Page 111 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
She’d had all night to think about her feelings for Isaac, andthey were far from skinny. They could make this work. She was ready for this; she was ready to do whatever it took to make this happen.
She was still smiling when she heard the front door close and the crunching sound of Isaac’s boots in the snow growing fainter as the snowy castle gardens stole him for themselves. For a few moments, she lay contentedly beneath the duvet. She could just stay here. She didn’t have to move. But then she shook herself and rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sent the text.
She showered quickly and slipped into the fresh jeans and jumper she’d grabbed last night before they left the castle. She pulled her hair into a topknot and padded across the landing in her socks to the study. After pushing open the door, she glanced quickly out the window. The coast was clear. With trembling fingers, she reached for the vase and tipped the key into the palm of her hand.
Nory took a deep breath. If she did this, there was no going back. But she was sure it was the right thing to do. She knew how much it hurt Isaac knowing that Heba would never have her rightful place in art history. She also understood, after such a personal betrayal, how he was paralyzed by the fear of losing what he had left of her. Nory could make this right for him; she could fix it and right the wrong that had been done to his family all those years ago.
She had to shake her fingers out to stop them from trembling as she undid the locks and opened the trunk containing Isaac’s family treasures. With the sketchbooks gathered to her chest, she went back to the desk and began to lay the books out. Her phone buzzed.
Here.
Nory blew out a breath and ran down the stairs. She opened the door, and Guy grinned at her.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
“Bloody awful. Where’s the stuff?”
Nory motioned for him to come in. She poked her head outside the door and looked both ways before closing it.
Nory led him up the stairs. With each step she felt the road of return slip further away from her. She pushed open the study door and pointed Guy in the direction of the open sketchbooks. Guy immediately set to work with the electric fervor that made him such a good journalist.
“This is gold dust,” said Guy, his phone camera capturing the images laid out on the desk.
“You think you can help?”
“Definitely. I did some searches into the De-Veers after you messaged me. This is a great story.”
With steady hands, Guy turned page after page of Heba’s sketchbooks, carefully documenting every single painting.
“You need to let me speak to Isaac before you go to print, okay?”
“I said yes already,” he said, still snapping.
“I need you to promise me.”
“I pinky-promise swear,” he said sarcastically.
“Guy, this is important to me.”
He lowered his phone momentarily. “I promise I won’t break the story until you’ve spoken to Isaac and he’s given me the okay.”
“The reason he hasn’t done it himself is because the family have been burned before. He can’t afford a big legal battle,” said Nory.
She was starting to have second thoughts. Guy was a brilliantinvestigative journalist, but he was also a giant arsehole. He wouldn’t screw her over, would he?
“If this goes the way I think it will, he won’t have any legal fees at all. The De-Veers won’t want to be seen as condoning the actions of ancestors who stole the paintings of a poor immigrant woman for their own personal gain. Certainly not with Marcus De-Veer hoping for a place in the next Cabinet reshuffle. They don’t need that kind of negative heat.”
Nory bit her lip and picked at the skin on the side of her thumb. Guy leafed through the final sketchbook, snapping every page until he had a comprehensive gallery of Heba’s secret artworks.
“Done,” he said. “When is Isaac due back?”
“Not for a while, but I don’t want to take any chances. I’ll get these back in the trunk. Can you let yourself out?”
She began to gently close the sketchbooks and pile them up. Guy rustled about in his messenger bag. Suddenly she felt his hands at her waist.
“Guy!” She tried to shake him off, but he tightened his grip, spinning her around to face him. His legs were splayed on either side of hers so that she was trapped between him and the desk. “Guy, I’m serious, let me go.” She shoved at his chest, but he only leaned closer, so that she was bending backward over the desk.
“Come on, Nory, you wouldn’t have asked for my help if you didn’t still want me on some level,” he said huskily.
