Genevieve when Amanda died that Charlotte was arranging the funeral, I had hoped that they might reconnect. Amanda once mentioned to me that she regretted everything that happened between her and Genevieve, thought she'd regret Charlotte and Genevieve not meeting too," I wondered if Amanda really did regret everything that happened as I focused my attention on Victoria, who seemed to be getting more upset at everything going on in front of her.
"For all you know, Genevieve isn't really a Clarke," Victoria said finally, causing me to make a half surprised, half annoyed face.
"I'm sorry?" I said, shocked anyone would question that, especially Victoria.
"Last anyone saw, David's oldest disappeared." I had half a mind to yell at Victoria right then and there, but knew that would get me nowhere.
"And what proof would you like?" I asked, wandering where Victoria was even going with this.
"I'm just saying, after the Eli mess, you have to be careful who you trust, Charlotte," I looked at Charlotte, who seemed to be getting upset at her mother's words.
"I'm a Clarke, I can assure you of that. But if you need proof," I said, rooting through my clutch for the photo I always kept in my wallet. The photo of me with my father the summer of the arrest, the last photo I had of just the two of us. It had been taken at a Mets game by my mother, who had used the game as a meeting place to drop me off with my father for the summer as she had tickets she needed to use, and thought it might be a good bonding experience. Amanda had been there, but she wasn't in the photo I was pulling out, one that clearly showed my father and I. It was the only copy of the photo, something I firmly planned on making clear if Victoria tried to claim I got it offline. "This was taken when I was twelve," I said, knowing that I had aged slightly, but the girl in the photo was clearly me. Charlotte looked at the photo closely, while Victoria looked a little dismissive. Amanda didn't even look, her eyes trained on Victoria.
"That could be from,-" I cut Victoria off.
"The internet? I doubt it. That's the only copy of that photo. My mother took it," I said as Charlotte took the photo from me.
"Where was this taken?" She asked, clearly in awe to see a picture of my father looking so happy with his daughter.
"Mets game, you can see Amanda's arm in the background," I said, pointing to the little arm that was sitting on the armrest next to me. That got Amanda to look, and I almost thought I saw a hint of sadness in her eye, though that quickly disappeared as Charlotte looked at her mother.
"Why do you want to take my only family away? You have a new child, let me have my family," Charlotte said, starting to pull at my arm, the photo still in her other hand. "Come on, you don't need to defend yourself to her. All she does is want to keep me caged," I shot a final glance over my shoulder at Victoria and Amanda, catching my sister's look of approval as I turned back towards Charlotte, not wanting to trip as she dragged me towards the door.
"You want to get some dinner? I could use some carbs after that," I offered, knowing I couldn't offer a kid a drink, if she was a kid. I realized I didn't even know how old my sister was, probably not old enough to drink, the trial hadn't been that long ago.
"Sure, carbs sound good," Charlotte said, and in that moment, I could see the Clarke in her. The way she stood up for herself, the way she fought for her family, it was just like my father, and just like me.