I dangle the keys between my fingers after turning off the ignition.
As the afternoon humidity settled, the sun began to set.
"I'll back that up for you. Last spot on the left." The valet informs me, and I graciously toss my keys to him.
I approach the reception desk, "Hey, dude. I just dropped off someone. Is it okay if I use your restroom?" I show my identification.
The guy nods, allowing me to pass.
"The bathroom for the assistance is over here."
He doesn't even glance at my ID.
"Great, thanks," I say as I rush up the stairs, the lovely evening in Charleston easing the strain as I was assigned to another heist under Dimitri's orders.
Fortunately, my father's debut tonight took place in the same venue.
I took a deep breath as I smoothed my outfit and checked for any unwanted creases.
My mother would chastise me for such appearance at such an important event as tonight.
My anxiousness caused me to grind my teeth together, hence I increased my chewing of gum.
I spit out the gum and look for a garbage bin.
My eyes are drawn to a little tin cup, so I decide to drop it in, creating a light clanking sound.
I swing the fancy bathroom door open, grasping the doorknob. I focus my gaze on Isaiah.
"Woah!" I let out a cautious sigh, shocked to see him again in less than 24 hours.
"Woah." He responds with a smirk, stroking the back of his neck and matching my gaze.
"You're following me," he said matter-of-factly.
I exhale deeply.
"Sure, of course. But you've, well, changed something. Can't figure it out."
I take a step forward, glancing ahead of him.
I then return my eyes to him, squinting slightly while assessing his features.
He scoffs slightly as he adjusts his blonde wig.
He was able to pull it off.
"What are you doing here?" Curiosity crept into the tension between us, prompting me to bite my cheeks.
I was not big on lying, but the thread of deceit was what made my life make sense in certain ways.
"Uh, it's a big, big charity event." I try not to stutter, keeping his attention fixed on mine, scared to glance away.
He turns his head to the side "What charity is that?"
"Everyone's talking about it. They're helping out with all sorts of stuff. You know? Kids, literacy, and...dolphins."
I move to the side, allowing him to enter the restroom.
"Mmm. Dolphins. Yeah. No, I... I adore that charity. Of course." He crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame.
"Right." I give a detailed response.
"I, uh, have a favor to ask you, but I need to pee, so... just wait."
He closes the door on me, and I am dumbfounded.
As the calm ticking of the watch reaches my ears, I glance at my watch.
I tilt my neck to one side, eager to get out of the waiting room.
The only thing I could do now was wait for him here so I didn't blow my cover.
Fortunately, I came early enough to thoroughly inspect the area.
"Can you hear me peeing?" Isaiah's voice may be heard through the restroom door.
"Yep."
"Mm. Gross. Get a little further away."
I move away from the door, my gaze drawn to a piece of art on the walls.
The sound of water trickling suggested that he was washing his hands and would be leaving shortly.
"Thanks."
We stroll side by side as he adjusts his cufflinks.
"Sure."
"Well, clearly, I came here for charity." He was attempting to seem convincing.
"Obviously," I add.
"Thank you."
"And because this, um, Italian producer gal is putting together this thing I want to be a part of. But, uh, she's just hitting on me."
I snort, shaking my head at how silly he sounded, but I go through with it.
After all, I act as an art consultant at these kinds of events.
It was the only way I could get by with these elites surrounding me.
There's always going to be an art enthusiast in a crowd.
"Oh!" I make an attempt to appear astonished.
"Yeah."
"So I informed him that my girlfriend was on her way."
My heels reverberate on the rough oak steps as we make our way down the stairs.
"Okay. What exactly is the role?"
You have to stand out in order to blend in. At least, at these gatherings.
When you're in a room full of wealthy people, you have to be at the top of the food chain.
"It's, well, too embarrassing to explain."
As we made our way to the foot of the steps, he confesses, his eyes searching the crowd.
"Come on, let's go. It'd be a lot simpler for me to play your fake girlfriend if I understood a little something about the part." Teasingly, I propose.
A waitress greets us and offers us champagne on the traditional silver dish used at Midsummers.
"Okay. It's an Italian horror film in which I portray the witch bride."
"What?" I ask, tilting my head to one side.
"That's what I thought as well, but the industry in Europe is a lot more handy than on the West Coast."
I take a drink of champagne, holding the glass low.
"That doesn't sound too horrible." I raise the glass to my lips.
"I'm nude for three-fourths of the movie."
I almost spat out my drink, wanting to laugh.
"Ah! It's a genre film." I tease.
"Did Game of Thrones or Bridgerton not make the cut?" I question.
He makes an o shape with his lips.
"No, they say, you're not toned enough."
We're standing near the living room.
"Will you be my fake girlfriend or not?" His eyes were begging.
"Sure. "
We clink our drinks in agreement.
I take a glance around the exclusive gathering.
"Let's see if we can spot her, eh?"
I notice a 5'10" Italian woman with a small frame in a white dress.
I twist my body away from the crowd, my voice low, but my face turned towards her.
I suck my teeth, spotting the woman.
"Is that, um... her, six o'clock?"
I cast a peek towards the Italian woman, and Isaiah follows suit.
"How did you do it?" With a glint in his eyes, he asks.
I shrug, "I'm not sure. Just seems like her."
"Yeah, but there are a lot of candidates here."
I take a step back.
"There are just three Italian ones."
I point out an Italian man resting on the couch, his beer belly protruding from beneath his pressed shirt.
"That guy, and he's not a creep. He's nearly dead."
Isaiah laughs.
"And that person through there, which appears to be very apparent." The man and his wife were dancing.
"What about the other guy?" He identifies another man.
"That guy's a Jew."
"How do you know that?"
The man turns around as if on cue, showing his yamaka.
"Okay. That's rather impressive."
"Bingo!" I lift my glass.
"Here comes your gal."
The Italian woman approaches us.
"Okay. She believes I'm half Italian." Isaiah whispers.
"Do you speak Italian?"
"Sure. Not really."
The Italian woman extends her arms, her bright smiles lightening the stress.
"Oh, Giovanni!" Isaiah begins.
"Russell!" In a nice fashion, Giovanni kisses both sides of his cheeks.
"Perfetto, Giovanni."
"Bellissimo." Giovanni expresses gratitude to Isaiah.
I extend my hand for a handshake.
"Buonosera. Bella." The abrupt cover name raises Isaiah's eyes.
"Ah, do you speak Italian?" Giovanni inquires, pleased by the fluidity of my remarks.
"Un pochissimo." I use my fingers to signify "a little" with my hands.
"Ah! Is that correct?" Giovanni nods her head, assuring me that I said the words correctly.
"Ah, Giovanni and I were chatting earlier about how wonderful Paul's house is," Isaiah says to me.
In answer, I nod
"It's stunning. Yeah. It's stunning."
"How come you, um, know Paul?" Giovanni turns to me and starts asking.
"I know Paul via Russel, who..." I extend my hands to Isaiah.
"Oh, Elyse. By way of me. And I introduced you to Paul at a party in New York." Isaiah interjects.
I nod in agreement and return my gaze to Giovanni.
"Yes, the New York party. Yes, I remember it vividly. Oh, Paul. He's a lovely man."
I use my hands to demonstrate Paul's height to him.
"He's kind of..."
"Very tall." Isaiah adds swiftly.
"He's really tall."
I drew my arms to my sides, not wanting to appear bewildered.
"Altissimo." Isaiah states.
"Paul. Altissimo. ì, sì. Paul, grande, eh?"
Giovanni makes another motion with her hands, agreeing with us on Paul's height.
"Yeah. So, um, friend of a friend, eh? Mm."
"Si," I say, nodding.
She leans in a bit, looking at one of the paintings on the wall.
"Now, um..The artwork.. So-so." Giovanni admits, making me smile.
Italians were recognized for their honesty, and one thing they were known for was their art.
As a result, she may be the last arbiter.
"That's a Modigliani."
Isaiah points to a picture on the wall down the corridor.
"Ah! Is he here?" Giovanni asks.
"Um, I suppose he's dead." I confidently respond, my understanding of art was sufficient to persuade.
"Oh, great!"
We all laugh.
"So, um, I'll leave you alone, eh? Huh?"
"Salute, salute," he says as he clinks his glass with ours.
As Giovanni walks away, we exchange smiles.
"I like the look of that room. You want to check it out?"
I point out the room at the end of the hall.
"Sure."
I took a cue stick from the rack and circled the pool table.
The dim lighting on the table made the space feel like something out of a movie.
Being able to move around in Paul's man cave was a plus.
"You want to play a game?" I ask Isaiah, circling the room and stealing a peek at the security system.
I take a sip from my glass before placing the cup down and bringing out the radiation receptor.
I hit the button, and the red light turns on.
When the camera beeps, the light on the security system turns green.
I had a maximum of 10 minutes to clean the scene before the security camera returned to its regular broadcasting.
"Yeah."
"How about a hundred dollars?"
I take out my wallet and place a hundred dollars on the pool table.
In reality, a hundred was a standard salary to put on the table; in pool, you should always start with 100.
"How about a thousand?"
I raise my head to meet his eyes.
He has to be good.
"A thousand?"
I take a deep breath and reach for a longer cue from the rack.
"Why not?"
I walk up to the pool table.
"You're not really good, are you?"
"Eh," I scrunch my nose, and place a thousand on the table for good measure.
"You're full of shit."
I click my tongue, "Perhaps. Six hundred. That's all I have."
I put the money on the table.
Isaiah walks in front of me as I sit back and rest on the rear table.
I cross my arms, and he deftly leans down on the stick before hitting the white ball down the lane.
I return my gaze to the picture, marveling at it for a few seconds.
You can only admire artwork for so long until you steal it back.
"Is that well-known?" Isaiah follows my gaze as I move my focus on the painting.
"Yeah. That would be Philip Guston. I'm guessing mid-'40s. He began as an abstract painter before transitioning to representational work. More political in nature. Hated Nixon."
Art consultant was now deemed appropriate for the flow of my speech.
The balls clatter together, and he only strikes one pocket.
"Does it, uh... have any value?"
He makes his way to the far end of the table.
"I'm not sure."
Millions.
Actually, it's worth millions.
"So, what's the point of making Italian horror movies?"
"You, well, you know who Aton Eisenstat is?"
"I do not," I shake my head.
He approaches the table's end, leaning forward for another try.
"He works as a Hollywood producer. He's as huge as they come. Remember when they used to say, "You'll never work in this town again, kid"? "
"Sure."
Where was he going with this.
"But that's a lesson now learned. Don't trust anyone."
I bite my cheeks, wondering what he was going to say.
I noticed a sorrowful small child for a second as a spark of melancholy flashed across his eyes.
I sighed; he, like me, was harboring secrets.
However, his tone seemed like a plea for help.
He was hiding behind a mask, hiding behind his role as an actor.
Nonetheless, he did an excellent job in the role.
I'll give him credit for trying to dupe me into believing he was an actor searching for work among the elites at this party.
He was a good liar, but I could see right through him.
He was concealing something under his grief.
That's why I think we got along so well.
"Side pocket." He hits the 8 ball into the side pocket, winning the game.
"Well. I think.. I just got hustled." I smirk.
"Maybe, or I, I got lucky."
"Maybe."
"Russell, there you are! I'm looking for you all over the place. A large home."
Giovanni's dulcet tones penetrate the room.
Isaiah smiles at her as he turns around.
He focuses his attention on me, scooping up the six hundred dollars I'd placed on the table.
"Thank you so much, darling.
I'll see you inside." Isaiah says softly, gently caressing my arm.
"Yes, honey. You kids have a great time." As they start to go, I crack a joke.
"I'd want to introduce you to my wealthy friend..." Giovanni says as she walks Isaiah to the gathering.
As the door shuts, I walk over to the other door in the room and lock it.
"Seven minutes."
The earphone picks up Barry's voice.
I return to the painting, re-examining it for any last-minute decisions.
I take several little tools from my dress and place them on the table.
I take the two little mercury bags and place them on the shelf.
I return my gaze to the picture, check my watch, and remove the painting from the wall in seconds.
The beeping of a gadget linked to the wall behind the picture begins to beep.
But, before the alarm goes off, I lay the pouches on either side of the picture.
Simulating its precise weight, and acting as the weight of the painting.
I set the painting down on the table and take a tool to remove the nails from the back of it.
The screws unfasten one by one and fall to the table in an orderly fashion.
I wrinkle the rough canvas of the painting and quickly take it from the wooden canvas.
I then cut off the painting's already measured perimeter, before inserting it in the silk of the suit jacket.
Before entering this room, I hung a blazer on the coat rack to disguise the fact that I was in the most expensive room.
Finally, I slipped on the jacket and pressed a button, resetting the security cameras and headed upstairs to my father's introduction.
~
"Standing here on this stage, especially after years and years of hard work. Because of this individual, Mike Carrera."
Ward's gaze falls on Mike, and I turn to face my father, witnessing his work come to life in front of him.
"It's an honor to be working with such a solid gentleman, intellectual, and born leader."
His eyes land on mine.
"A parent I wish I had when I was growing up," he says, and I grin, forcing myself to reciprocate the phony gratitude towards Ward.
If sitting in a room full of elites is what makes my father happy with our family company, then so be it.
I can sit for a few hours.
It still astounds me how they continue to collaborate, seemingly wholeheartedly from the outside.
But I wouldn't be shocked if there's shit going on behind closed doors between unfinished business.
They're too close, and that's what keeps them dragged back into the realm of chaos.
It's difficult to quit when someone you know and who is extremely close to you is doing the same thing.
It returns your gaze to the flame, allowing the person to gaze at the exquisite flames it produces.
Distracting oneself from the progress of the fire and what the fire truly causes to others around him.
"It is an honor for me to co-found a generational company with someone who has a vision. A desire to grow not only through food but also through community and grace. Mike Carrera, ladies and gentlemen."
I join the audience in giving him a standing ovation.
He kisses my face and gives me a side hug, his warmth fading as he draws away.
I'm standing here in the present, witnessing a significant milestone.
I stand tall with a genuine smile on my face.
Ward and Mike exchange hugs as my father accepts the standing ovation.
Whistling and cheering could be heard all around the room.
He takes a deep breath, the microphone picking up the sound of a man who has been bearing too much weight on his shoulders for too long.
"Wow. I'm not sure where to begin since each and every one of you here is a living embodiment of what can be accomplished."
"My mother was a smart woman. She was a ray of light in the darkness, someone I could rely on in times of need. I'm completely overwhelmed by how everything turned out.
The passion and effort put into this project make it all worthwhile in the end."
He casts his gaze between my mother and myself.
"A single moment of suffering is worth a lifetime of glory."
My hands were brought together, clapping for the man who was allowing his ego to dominate his emotions, regardless of how conflicted and tied down I felt.
"Kiara, come join me."
My father motions me onto the stage.
My breath caught in my throat because I disliked being the focus of attention.
I clumsily rise up and head towards my father.
I give him another side hug.
He takes up the microphone again.
"I believe it is acceptable to give a standing ovation to another guy who has committed his life to helping his family through his enterprises."
I look around to see if I can see Ward among the crowd.
Was he really receiving recognition?
I turn my head, my gaze locked on Hart, who appears on stage, shaking my father's hand as they stand together embracing the ovation.
"Kiara, this is Matthew Hart. A dear friend of mine. Hart, this is my daughter."
As Hart and I exchange handshakes, I block out my father's comments.
His rough hands grasping mine.
I nod respectfully as he smiles.
"Lovely girl," Hart responds, making me bite my cheeks.
"Oh, your daughter is waving us over, Kiara, let's go see her!"
As we walk over to the table, my father makes an observation.
I decided to go ahead and beat them to the table.
"Your dress is beautiful! You remind me of Moana, my favorite Disney princess!" The daughter of Hart exclaims.
I gaze down at her, glancing at Hart looking at his daughter.
I was fiddling with my fingers, but his smile was sincere.
He looked at his daughter with so much love that it seemed too good to be true.
When he glanced at her, he seemed to have a new light, a sparkle in his eyes.
I had a gut feeling.
I saw what I saw in front of me, and I finally decided to act on what I felt.
I saw love, but I also saw brokenness.
A shattered spirit is not the lack of beauty, rather a cracked and torn soul reeks of the exquisite scent it possesses.
———————————————————————
A/N: I will do anything to rewatch Bridgerton and OBX again. THE REPRESENTATION IN BRIDGERTON YES YES YES 👏🏽 hope y'all are having a great day/night💙💙💙
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