Page 49 of Broken Rules
A grin played at his lips. “Because now you can say, you’re dating a guy you met in your youth, instead of the guy who tried to rob your boss.”
She laughed. “Exactly. History is important. Knowing where you come from helps show you where you want to go. Nonna always used to tell me that, and she’d sit me down and show me old photos and—” Just then she was struck by an idea. “Hey, speaking of history and robbing my boss, do you know what I’m thinking?”
“After everything your nonna bewitched from my past, I cannot even begin to guess.”
“I think we should steal the painting.”
His eyes flashed wide. “That was unexpected.”
“I’ve had to sell a lot of my nonna’s things to pay for her care, but the heirlooms that mean something to her, I would never consider selling. I would get another job first. I bet the true ancestors of Baron Von Wilder would be thrilled to have their missing painting returned.”
Damien shook his head. “They probably don’t even realize they’re missing it.”
“But we do. We can set things right.”
“So, you want me to steal the multi-million dollar painting from your boss’s house to give it back to the rightful owners.”
She nodded. “You must think I’m crazy.”
“No, I think you are good.” He cupped her cheek. “There is goodness in you that I’ve never experienced before, except maybe from Sister Maria.”
Savannah laughed out loud. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been compared to a nun.”
Damien smiled. “Laugh all you want, but it’s true. You don’t even realize how good you are, because you’re always punishing yourself. But you give of yourself so fully—to your work, to your friends. You love without agenda or expectation, and that is a beautiful and rare thing to witness, Savannah Honey.”
She blushed. “You give me far too much credit.” Then she shrugged. “It was a silly idea. And I’m sure impossible. Anyway, it would take time and planning and you’re probably not interested in sticking around long enough for that.”
He gave a cool shake of his head. “It won’t be me who’s eighty-sixed around here.”
“What does that mean?”
He stepped forward and clasped her body tight to his. “You’re eighty-sixed from the restaurant, from New Hampshire.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked skeptically, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“When I go, come with me.”
She froze and looked him hard in the eye. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it. Don’t bullshit me. I’ve been hurt too—”
His kiss silenced her defense. She softened against him. Then, he pulled a breath away and looked down at her, his gaze unwavering. “I never, as you say, bullshit,” he promised.
