Page 25 of The Stipulation
“I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m tempted by the idea of restoring the priceless old master collection,” I say. “But it’s not enough to rush into getting pregnant. I want kids, but not before I fall in love and get married first.”
“So that’s it? You’ll walk away from billions of dollars just like that?” Serena asks, always one to get right to the point.
I blow out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know. I’m too confused to think right now. I just got the news. Plus, I kind of feel so sorry for Sheldon. Poor guy, he tried to put on a brave face, but he was crushed. It feels really unfair that he should be given so much less than Axel and me. If I got my inheritance, I could make sure he gets more. Even Axel looked utterly stunned… he didn’t expect these wacky stipulations either. None of us did. For me, it’s not that big a deal. I can walk back into my old life and not suffer any feeling of deprivation. But for Axel, running the Manswell empire is everything. His life. Unless he is willing to give it all up and start fresh somewhere else, he has no choice but to play the game.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I guess I feel a little guilty, like I should at least try. Then again, having a baby just to fulfill a condition in a will feels instinctively dishonest and wrong.”
There’s a pause, then Jenny speaks up. “You’re right, of course. It’s the wrong reason to have a baby, but the baby would still be loved. Sometimes I think life throws opportunities at us, and instead of overthinking it, we should just be courageous and grateful and grab them with both hands. When are you ever going to get a chance like this again? Think of all the good you can do in the world with your inheritance…”
I glance down at the polished floor again, my fingers drumming a rhythm on the glass surface. Hearing my friends’ voices makes me crave home in a way that makes my chest ache, but even as I feel the whirl of homesickness wash over me and the thought of leaving beckons, part of me is still fascinated by the idea of what’s in that house. The paintings. The masterpieces. The old masters I’ve spent my life dreaming about, the chance to work on them, to restore them to their former glory tugs at me, a lure I can’t quite ignore. What a delight it would be to work on such works of genius.
The door rattles faintly, and I glance up and see Gavin coming back in. I press the cell phone to my ear.
“Guys, I have to go. The solicitor is back.”
I hear Olivia telling me to keep them updated as I end the call and slip my phone back into my purse, which is now plopped on the chair Sheldon vacated.
“Miss Button,” Gavin’s voice is smooth and measured as he sits back down. “Are you ready to proceed?”
I hesitate, swallowing the lump in my throat. Then, in a flash of clarity, I decide. My heart hammers, but my voice is firm. I know I am making the right choice.
“Gavin, I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. I want to go home. Back to the UK. I’m not doing this challenge. It’s absurd to say the least.”
There’s a pause, a subtle shift in his tone.
“That is, of course, your right, and if you are sure, then a flight will be arranged for you whenever you are ready to leave. But I must ask one more thing of you first. Before you make your final decision, your father requested that you see his art collection first. He wanted you to be acquainted with the paintings before you take any action. It was very important to him.”
I grit my teeth. The truth is, I am reluctant to see them because it’s just killing time and now my decision is made. I just want to leave, and I am afraid seeing the collection will only make me question my decision and leave a sense of regret.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll see them.”
The drive back to the estate with Gavin is silent except for the soft purr of the car engine. Gavin doesn’t speak, and I don’t know what there is left to say, so I don’t either. My mind spins with apprehension, curiosity, anticipation, and dread all tangled together into a hard vibrating knot.
When we arrive at the house, we enter through the main doors, and he leads me down a long hallway I haven’t yet traversed. The walls here are adorned with tapestries and portraits of Joseph in various stages of his life. In some of the paintings, he is smiling; in others, he is brooding. In all of them, he is commanding. His eyes in every piece seem to be watching me, judging me, challenging me, asking me if I have what it takes to pass his tests, or if I will be a disappointment to him. Finally,we stop before a set of heavy metal doors. Gavin keys in a set of numbers on a pad, then scans his iris. The safe opens slowly, and I step into a vault that feels like a cathedral.
The room is vast with tall ceilings. I can tell instantly that the temperature and the humidity are perfectly controlled. As I look around in awe, the reinforced steel ceilings start rolling away, leaving a glass ceiling. The whole place becomes suffused with sunlight. Gavin leads me towards an alcove. The paintings are mounted carefully in their own frames, and all in protective wooden supports. Some are still covered with a thin layer of breathable sheeting. I recognize the smell and rejoice in it. Varnish, dry canvas, and something ancient… the scent of history preserved.
I stop at the first painting and lift the cloth covering. It catches my breath. Wow! A Vermeer! Oh wow! I remember this painting. An anonymous bidder bought it in 2015 at an auction in Amsterdam. My father was the buyer. The light falls across the delicate, flawless brushwork. I know that rich colors are hidden behind the aged brown glazes. My fingers itch to remove the centuries-old glaze, to reveal the hidden brilliance beneath it, to bring the painting back to life.
Gavin stands silently behind me, his presence unobtrusive, but I know he is watching my reaction like a hawk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t offer commentary. He simply watches me as I take in each uncovered work, as though the paintings themselves will speak and demand my respect and attention.
I wander slowly from one masterpiece to the next. Murillo, Titian, Rembrandt. Each canvas is literally priceless. Each brush stroke is a challenge, a responsibility, an absolute privilege. To bring these masterpieces back to their original luster and magnificence. I know I can do it. My pulse quickens and my heart pounds in my chest. This is what I’ve trained for, what I’ve dreamed about. This right here is my idea of heaven.
The inheritance, the restorations, could all be mine, if not for the crazy stipulation about the heir. I don’t want to have a baby with just anyone to appease a dead man I’ve never even met. I could never do that.
And then it hits me; maybe … maybe there’s a way to play this game without losing myself. Maybe I can take on living here in the mansion for the year and complete the restorations, see the paintings come alive again, and just choose to fail the other part. I won’t get my inheritance, but this has never been about money for me. And at least I’ll have lived a year like no other. Sure, I feel bad for Axel if it means he won’t get his share, but it’s not like I made the rules, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let the thought of me suffering sway him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do. The thought of Axel reminds me of something, and I glance at Gavin over my shoulder.
“Has Axel agreed to the terms?” I ask.
Gavin nods.
“I see.”
So, the ball is well and truly in my court then. A year living the dream and then go back to my old life, or just leave now. My fingers brush feather light across the Vermeer again, lingering on the glazes, on the subtle light, on the secret life of the painting beneath the layers of time. I close my eyes and inhale. In that delicious moment suspended in time, I make my decision. I breathe out and turn to face Gavin,
“Yes,” I whisper, almost to myself. “I’ll do it.”
