Page 106 of Syndicate of Sin Bundle

Laila glanced shyly at me, then looked away. “Constantino says the same thing.”

I continued through the museum with her, admiring the artwork.

“We can leave anytime you’d like.” Laila glanced nervously at me. “Don’t feel like you have to stay because of me. I’m fine with walking around here alone … if you have other plans for this morning.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, playing with the ends of my sleeves.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure why she kept telling me that we could leave. Did she want to go?

We walked through the tenth exhibit.

“One day, I’d love to host an art auction for charity,” she said.

“An art auction?”

She glanced at me. “Do you think that’s stupid?”

“No, of course not!” I smiled. “It’s very sweet.”

“I want to start a foundation where we do art auctions quarterly, but it’s a lot of work,” she said. “I don’t think many people, especially in the family, would appreciate it. They’re too money-hungry to donate to charity.”

“I think you could do it,” I said.

We walked into the twentieth exhibit of the day, it seemed. I wasn’t keeping count, but we had already taken in so much art. It was incredible. While most of my art was digital, seeing these paintings and the sculptures made my little creative heart happy.

“I know this place can get kinda boring,” Laila said, her black heels clattering against the floor as we walked into the next room. But she seemed interested in everything here. “If you want to leave, please let me know.”

I furrowed my brow but kept my mouth shut. This was the third time she had asked me if I wanted to leave. It was as if she was expecting me to yawn and ask to leave, like she didn’t want me to feel bad about thinking this art was boring.

“I don’t want to leave,” I finally said, walking past her to the next gallery.

“Okay,” Laila said, almost embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Do you want to leave?” I asked, worried that my company was boring.

“No!” she said, eyes wide, as if I were crazy, which just made me even more confused about this all.

Why did she keep asking me if I wanted to leave?

She nodded toward a new exhibit. “They have new pieces of art up here that I’ve been wanting to see.”

We walked through it, side by side. Laila gawked at the new exhibit, strolling from art piece to art piece and gushing about the history behind each one.

“You must come here with Bethany a lot,” I said.

Laila seemed to know where every piece of art in this place was located along with each artist, the date the artist had created the piece, and the history behind it. The MoMA seemed to be her little happy place.

When Laila didn’t answer me, I glanced over at her. She stared up at a large painting that had a single stroke of red paint in the center of the canvas. Her full lips were pulled into a tight line, no curve to them.

I moved closer to her until we stood shoulder to shoulder. While she had pulled her hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck earlier, two locks curled around the shape of her face, shielding her eyes from me.

I didn’t know what possessed me to, but I tucked a strand behind her ear. She stared straight ahead at the painting, her big eyes filled with what looked to be hot tears. But when she blinked, they didn’t fall down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered. “Did I … did I say something?”

After she shook her head, she plastered a fake smile on her face and briefly turned toward me. “No, it’s nothing. Sorry about that.” She twirled on her heel and headed toward the next painting. “Come on.”

Following her, I stared at the light reflecting off her silky, dark hair. My stomach clenched.

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