Page 72 of Canvas of Lies
I gave a mock growl and nipped at her knuckles, soaking in the sound of her laughter dancing around me. No matter what the circumstances, she always managed to calm me, to offer reassurance with just a quirk of her lips or a look in her eyes. I might regret involving her in all of this, but I’d never regret finally having her back in my life.
Plenty of time,I assured myself.
There was still plenty of time to catch that pebble before it hit the water, and plenty of time to love her with everything I had.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kat
Arrivingatmyfather’sestate after so many years away was more nerve-wracking than either of us expected. Nico pulled up to the front gate, gave his name to a literal uniformed guard, and squeezed my knee when I huffed out an exasperated breath. Spruce Hill had once been voted “Safest Town in America,” but my father acted like he needed enhanced security measures to keep the riff-raff off his property. It had always been a bone of contention between the two of us.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Nico murmured as the gate swung slowly open.
“There might be no place like home, but this hasn’t been home in a long time. Let’s get this charade over with.”
We were greeted at the front door by Beardsley, the stiff old man who’d been our family’s butler for as long as I couldremember. Why we’d ever needed a butler was beyond me, but the man in question gifted me with a rare smile that chased the thought from my mind.
“Miss Katherine,” he said, “what a treat it is to see you again.”
Though shock still showed clearly on his wrinkled face, I stepped forward to hug the old man and his expression melted into unabashed delight.
“Beardsley, you haven’t aged a day. I’m sure you remember Nicolas Beaumont.”
Beardsley nodded solemnly at Nico. “Of course. I never had the chance to express my condolences about your father, Mr. Beaumont.”
“Thank you, Beardsley.” Nico managed a small smile, then said, “I believe Mr. Willoughby is expecting me.”
“Yes, indeed,” Beardsley replied, casting a quick glance in my direction.
I was quite sure his employer wasnotexpecting to see his wayward daughter, but just as certain that Beardsley wasn’t going to say so.
Nico took my hand in his and gave the butler a pointed look. “She’s with me.”
“Of course. If you’ll follow me, Mr. Willoughby is in his office.”
Seeing my father on television was a far cry from seeing the man up close, especially after the years that had passed. He was seated at his desk—the same heavy oak desk we’d hiddenunder as children on that fateful night—and he looked as sleek and polished as ever, exuding charm and charisma. All of those things had made him a star in the courtroom, but had I never noticed that streak of gray through his thick chestnut mane, the slight sagging of skin beneath his jaw? Funny, I didn’t recall thinking he looked that different during those TV interviews.
Must have had a makeup artist,I thought absently, struggling to make sense of the feelings tumbling around in my chest. Somehow, I’d expected him to be the same as ever, the king in his castle, moving us all around like chess pieces.
Instead, he just looked old.
His eyes, a paler, icier blue than my own, widened almost imperceptibly when he saw me enter the room.
“Katherine,” he said, coming to his feet. “I hadn’t realized you’d be joining us.”
“It didn’t seem wise to send Nico alone to beard the lion in its den,” I replied tartly. “I wouldn’t want some unfortunate accident to befall him.”
My father smiled tightly. “How nice to see that my own flesh and blood has such faith in my hospitality. I’d offer you both some coffee while we discuss business, but I’m sure you’d decline it in case I slipped poison into your cups.”
Nico kept quiet, obviously remembering the sharp repartee between us, even when I was a pint-sized firebrand with skinned knees. This was not a battle he could fight for me, nor one I’d appreciate him involving himself in. I was fully capable of taking on my father in a round of verbal sparring, whereas I knew Nicocould only recall the bitter taste of defeat from the last time he’d gone head to head with the man.
“No need for pleasantries, Daddy dearest. We’re just here for Nico’s painting.”
I lifted my chin and held my father’s gaze until he gave a tight nod toward one of the shelves lining the walls. I was surprised by his lack of a rebuttal, but I made sure not to let on. It was uncomfortably strange being back in this house, especially back in this particular room, and my skin itched with the need to get out of there.
Without a word, Nico went over to the crate containing the painting. He drew a deep breath before opening it to withdraw the framed canvas. Even knowing it was a forgery, he handled it with exquisite care as my father sat back down in his chair, ostensibly turning his attention to the paperwork spread across his desk. I watched as Nico studied the canvas and breathed a soft sigh at the sight of those familiar colors.
It was, after all, an amazing replica. I wondered who’d painted it, how much my father had spent on the forgery—surely a tiny fraction of the astronomical amount Lavigne had paid him for the real thing.
