Page 49 of Nothing Breaks Like A Heart

"Not if this is a con, which I think it is."

"What is a con?" I asked.

"Everything. Your rescue. Your whirlwind love story. The wedding. The marketing scheme. I think it's all part of a plan to steal something or many things from Victor's gallery—a place, by the way, you were all able to access today because of everything I just said."

"Not only us. The media reps were there, too," I argued.

"But they weren't there to get an inside look at our security system."

"And you think Andrew was?"

"It was a great opportunity."

"If he's a thief, which I don't believe he is, our love story isn't a scheme. We met by accident. The elevator stalled. I had to get out on the ninth floor. That wasn't by design."

"Maybe it was. Or maybe it was all about opportunity. And the con started after the rescue."

"Andrew never tried to con me. We fell in love with each other. That had nothing to do with the Carringtons. The marketing plan, featuring a love story and a honeymoon couple, was a concept I came up with before I met Andrew. It's just that when our love affair took off, my boss thought Andrew and I should be in the campaign. That's how it happened. I didn't orchestrate anything, and Andrew certainly did not have the ability to do that."

"Andrew had nothing to do with you and him being selected as the faces of love at Carrington Resorts?" Ethan challenged.

I hesitated as an image of Megan having drinks with me and Andrew flashed through my head. "Well, Andrew did mention the idea to Megan at the St. Patrick's Day party that the company threw in March. He told her how he'd fallen in love with me at first sight and that our love was born out of fire, and she really liked the way he told the tale." I frowned. "But that was all by chance. It wasn't like he came up with the idea. He inspired it."

"I had a feeling he was in there somewhere," Ethan said. "And look where you are now. Six months after you met, you're married, and you're representing the Carrington brand. You're having brunch with Victor and his family and being invited into Victor's private gallery. Despite my strong recommendations that Victor put some distance between his collection and you and Andrew, you were front and center earlier today."

"That's something you should ask Victor about."

"Oh, I have. I've challenged his continued belief in the two of you after relating my suspicions to him. He thinks I'm off base about both of you."

"Well, at least he believes in us."

"Which is odd, because you two were nobody to him when I first mentioned my suspicions. You were a mid-level employee, and Andrew was a guy at the conference who happened to rescue you. Why wouldn't Victor listen to me?"

I studied his face, seeing the gleam in his eyes. "It feels like you have another theory you're about to share."

"There's something about Victor's behavior in regard to the fire, to the allegedly destroyed paintings, and his reluctance to hear my concerns about Andrew and you, that leads me to wonder if he doesn't want me to find those paintings or the thief who stole them."

"Are you suggesting the fire was an inside job, done at Victor's request? Because that really sounds crazy. That fire could have taken down the whole hotel, and even though it did not do that, the repairs and remodel have cost a tremendous amount of money. I have to believe that's more money than those paintings were worth."

"True. But there's still something off, and I have to figure out what it is."

"I'm more interested in figuring out what's happening now to me and not what happened six months ago," I said with a sigh.

"It may all be tied together."

"I doubt it. You have a big imagination, Ethan. Maybe you should be writing crime novels."

He smiled. "I'm not much of a writer."

"How did you get into doing what you do?" I asked curiously. "Were you a police officer, FBI, an art fanatic? Or were you on the dark side yourself—a former thief or a conman?"

"Now who has a big imagination? My background is not that exciting."

"What is your background?"

"My mother was a sculptor, and my father was a museum curator for many years. However, his dream was to open his own gallery, and he finally did that." Ethan's gaze darkened, his voice turning rough as he added, "But two years after that opening, he was killed when he walked into the middle of a robbery."

"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry." I could see the pain in his eyes, even though he was telling the story in a very pragmatic way. "That must have been devastating for your family."

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