Fender held the can and flashed his eyes with irritation. “Now.”

They gently set it on the ground, and then the truck drove away.

Fender started to pour gasoline all over the painting.

Gilbert literally gripped his chest as if he might have a heart attack. “What are you doing?”

Fender left the empty container on the portrait then lit a match.

“Sir!”

He tossed it on top—and it burst into flames.

Gilbert ran down the steps. “Have you lost your mind? This painting cost you a fortune. It’s going to stain the cobblestone.” A chicken with his head cut off, he ran to the painting and started to give orders to the men to put it out. “Get the hose!”

“No.” Fender slowly walked away from the flames, like the blazing heat didn’t bother him in the least. He did what he wanted, and now that he was done, the urgency was gone. He moved up the steps, eyes locked on me. “Let it burn.”

Ten

Winner

Fender

I stepped into her bedroom and found her seated in the living room.

In the evenings, she worked on her French. Her textbook was open along with her notebook, and she taught herself when Gilbert wasn’t around. She improved with every passing week, able to carry on short conversations in French.

She turned to look at me over the back of the couch when she heard me, her straight hair shifting like panels of a curtain. In her nightgown, she had her ankles tucked under her ass with her notebook on her lap. The fire burned low in the fireplace, just simmering coals at this point.

I walked around the couch and took the seat beside her, eyes hypnotized by the way she looked in the gentle firelight. Her cheeks were brightened by the glow, her eyes glimmering like diamonds. In silence, I stared at her, still offended that another woman had ever been declared as the most beautiful. In the present or the past, it didn’t matter. Melanie triumphed over any other contender.

She broke eye contact and closed her notebook. Her little thumb clicked her pen so the ink wouldn’t run everywhere. Everything was set on the coffee table before she turned her gaze back to me.

“Alexander is coming to paint your portrait tomorrow.”

Her eyes shifted back and forth subtly. “Do you think he’ll still do it if he knows you destroyed his painting?”

“It’s none of his business what I did with it. Transaction is complete.” I turned my chin forward and looked at the dying fire. “Ugliest painting I’ve ever seen.” I watched the red color underneath the destroyed logs, glowing bright with incredible heat.

Her hand moved to my thigh.