Page 57 of The Stolen Queen

“My parents insisted I not speak about it. It was easier that way.”

“But that’s terrible. You had a baby, you are a mother.”

“When I got back to New York, Mr. Zimmerman took me on at the Met part-time, I reenrolled at college, got my degree. It was easier to pretend none of it happened, that it was simply a nightmare I left behind when I left Egypt.”

“Yet the broad collar survived.”

“Yes. Which makes me wonder about everything else I was told. If Leon survived, maybe Henry did, too? What if…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Who was the man on the phone earlier?” asked Mark.

“His name is Tenny Woods. I hired him to track down the current owner of the broad collar.”

Mark regarded Charlotte as if he were staring at a stranger. Which, in a way, she was.

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” she offered.

“No, that was your past, your history, to honor as you needed to. I’m not mad or upset that you didn’t tell me, I hope you understand that.”

“I do.” He was saying all the right things and handling the news quite well, so far. But Charlotte knew from experience that the initial response didn’t always stick.

He made a small sound and tapped his knee with his hand. “Lori’s baby picture. Of course.”

“Sorry?”

“The one on our bedroom bureau. You always angle it in a particular way, and then I adjust it back. But you move it so you can’t see it when you’re in bed, is that right?”

She’d just confided in Mark the biggest secret of her life, shocked him to no end, and broken his trust by withholding her past. And yet he’d recognized that she’d moved the silver frame ever so slightly so as to avoid seeing Lori as a three-month-old baby because it reminded her too much of Layla at that age.

He understood that the smallest act revealed the most.

With that, she began to sob. Whatever happened in a week or a month or a year was out of her control, but for now, she wept the tears of a newly grieving mother in his arms.

Chapter Nineteen

Annie

Annie took a few deep breaths of cold air to steady herself as she exited the museum. The guards had searched her handbag on the way out even though the act was futile; the man with the Cerulean Queen was somewhere far away by now. It hurt to think of the empty pedestal, and she knew that Charlotte Cross was one of only a few people in the world who felt the loss as much as she did. Maybe that was why they’d both taken off after the man, fueled by their mutual outrage.

Charlotte had tried to stand up for Annie, but in the end, Mr. Fantoni refused to back down. “The thief got away unharmed, dagger or no dagger. Depending on where we go from here, the NYPD or the FBI may want to question you,” he’d said to Annie before finally dismissing her. “You are not to set foot in the museum in the meantime, and trust me, I’m keeping my eye on you.”

Annie was in big trouble. Until they caught the thief, she would be under suspicion. She began to make her way down the steps but stopped when she noticed Charlotte huddled in conversation with a man about halfway down. Their heads were almost touching, and theman’s arm was around her shoulders. Whatever was going on was intimate and she didn’t want to encroach. Instead, she stayed to the far left side, concentrating on each step so she didn’t fall.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

In the darkness, she’d almost run right into someone else sitting on the stairway. With a start, she recognized Billy, his blazer carefully folded across his lap, his slicked-back hair shining in the dim lamplight. She imagined him carefully combing it back earlier that day, knowing that it would be a big night, wanting to look his best, and her heart broke for him. For both of them.

“Annie. Hey.” He looked up and gave her cheerless smile.

“Not in any rush to get home?” she asked.

“Nah.” He stared out at the taxis surfing down Fifth Avenue. “I don’t really want to have to tell my parents and my uncle that I’ll be losing my job any day now.”

She turned to him. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. If only I’d understood what Mrs. Vreeland meant in the first place. Or didn’t mean. I’m an idiot.”

“Hey, I didn’t get half of what she was talking about up there. It was like listening to another language. Maybe I’m too stupid for this job.”

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