Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
She plopped the noodles into a pot of boiling water. “Except for how you haven’t mentioned that painting you thought was fake in more than a week.”
That stopped me cold. I blinked at her. “What?”
She quirked a brow. “The whole reason you went to that gala was because you were hoping the painting was part of the auction. And it was. But ever since you met Aston, it’s like your inner detective has taken a sabbatical.”
I turned away, pretending to stir the sauce, but her words hit harder than I expected. It was true. I hadn’t even looked at my notes in over two weeks. The theory that had consumed me, the one I was sure would make my career…I’d practically forgotten it existed.
Because of Aston.
The sensual fog that filled my head each time I was with him made me want to forget the world outside his arms. Which was probably why I’d been avoiding my research notebook like it had personally offended me.
“I just needed a break,” I explained, but my voice lacked conviction.
“Maybe that’s for the best,” she mused as she drained the pasta. “At least you won’t get sucked into something dangerous if your suspicions are right.”
We finished prepping dinner in silence before settling on the couch with our food and starting a romantic movie. Something old and dramatic where the heroine wore sweeping dresses and the hero spoke in passionate declarations.
But I couldn’t focus.
Not on the food or the movie.
I wasn’t even tempted by the delicious crepe cake Melanie had brought home from her job the night before.
My thoughts kept circling back to the recently discovered painting that had been certified by an expert as the stolen Caravaggio and auctioned for an obscene amount of money.
And Aston.
He had shown me priceless works tucked away in hidden places. Had told me stories that only a true insider would know. Not just about gallery politics or museum acquisitions, but about stolen works of art and infamously smuggled pieces. Perhaps it was just knowledge he’d picked up over the years, considering he’d been in the art business for far longer than me. Still, it didn’t sit completely right with me.
I had been so dazzled by his charm, by the intoxicating way he made me feel, that I hadn’t questioned anything. Not even how he seemed to have an unerring sense of timing when it came to distracting me from the Caravaggio. A topic that I just now realized he had avoided.
Was it all to keep me distracted? Had he been showering me with private tours and exclusive experiences to lead me just far enough away from the one thread I’d been following before I met him?
Had the rumors about his connections to the darker side of the art world been true?
“Hey,” Melanie said, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re in your head again.”
I set my dessert on the coffee table in front of us. “Sorry.”
She patted my hand in sympathy. “You don’t owe me any apologies.”
My mind raced as I tried to focus on the movie flickering on the screen. I didn’t want to believe Aston was capable of deception. He had been nothing but thoughtful and kind to me. My heart ached at the possibility that he wasn’t falling for me as I had hoped.
My voice was barely audible as I whispered, “He told me I could trust him.”
Melanie didn’t say anything. She just watched me with quiet understanding.
And maybe that was what I needed most. Not someone to tell me what to do. Just a friend to remind me who I was.
I rose from the couch and went to the small bookshelf in the corner. From behind a row of cookbooks and art theory texts, I pulled out my notebook. It was worn and dog-eared, filled with scribbled notes, sketches, timelines, and suspicions.
I ran my fingers over the cover, suddenly more certain than ever. It was time to pick up the thread again.
“Are you going to talk to him about it?” Melanie asked from the couch.
I hesitated, clutching the notebook to my chest. “I’m not sure. What if it’s all just a coincidence and he’s only been a distraction because we’re falling for each other? I’d hate to accuse him of something and be completely wrong, ruining things between us before they truly get started.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “You don’t have to confront him. Not yet. Just…start asking the right questions again. Get back to doing what you do best.”
“I think I will,” I agreed, glancing down at the notes I hadn’t touched in too long.
As I sat back down beside Melanie and picked at my creamy dessert, I reminded myself that Aston had never lied to me. He hadn’t hidden where he worked, his far-reaching connections, or even how deeply he was entrenched in the art world.
Sure, he had access to places others didn’t. But so did a lot of influential people. That didn’t mean he was part of something shady.