Page 53 of Canvas of Lies
While Kat was swept off by Philippe’s wife, Camille, to get settled in, I sat down in the kitchen with Jérôme and Uncle Philippe. The older man, more gray than blond at this point, didn’t look much like my dad, but he had that same knowing expression in his dark eyes. It even inspired the same response in me as it had from my father, so I straightened my shoulders to steel myself for the third degree.
“Tell me why you’re really here, Nicolas. You were vague enough on the phone, but we all know this isn’t a social call.”
I rubbed my hands over my face. Though Kat spoke fairly fluent French, she always pronounced my full name the American way. Now, though the conversation was in English out of deference for their poor American relation, hearing my name as my father always said it filled me with a wave of grief so overwhelming, I needed a minute to gather myself before I replied.
As succinctly as possible, I relayed the story of how Aidan Willoughby had gotten the painting before my father’s funeral, our suspicions that my father might have revealed the truthabout its origins, my long quest to get it back, and the hurdles still before us.
Then I described the night my father hid his “leverage” in the back of the frame.
Philippe and Jérôme listened without a word, nodding here and there. When the tale was over, my uncle regarded me steadily for a long, quiet moment.
“Nicolas,” he said in a low voice that reminded me so clearly of my father that my heart clenched again, “sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. Your father wanted you to have that painting,oui.He would never have expected you to break the law to get it back, not even to retrieve what was hidden. I think you already know this.”
The knot of tension that had taken up residence in my chest loosened. “I do know it. He would never have wanted Kat involved, either. He loved her like she was his own blood.”
Philippe leaned back in his chair as he studied me. “Before me, I see the boy I’ve called nephew for more than thirty years, the boy who turned into a man so much like Pierre that it brought tears to my eyes to see you again after all these years. He would be so proud of the man you have become.”
I blinked back tears myself, inclining my head in silent acknowledgment. If I spoke, I knew I’d end up crying like a baby.
“Tell me what help I can give to you and yourcopine, and it is yours. We are delighted to have you here, but tell me, what is it that you seek?”
I gave a strangled laugh. “That’s a loaded question right there,” I replied. My uncle only smiled, so I blew out a breath. “For once, I want the villain to lose a round. If we can find any documentation of the painting’s origin or the fact that it belonged to our family, then we can prove Willoughby is lying.”
“And even if you do this, you may never get that painting back. Can you live with that?”
Kat’s laughter drifted in through the open windows. Everything in me turned toward the sound, drawn to the warmth of her presence like a heat-seeking missile. When I forced my gaze back to Philippe, his smile was soft, his expression knowing.
“Ah, I see,” he said quietly.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t surprised my uncle understood. We were French, after all. “She’s . . . everything. If I hadn’t already been on this path when I found her again, I would’ve abandoned it for her.”
Jérôme clapped me on the shoulder.“Elle est si belle,”he said, grinning. “Why a beauty like that would chooseun connardlike you, I could not say, but I am happy for you, cousin.”
When the women came into the kitchen after another few minutes of ribbing from the two Frenchmen, I felt like the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. My aunt was a stunning woman, with blonde hair several shades lighter than Kat’s, but it was the brilliant smile Kat sent my way that quite simply illuminated the entire room. The warmth of it soaked into my veins, untwisting any remaining tangles of the knot in my chest.
She fit into my family as easily as she fit in my arms. Even though I hadn’t seen most of them since I was a child, Philippe’s quiet mention of the painting to the right parties caused my other aunts and uncles—some of whom weren’t any blood relation at all—to circle the wagons around both of us.
It wasn’t an experience Kat or I had ever had before, but it filled me with appreciation, with love and a touch of wistfulness.
The next day, after several back-breaking, eye-blurring hours of rifling through boxes from three different attics and storage areas, I called for a break. As I relaxed with Kat in a hammock strung between two trees in Philippe’s yard, I twirled a lock of her hair around my fingers and stared up at the leaves overhead.
I’d never considered moving back to France, but for the first time in as long as I could remember, I did start thinking about what the future might look like—a future that included Kat at my side. Images of a little house tucked away from town, with trees for a hammock and room for children to explore, danced before my eyes.
“I had an email from Evelyn,” Kat said, sounding sleepy. “The shit is starting to hit the fan over there. My mother is in Florida at the moment, talking to various reporters and news outlets. Apparently she and her lovely second husband took the bait.”
I kissed the top of her head, nestled as it was in the crook of my shoulder. “That may have to suffice. We haven’t found so much as a reference to the painting so far.”
Kat twisted to peer up at me. “Is it terrible that I’m still really, really glad we came, even if we don’t find anything helpful? Your family is amazing.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I murmured. My sigh was one of contentment, not disappointment—having Kat in my life changed everything for the better. “I still can’t believe you’re fluent in French and I didn’t know.”
She gave an indignant huff and muttered, “I have a great many secrets. You don’t know everything about me,monsieur.”
“No?” I nuzzled her ear. “I know enough, enough to realize you’re everything I ever wanted.”
Kat drew in a sharp breath at the words, then released it, sinking against me. “Oh?”
“Je t’aime,Kitten.”
