Page 46 of Canvas of Lies
“I think I’m in love with him.” The words poured out of me before I could stop them. I covered my face with my hands and moaned, “What am I going to do?”
“Do? Besides the obvious, which is to continue letting that stud kiss you like he’s been wandering the desert and you’re a cold glass of water?”
“I’m not sure it’s that simple.”
Erin smirked at me. “Do you really think he’s not just as in love with you as you are with him, Kat?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know!”
Her smile went soft. “I know enough for both of us.”
“I think I’ve loved him since I was in kindergarten and it certainly wasn’t reciprocated back then. Things are just really complicated right now.”
“Life is complicated,” Erin replied, but her expression was gentle. “I see the way he looks at you, honey. It might be complicated, but you have to know he’s head over heels in love with you. Believe me, I can tell these things.”
I nodded—somewhere deep down, I knew it, too.
Part of me wished I could waltz into my father’s house, pluck the painting off the wall, and hand it to Nico so we could moveforward, but it would continue to hover at the horizon until we came up with a better plan than burglary. Preferably something that one or both of us might be more qualified for.
Except . . .
“We’ve got work to do,” I said, flashing a bright smile at Erin and ignoring my assistant’s sudden suspicion. “I’ve got to make some calls. Can you update this week’s spreadsheets?”
Erin nodded and closed the door behind her as she left the office. I grabbed a notebook and made a sketch of my childhood home, taking care to map the grounds of the estate as well. Once upon a time, Nico and I had tromped through the woods, explored every inch of the house, raced and roamed and made the entire property our playground.
When he left for college and I decided to test the practically invisible boundaries of my teenage years, I’d used that knowledge to sneak out for dates and parties—not because my father would’ve said no, but simply to flex my own youthful power.
I’d never been caught, either.
Ten minutes later, I had a fairly decent blueprint of the property in front of me, along with a few jotted notes and arrows detailing the best paths in and out. I didn’t know the intimate details of my father’s security team these days, but at least I could guess based on my previous knowledge of them.
Experienced burglar I was not, but I had more confidence in my ability to slip in and out of my father’s home undetected than Nico seemed to have. It was the aftermath that concerned me; Aidan Willoughby was not the type to stand by and letsomething be stolen out from under him, not something of actual value. I could steal the painting, I was sure of it, but I didn’t want Nico to be swept up in the manhunt that might follow. He’d never be able to enjoy his inheritance if he had to spend the rest of his life hiding it away.
Or if he was one of those adversaries who went missing without a trace, or one of the mangled bodies found in the woods years later with no evidence of a crime.
With a sigh, I tucked the map into my purse and convinced myself to stick to the plan. I spent the next half hour fiddling with the broken pieces of my old phone until I finally convinced it to boot up, then I swallowed down a hoot of victory.
Once my data was safely transferred over to the new one, I pulled up my contact list, uttered a silent prayer that this might actually strike gold, and made the call.
Chapter Seventeen
Nico
ThoughIhadn’texpectedto actually find Kat in a silk robe when I showed up with dinner, I threw back my head and laughed when I caught sight of her pink flannel pajamas and matching fluffy slippers.
“Oh, now this is a look I could get used to,” I teased, setting the pizza on the kitchen counter to take her in my arms. “Soft and cozy. You did make one mistake, however.”
“And what’s that, pray tell?”
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And no matter what you’re wearing, I want you all the same,” I murmured against her ear. “So bad that I ache.”
With a snort, she nudged me back a step. “Well, if the jammies didn’t do their duty in killing your libido, I’ll have to do it myself. I’m hungry, so we’re eating before anything else.”
“It’s my dearest wish to cater toallyour needs, even basic nourishment. Food first, then I intend to find out just how soft those jammies are.”
I loaded our plates, then traded her one for a bottle of soda. We sat on the couch instead of at the small dining room table she told me she’d picked up at a yard sale down the street a few years ago.
“I’m glad you understand my priorities so clearly,” she said. “Besides, I have some good news.”
