Page 82 of Canvas of Lies
Sometime during my reading, Nico had returned, but he sat silently on a chest at the foot of the bed. I met his curious, concerned gaze and a choked laugh burst from my lips. I rolled off the bed, handed him the letter, and moved to the window as he read it.
Not for the first time, it seemed like a trap, like a move too kind-hearted to really have come from the father I thought I knew. My feelings were tangled and conflicted—I wasn’t ready to mourn him, not when he’d done so much to hurt the man I loved, but all the what-ifs, the possibilities of some kind of reconciliation, had been cut off at the root.
I let out a slow breath and stared out into the distance.
Like my old room, this one was at the back of the house, with a view of the trees and gardens where we had played hide and seek as children. In the distance, its bulk hidden by the twilight, the peak of the Spruce Hill Lighthouse rose above everything else along the shore. Silently, I counted, waiting for the flash of light to cut through the darkness as it always had.
There.Once it had come and gone, I leaned my forehead against the cool glass, staring into an inky black landscape behind my own reflection.
“Wow,” Nico muttered when he finished reading. “How do you feel about that?”
“Have you ever known me to walk away from a treasure trove like he says is hidden up in the attic?”
Nico’s laughter tickled the back of my neck as he wrapped his arms around my middle. “No, I can’t say that I have. I’m sure you’re already fantasizing about what you might find up there.”
“You really don’t mind staying here for six months?”
“Six months is the blink of an eye, especially when you’re stuck here with me. We’ll see it through, and then the future is up to us.”
I leaned back against his steady frame and turned my head to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “You’re absolutely right.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nico
Westayedthereatthe window for a long time, lost in our thoughts, until I said quietly, “It feels like a hundred years have passed since I was last here.”
Memories of that final visit ricocheted through me. It was probably foolish to carry so much anger for a dead man, but hopefully the passage of time would help to dispel that. When her arms folded over mine, I smiled against Kat’s ear. No matter how unsettled our lives became at any given moment, holding her was like finding an anchor. Each crappy memory of life at the estate was softened by all of the good times we had together, brought bubbling to the surface by the feel of her warm, soft form leaning against my chest.
“I know it’s early,” Kat said, glancing over her shoulder, “but I’m exhausted.”
I pressed my lips to her temple. “Let’s get ready for bed. It’s been a long couple of days.”
We located the bare minimum of necessities from our bags and prepared for sleep. Whether it was simply being in a strange place for the night or the more specific sensation of being back at The Castle, where every move toward the Willoughby princess was watched and weighed, I kept my boxers and tee on as I stretched out on the bed. When Kat returned from brushing her teeth clad in an oversized nightshirt, I had to smile.
“What?” she asked, sliding under the covers to cuddle up against my side.
“We usually don’t wear so much to bed,” I teased, “but here it feels . . . I don’t know.”
“Like the ghost of my father is still watching you like a hawk?”
I laughed and buried my face in her hair. “Yes, and like I definitely don’t want to get caught wandering the halls naked.”
Exhausted as we were, we whispered together late into the night as though we were children at an illicit sleepover rather than the new—if temporary—inhabitants of the house. When Kat eventually drifted off, sprawled across my chest, I continued combing my fingers through her hair for a long time afterward. The feel of those silken curls over my skin was meditative, casting me nearly into a trance.
I lost all sense of time, all train of thought, as I listened to the soft, even sounds of her breathing.
Had I stopped stroking her hair sooner, I might have fallen asleep several moments earlier and missed the sound of glass breaking from somewhere downstairs. My hand paused mid-stroke as every one of my senses fired back into action. Beardsley’s room was on the first floor, but I was pretty sure it was at the other end of the house. The old butler’s hearing wasn’t what it used to be, so I hoped Beardsley was safe enough in his bed.
I hesitated for a moment, debating whether I should go check it out without alerting Kat, then gently shook her shoulder. If she woke up to find me gone, she’d throw herself in the path of danger without blinking.
“Kitten, I think there might be someone downstairs. I want you to lock the door behind me and call the police,” I said in a low voice.
Kat rubbed her eyes with one hand and reached for her phone with the other. I was already pulling on jeans when I saw the words filter into her sleepy brain. She bolted upright.
“Jesus, Nico, you’re not going down there alone,” she whispered.
I kissed her, hard and swift. “For once in your life, promise you’ll stay right here, got it? Lock the door behind me.”
