Page 1 of Escape to Egypt

Chapter One

I made a beeline for the exhibit room, my arms wrapped around a crate of ancient goodies like I was smuggling the crown jewels. I’d always thought museums at night had a certain je ne sais quoi—if that 'quoi' meant possibly tripping over your own feet in the dark because you refused to turn on more lights and risk attracting security's attention.

"Easy does it, Charlotte," I muttered to myself, navigating through the labyrinthine halls of antiquities. "Remember what happened last time you rushed." The memory of a toppled suit of armor clanking into a disarray of medieval metal limbs still haunted me. But tonight was about redemption—and not just for my clumsy reputation.

I rounded the final corner with all the grace of a gazelle on roller skates, finally skidding to a halt in front of the exhibit room. With a huff, I set the crate down on the display table, which creaked under the weight. Who knew history could be so heavy?

My hands shook—not from the strain but sheer excitement—as I pried open the wooden lid. Oh, the thrill of revealing hidden treasures! One by one, I lifted out the artifacts, each piece more dazzling than the last. There was a glinting scarab brooch that would’ve been the envy of any ancient Egyptian socialite, followed by a jade figurine that probably doubled as an Inca's version of a paperweight.

"Whoa, look at you," I said, cradling a golden chalice like I'd just won the historical lottery. "King Midas would've killed for a sippy cup like this."

Unpacking these relics was like peeling back layers of time, and for a moment, I imagined myself a swashbuckling treasure hunter—except my adventures were less about dodging booby traps and more about avoiding paper cuts from archive files.

"Charlotte Bray, artifact whisperer," I quipped, arranging the items with care. It wasn't every day a person got to handle the bling of bygone eras. And if anyone could make a dusty old museum the talk of the town with an exhibit like this, it was me—with a little help from my ancient entourage, of course.

My eyes danced with the same fervor as a kid in a candy store—or, in my case, a curator in a crypt. Sure, it wasn't everyone's idea of a sugar rush, but for me, these artifacts were pure, unadulterated saccharine history.

"Hello, gorgeous," I murmured, my gaze now fixated on a delicate bracelet adorned with tiny inscriptions that probably told more drama than a year's worth of soap operas. My fingers traced the hieroglyphs with reverence, feeling the whispers of ancient gossip at my fingertips. Love triangles? Political scandals? The original desperate housewives of Thebes?

"Ooh, scandalous," I chuckled to myself, imagining the stories each piece could tell if only they could talk. But since talking artifacts were more Indiana Jones and less Charlotte Bray, I settled for letting them speak through their eternal beauty instead.

With a sense of urgency—since dawn and the museum opening were chasing each other—I began placing the pieces into the glass display cases and onto the pedestal stands. It felt like setting up an elaborate dinner party where every guest needed to be perfectly positioned to avoid social catastrophe. Except here, a misstep wouldn't result in a faux pas but a historical blunder of epic—as well as epically costly—proportions. The price tags on some of these precious pieces were more than my entire bank account times a thousand, if not more.

"Ah, you'll be the centerpiece," I decided, giving a regal-looking bust prime real estate on the central plinth. It was definitely the kind of head-turner that would make visitors stop and stare.

"Let's not have any ego trips, though," I cautioned, shaking my finger at the stone-faced pharaoh, who, if he had been alive, would probably have demanded his own chariot parking spot and a pyramid view.

"Next to you...we'll need something with pizzazz," I muttered, contemplating the strategic placement of a gem-encrusted dagger. "Perfect! You're the life of the party, aren't you?"

I hustled around the room, arranging pottery shards that resembled a puzzle even a Mensa member would sob over, and placed a collection of coins that jangled merrily as if delighted to be out of their dusty drawers and into the limelight.

"Shimmy over, Cleopatra," I joked, nudging a canopic jar to make room for a stunning bronze mirror that had surely reflected the faces of beauty icons long before Instagram filters were a thing.

Each artifact fell into place, creating a visual feast that promised to take our visitors on a whirlwind romance with the past. And just when they thought they'd seen it all, they’d turn a corner and—bam!—there'd be yet another magnificent, bejeweled relic that would make the Hope Diamond look like costume jewelry from a clearance sale.

"Alright, team," I said, addressing the silent crowd of antiquities. "Let's show them how history's done." With that, I stepped back, a conductor basking in the crescendo of her symphony, albeit one where the instruments were made of stone, metal, and bone rather than woodwind and brass.

"Tomorrow, you'll shine brighter than a reality TV star's teeth," I assured my inanimate companions, confident that together we were about to pull off the greatest show since...well, since the last great show I curated.

I glanced up at the clock, the hands unapologetically reminding me that time was a thief even more cunning than the most skilled tomb raider. It was nearing two in the morning, and the exhibit opening loomed like an impatient emperor awaiting tribute.

"Alright, Charlotte, no time for daydreaming," I scolded myself, clapping my hands together to disperse my fantastical musings. I scooped up a delicate amphora, my legs moving double-time across the room to place it within a spotlight's embrace.

The artifacts seemed to respond to my urgency, their ancient surfaces catching the warm light from the dimmed spotlights overhead as if winking in complicity. I adjusted the angles, ensuring that each piece was displayed to maximum effect, the shadows dancing around them just so, creating a dramatic interplay between light and dark.

"Secure, and...perfect." I whispered, stepping back to inspect a row of statuettes, each now basking in their own halo of illumination. The warmth of the spotlights promised to draw in curious eyes, to invite souls on a journey through time.

"Tomorrow, you're not just relics; you're rock stars," I declared at last with a grin, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the silent figures. With every piece now in its rightful place, poised to tell its tale, the stage was set for history to come alive under the museum's grand dome. And I, Charlotte Bray, would be its zealous maestro—or perhaps more fittingly, its intrepid treasure hunter, unveiling the riches of the past to a world eager for discovery. Or at least so I hoped.

The echo of my heels on the polished floor was suddenly drowned out by the shrill ring of my phone. I fumbled in my blazer pocket, pulling it out to see Dean's name flashing on the screen. "Really? It's 1 am," I muttered, rolling my eyes but already sliding to answer. Curiosity had always been my Achilles' heel, and with Dean, it was unfortunately a chronic condition.

"Charlotte Bray, as I live and breathe," came his smooth voice, laced with that familiar teasing lilt that could make a nun blush—or at least consider it. "Tell me you're not still at the museum."

"Dean Carter, as I live and yawn," I fired back, unable to suppress a smile. "What do you want at this hour? Wait, let me guess."

"Only to whisk you away from your dreams about dusty old relics to something more...lively." The innuendo in his voice was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

"Look, I'd love to hang out," I said, cradling the phone between my ear and shoulder as I adjusted a particularly ornery Egyptian necklace on its stand, "but I have to finish getting this exhibit ready."

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