“How much is it worth?” She came and stood next to me, looking at the painting.
“Only a couple hundred dollars,” I replied, taking another practice shot and adjusting the settings slightly on my camera.
Charlotte looked over at me surprised. It was a large painting, and in the same impressionist style as many of the other paintings in the house. “Why?”
“It's a replica of an Armaund Guillaumin painting,” I explained. “It's a fairly famous painting.”
“It's a forgery?” She sounded shocked.
I shook my head. “No, just a replica. It's pretty common for artists to recreate a famous piece of art and sell it. It's not a forgery as long as they don't try and pass it off as the original.” I looked back up at the painting. “The artists did a fantastic job, but since it's just a replica, it isn't worth very much.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said, looking back at it with a keen eye. “It's still beautiful, though.”
“Yes, yes it is,” I agreed. “Things don't have to be worth much to still be beautiful.”
She nodded and smiled at me. “How's your dad?”
“Grumpy,” I answered and she laughed. “He hates being stuck in bed. Throw in that he's now going to be responsible for all the paperwork while there's amazing antique furniture down here—let's just say he's a bit of a grouch.”
Charlotte nodded. “And what about you? How are you doing?”
I looked around at the foyer and the massive amount of work I had to get done. “Stressed,” I answered honestly. “But this-” I held up the camera and took another picture. “will keep my mind off of Dad, so it's all good.”
Charlotte played with her phone, flipping it between her fingers as she watched me work. “You two seem close,” she commented.
I nodded, taking another picture. “We are. It's been just him and me since my mom died, and then we work together at the family business. It means we spend a lot of time together.”
“I'm sorry,” she said quickly. I turned and frowned, lowering my camera.
“For what?”
“Your mom.” Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek and shrugged.
“Oh... Thank you,” I stammered, feeling awkward. “It was five years ago. Cancer.”
The words came out flat. I had learned to just say it quickly, giving out when and how as simply as possible. People always wanted to know, and if I just told them, they would usually stop asking and not make me dredge up the bad memories.
“I'm sorry,” Charlotte repeated, blushing slightly.
“Not your fault,” I told her, raising my camera back up. I pointed to a small marble figurine of a woman with flowing robes. “Would you mind holding up that statue? I need a size reference.”
“Sure.” She smiled, happy that we weren't on the subject of my dead mom anymore. Since she was a foster kid, she probably knew all too well how it felt. She held up the statue and smiled like a model.
“Perfect,” I told her with a grin, snapping another picture. “You're a natural.”
“It's my fallback career,” she replied with a laugh. She paused for a moment, looked up, and chewed the inside of her cheek again. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
I lowered the camera and peered at her. I had no idea where this was going. “Um, sure?”
“Are you seeing anyone?” Charlotte turned bright red. “I know that this is a weird question, but I might have someone who would be interested.”
I swallowed hard, wanting to be delicate. She couldn't possibly mean Bastian, but that just left Marcus or Elijah, neither of whom I was remotely interested in.
“I recently broke up with my boyfriend,” I finally answered, making sure to accent the 'boyfriend' just in case. “It was kind of brutal, so I'm really not interested in a relationship right now. Thanks for holding that.”
“No problem. I'm sorry about the breakup. Guys suck.” Charlotte frowned and set down the statue. She chewed on her cheek for another moment. “Wanna tell me how terrible he was? It'll make you feel better. And I'm dying to talk to someone who answers relationship
questions in sentences longer than 'yeah, she's hot.'”