Page 57 of Canvas of Lies
“My ex-husband, as you know, broke our marriage vows while I entertained his illustrious coworkers. He publicly humiliated me, Mr. Carlson. Am I surprised he hid something as valuable as a painting by Hugo Clément during the divorce proceedings? Of course not. I should have noticed its absence on the divorce papers, but as you can imagine, I was terribly distraught.”
She sniffed and dabbed delicately at her eyes with a handkerchief and answered a few more of Jeffrey Carlson’s questions before the clip ended.
Though I didn’t think she had the brains to orchestrate a true battle against Willoughby, she might still be a means to an end. Her new husband had won her an impressive divorce settlement, but that was largely due to the iron-clad prenuptial agreement already in place. Still, it was entirely possible the man had picked up a few new tricks over the intervening years.
On the other hand, Aidan Willoughby had not yet spoken publicly about the painting or Julia’s crusade, not since his interview with Evelyn. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that silence signified he was ready to admit defeat. It was likely just the opposite. Maybe the man held enough sway among judgesnow to simply brush off his ex-wife’s claims, or maybe he’d try to handle it quietly, away from the spotlight.
Whatever the case, we’d find out soon enough. Willoughby would eventually have to show his hand.
While I busied myself with reviewing keyword alerts, I considered Kat’s adamant belief that her father wouldn’t hurt her. If Willoughby hoped to keep things quiet, releasing the photos was going to shred that goal into tiny little pieces. Once the man was backed into a corner, whatever scruples he might possess were likely to fly out the window. We hadn’t been hiding our relationship, so all it would take was one careless word from someone in Spruce Hill to inform Willoughby of his daughter’s connection to me.
I felt trapped between warring sides of the equation. It might be safer for Kat if we kept our distance from one another for a while, but if I wasn’t close by, how could I possibly protect her?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nico
InstandardKatWilloughbyfashion—stubbornly and with no small hint of that fiery temper of hers—she immediately shot down my suggestion of keeping her distance from me, even temporarily. I’d tried to broach the subject as diplomatically as possible when I arrived at her apartment that evening, but the fury that rose within her was truly a thing to behold.
If it hadn’t been directed at me, I might have been impressed.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped. “I’ll be damned if I let him ruin another single thing for me, Nicolas Beaumont. Whatever your macho sensibilities are telling you, I suggest you shut them the hell up.”
With a long-suffering sigh, I raked my hands through my hair. “The painting is just athing. An important thing, sure,but it’s just canvas and paint. You’re a living, breathing human being who I am madly in love with. If something happens to you, ifanythinghappens to you because of my role in all this, I will never forgive myself.”
Despite her annoyance, there was still a crystal clear image in my mind of patching up her bleeding arm at the cabin, of how I’d taken care of her, fussed over her, soothed her. I’d already caused her harm by involving her in this mess. The thought of hurting her more was like an arrow in my heart.
“The more obvious the connection between us, the more likely it is your father will lump you in with me when shit hits the fan.”
“I am not staying away. Not from this fight, not from you. We’re in this together.”
“I need you to be safe.” The alternative was unthinkable.
“Look, Nico,” she said softly, her tone conciliatory now, “you know that I’m safer with you watching my back than I would be alone, and vice versa. And anyway, I have a gift for you.”
I blinked at her in surprise, but I waited quietly while she disappeared into the bedroom. Knowing Kat as I did, it was just as likely to be an antique toy that reminded her of my eyes as it was to be something bizarrely useful. She possessed a knack for gift-giving that had always intrigued and enchanted me—like when she was fourteen and happened upon a signed copy of my father’s favorite vinyl at a consignment store in town.
It had been so long since we’d spent a holiday together, I hadn’t even realized just how much I’d missed those goofy, quirky gifts of hers.
Kat returned after a moment bearing a stiff manila envelope, which she handed over with a slightly misty smile. “I wasn’t sure I had anything of use, but after our success in France, I decided to take another look.”
I lifted the flap and slid out three glossy photographs. The first featured my father with one arm looped playfully around my ten year old neck and the other knuckling the top of my head. Fighting a wave of grief, I spent a minute staring at the image, then set it aside to look at the other two pictures.
The next one was me by myself, taken just before my junior prom, dressed in an uncomfortable rented tuxedo and holding the magenta corsage my date insisted I buy for her. The last was a picture of Kat at fifteen or so, her golden locks still long enough for a bouncing ponytail, pecking my father playfully on the cheek.
All three photos had been taken inside our cottage behind the Willoughby mansion. All three showed the painting clearly in the background.
“It might be just canvas and paint,” she said quietly, “but it’s also family and connection and legacy. Even if you didn’t want it back, I would go to war with my father just to see that returned to you. This is airtight proof it belonged to your family during the years your father worked for him, in case he claims he misremembered when he bought it.”
I laid the photographs carefully on the coffee table and yanked her into my arms, crushing her against my chest. As I buried my face in her hair, I wondered what the hell I’d done in this life to deserve her.
“I regret a lot of things in my life, Kitten, mostly related to walking away from you all those years ago, but I will never be able to regret the way you came back into my life, even if my stupidity made you think you were being kidnapped.”
Her laughter was muffled against my shoulder. “There’s been more excitement in my life these past few weeks than in the past decade,” she joked.
“If anyone is going to war for me, I’m glad it’s you. He doesn’t stand a chance against the two of us.”
It settled me somewhere deep inside, that simple statement, settled both of us if her soft sigh was any indication. Even if I was still concerned for her safety, having her by my side was a comfort, a strength I simply didn’t have on my own.
