Page 34 of City Of Thieves
“Thank you,” I say, stiffly. “Please return to the bar and tell Mr. Marchesi that it all depends on which game we’re playing.”
She looks blank for a second, and then her smile reasserts itself. “Certainly, Miss Sanders.”
Five minutes later, I’m walking into the hotel bar, dressed to kill in an olive-green wrap-around mini dress. The room is much like the rest of The Annabel Park Hotel—stylish and cool, with burnished brass fittings, shiny black tables, and huge sprays of white roses everywhere.
I see him right away. He’s the only man standing at the long bar, one elbow resting on the counter as he knocks back another drink. He’s changed into a black shirt, and it makes his shoulders look huge. His dark waves are still damp from the shower, curling in tendrils over his collar. He’s the picture of brutal refinement again, but he doesn’t fool me for a second.
Our gazes meet in the dusky mirror above the counter.
After a slow beat, he turns to face me. Not greeting. Just waiting. For the woman he strongly suspects I am, and for the woman he hopes I’m not.
I wish I didn’t care,I’m not allowed to care, but I’m starting to think I do.
I make my way toward him, sensing the moment slipping away before it’s begun—a burning photograph of something that might have been if our pasts hadn’t played so skillfully into the wrong hands. After tomorrow, he’ll be another person I’ve deceived; another disappointed face to hang in my gallery of shame.
But not yet.
Right now, I’m still a woman with a frozen heart, and he’s still a man with shadows in his eyes.
“You’re late.” He clicks his fingers at the hovering bartender. “And my foot still hurts from where your stiletto kissed it goodbye earlier. What’s your poison?”
“Prosecco, and will there be a monetary penalty for my tardiness?” I slide into the bar stool next to him and place my purse on the counter.
“Therewas...” He pauses to finish up his whiskey. “And then you walked in here looking like a living, breathing woman for once, instead of an ice sculpture.”
My heart lurches. “I better head back upstairs and change. We can’t have this evening starting out under false pretenses.”
I go to stand.
“Stop.” I feel his hand on my arm, and I flinch out of habit. “Two days,dolcezza,” he murmurs, leaning in to graze my cheek with his words. “After that, you never have to see me again. You get your gallery back, and your newly acquired painting will hang in a primo spot in your gallery… But I needmyauction seat first, sweetheart. I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me, so let’s just get the fuck through this and come out at the end both feeling lighter.”
Why do I feel drunk suddenly? Is it his nearness? His touch?
“Have you ever heard of a game called ‘two lies and one truth,’ Mr. Marchesi?”I say, sliding back onto the stool as he sinks down into the one next to me. “My father and I used to play it when I was a child.”
“From what I hear, he still does with Congress.” He shoots me a look. “You know, this is only the second time you’ve talked about your family.”
A bubbling flute is placed in front of me. “That word, ‘family,’” I muse slowly. “It has so many different meanings, don’t you think?” I curl my fingers around the slender glass stem and lift it to my mouth. “We spoke of family trees yesterday, but we failed to mention that not all the branches grow the same way.”
“What are you trying to say,dolcezza?” he drawls. “That we’re both defective?”
There’s that same soft breeze of inclusivity I felt earlier.
“I take it you’re not close to your parents, either?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of this game of yours.” His dark eyes glint in the low lights as he shuts down the previous subject. “Back in New Jersey, we play it differently. Guess right, and you get a right hook to the jaw. Turns out, it’s a pretty effective lesson.”
“How so?”
“It teaches you lies are less painful than the alternative.”
“Let’s play it,” I blurt out, shocking myself, before quickly backtracking.“On second thought—”
“Okay.”
“No, please,” I bluster. “It was a stupid idea. You wanted to talk business, so let’s talk business. I’ve reconfirmed our private viewing appointment for the morning. If you choose not to be present for the main event, I’d be happy to keep in phone communication with you throughout the auction process.”
“I’ll be there,” he says fiercely.
