Page 73 of Canvas of Lies
Seeing the hazy image of Nico’s ancestor there on canvas brought a misty smile to his face. I blinked back tears myself as I thought of all the times I’d sat under the watchful presence of this beautiful piece of art, teasing Nico, listening intently to Pierre, enjoying meals filled with laughter instead of cold silence.
It seemed strange to think a fake could provide that same familiar anchor, but I saw in Nico’s eyes that he felt the same.
After a long moment, he gently laid the painting back in the crate and closed it.
“I’ll sign whatever you want,” he said over his shoulder, “and then, no offense, I’ll be perfectly happy to never see you again.”
My father offered a sardonic smile as he slid a leather folio and an unnecessarily fancy pen across the desk. “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Beaumont.”
I took the crate from Nico and cradled it in my lap as he sat down to read through the papers. Though I tried to avoid looking at my father, he cleared his throat after a moment and my gaze shot to his face. For the span of a breath, he simply looked at me, like he was trying to read something in my expression, then he tilted his head in question.
“And you, Katherine? Are you equally eager to be rid of me?”
With a sigh, I leaned back in my seat. “Tell me one thing. Did you orchestrate all of this bullshit just to spite my mother?”
His lips curved, but the expression was far from anything I would label a smile. “Does it matter? Mr. Beaumont is getting what he wants, after all.”
Nico finished adding his signature and tossed the pen down, breaking the intense standoff going on beside him. “Yes, I am. I’d say thank you, but it seems a bit undeserved.”
“I understand you two were in an accident recently,” my father said quietly, his eyes still on me. “Are you all right?”
I blinked at him, wondering if this was some kind of trick. His dark brows drew down as he studied the faint remnant of the bruise on my cheek. It was obvious his concern didn’t extend to Nico’s wellbeing, but he looked sincerely worried about me for the first time in as long as I could remember.
Maybe he hadn’t had anything to do with the accident. I wasn’t sure how to process that possibility, not when being in this house again had me feeling so conflicted.
“We’re fine,” I replied.
The words came out less sharply than I’d intended, echoing hollowly in the space between us. I forced my eyes over to Nico, who watched the exchange with interest.
He reached over to cup my cheek. “If you’re ready to leave?”
Though I widened my eyes at him for making such a chauvinistic play, I smiled sweetly and rose. “I’ve been ready to leave since the minute we walked in. So long, Daddio.”
My father didn’t bother to stand as we walked out of the room, and it didn’t take a clairvoyant to know what he was thinking. If I was content to slum it with the help, then I wasn’t worth another minute of his time.
For once in my life, it didn’t even sting.
As we drove past the gates, Nico caught my hand in his. “Now that this little chore is complete, I think a celebratory dinner is in order.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “As long as there’s carbs to be had, I’m in.”
We dropped the painting off at Nico’s apartment where, with a broad grin, he informed me that he’d gotten a reservation at Panache, the only restaurant in town that had earned his own father’s seal of approval when they first moved here. Though my eyes widened in surprise—the place was much too rich for my budget these days—I wasn’t about to turn down a delicious meal after such a trying day.
Besides, it was about time we had another proper date, complete with getting all gussied up. I banished him from the bedroom while I dressed and twisted my hair into an elegant knot. When I returned to the living room gowned in a short black sheath that hugged each and every curve, I saw Nico’s throat bob as he swallowed hard.
“Holy Christ,” he breathed, surveying me with an intensity that heated my cheeks even from two yards away. “Maybe we should just stay in tonight. I have a few ideas we could try out instead. There’s another pizza left in the freezer and I swear I will make it worth your while.”
I laughed and pointed a warning finger in his direction. “I was promised a fancy meal and I better get it before you try anything else, bucko.”
“You are a demanding mistress, but very well. I’ll see that your every wish is fulfilled, my lady. Duringandafter dinner.” With a flourishing bow, he offered me his arm.
“By the way,” I whispered, leaning so close my breast brushed against his shoulder and my words tickled his jaw, “you look so hot wearing that tie, I think my panties might combust.”
Clearly satisfied that I was just as desperate for him as he was for me, Nico laughed and ushered me out to the car. I was glad he didn’t try too hard to change my mind, because in truth, it wouldn’t have taken much persuasion on his part.
We had such a beautiful time that we lingered over the wonderful meal, then followed it with coffee and tiramisu for dessert. A near-constant smile curved Nico’s lips throughout the evening. Conversation flowed easily and, for once, we left all of our worries locked away back at the apartment. There was no talk of the painting, my father, or the choices still to come.
“We should do this more often,” Nico said.
