Page 48 of Canvas of Lies
There was a timid little trill in her voice that dissolved the rest of my anger, though it left behind an aching chasm of fear. I turned and wrapped my arms around her, nuzzling my face into the top of her wild curls.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Kitten. I just need you to be safe. This isn’t a game.”
Her breath hitched as she mumbled, “I know.”
My arms tightened around her, and we stood that way for several long, quiet minutes before my fear fully subsided, leaving behind a clarity that was at once simple and earth-shattering.
I chose her. I would always choose her.
Kat was it for me. No family heirloom could replace this perfect, gloriously frustrating woman in my arms. No hidden leverage could be worth losing her.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” I murmured into her hair.
She nodded against my chest and let me guide her back into bed, where I curled my body around hers in a protective cocoon. I waited until she drifted back off before I turned my attention to some of the ideas I’d considered in the past for retrieving the painting.
Unfortunately, most of the options I’d come up with over the years would require me and the painting to disappear afterward—something that I no longer considered an option. I would no sooner leave Kat behind than I would force her to abandon the life she’d created for herself.
Even if it meant going back to the drawing board a dozen times over, I was determined to find a solution that didn’t necessitate leaving town or putting Kat in any degree of danger.
Chapter Eighteen
Kat
BythetimeNicoarrived at my apartment the next evening with a bag full of groceries so he could make dinner for us, I was ready to burst with excitement. I still wore my work clothes, which today featured rainbow striped knee socks, a twirly black skirt, and my leather jacket.
“Oh, come on. We’ve only been dating for three days and you’ve given up putting on those sexy pajamas for me already?”
I scoffed and poked him in the ribs. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”
“Who, me?” Nico grinned. “This outfit is really doing it for me, just so you know.”
“Oh?” Momentarily distracted, I glanced down at myself, then flashed a wicked grin. “Good to know.”
He proceeded to unpack the grocery bag, setting out ingredients with a precision that I found as sexy as he apparently found the knee socks. Finally, he looked over at me and shook his head indulgently.
“All right, spill. What is it that has you bouncing and bubbling like this?”
I dragged him to the dining room table, popped my laptop open, and gestured to the image on the screen. “Evelyn emailed me a photo she took at the house today.”
It was my father’s office. I knew Nico would never forget it, not after that night we’d spent hidden under the desk, the night that had changed my life forever. Standing before the fireplace was an older, slightly grayer Aidan Willoughby, smiling against the backdrop of the Beaumont painting.
“Son of a bitch,” Nico muttered, but his eyes swept from the computer screen to my face. When he caught sight of my expression, he shook his head. “We still can’t steal it. It’s too dangerous. Too many risks.”
“You had no qualms about trading me for the painting, but theft is what, too illegal for you?”
He caught my chin in his hand. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything, Kat, not then and not now. And I had qualms aplenty, just so we’re clear. Seeing you bleeding and disoriented at the cabin was the most terrifying thing I haveeverexperienced. I won’t go through that again.”
I wanted to argue—I’d snuck into that office a dozen times over the years, pilfering everything from pens to bottles of whiskey—but Nico’s expression halted my protest.
“Whatever you did in high school, you were starting outinsidethe house. We sure as shit can’t just waltz in unnoticed to grab it. I’ve learned enough about your father’s security protocols to know that breaking in would get us both shot.”
Everything inside me softened at his concern. “Point taken.”
“We’ll find a way. You cannot break into that house, Kitten.”
“Okay. Evelyn said the story will run at seven. Plenty of time for you to make us a fancy dinner,” I teased gently, hoping to wipe that fiercely protective look from his face.
