Page 57 of Thiago
“Yes. Please.”
India recognized right away that sharing this part of himself was monumental, and anticipation fluttered in her veins as Thiago entered his dressing room and she followed behind him.
Past the island in the center and toward the back, they arrived at a door built into the wall. He keyed in a code and then pressed his thumb to the biometric pad. She heard a softwhoosh, and then he turned the handle. Her mouth fell open when she saw the interior. More dark wood and recessed lights, but also rows of watches, each nestled in a velvet box on a shelf.
There were dozens, a literal who’s who of luxury watches—Patek Philippe, Rolex, Audemars Piguet, Cartier, Jaeger-LeCoultre. Some with leather straps, others with linked bands made of gold or platinum. They were elegant and masculine, many of which sat behind a small plate attached to the shelfwith an engraved date and text explaining the significance of the watch.
India walked slowly into the room. “There’s a small fortune in here. How in the world did you get your hands on all these watches?”
“It was not easy, believe me,” Thiago said with a low chuckle. “That is not entirely true. Some are easier than others to acquire. Auction houses are a good place to find them, and so are private collectors who want to sell quietly. A few people have approached me directly, and I have bought others after the owner passed away and their family wanted to liquidate their assets. I have gotten some very good deals that way.”
He placed the Omega in its box and picked up another watch. “This Patek Philippe was made specifically for the FIFA World Cup in 1962 and gifted to the Brazilian team captain after they won. It took me four years to convince the family to part with it.” He placed the timepiece back on the shelf and pointed to a Rolex with a black face. “In the 1950s, those were given to Italian navy divers. Many were lost at sea, and of the ones available, few are in good condition. I was lucky to find that one at an auction house.”
“Why watches? Why not cigars or coins or something else?” India asked.
He pondered the question for a moment before he spoke. “Many of these watches have been on the wrists of men who helped shape history, and they all have a story. When I wear one of them, I like to think I am bridging the gap between history and the future. Like my grandfather, these men are gone, but their memories live on, and their legacies endure for generations.”
“You’re different when you talk about this,” India observed.
He acknowledged her comment with a nod. “Do you know how some people like to go hunting at thrift stores to find hiddentreasures? It’s the same for me. Finding a piece, learning the history behind it, and then adding it to my collection gives me a great sense of satisfaction. One day, I plan to move them to my house in Georgia, but I need to have a climate-controlled vault built first. Bigger than this one since I’m almost out of space here but plan to continue collecting for a long time.”
Thiago pointed out a few more of the watches and explained their significance before they finally exited the room.
“Few people have seen my collection,” he said, confirming her thoughts as he closed the door and twisted the handle back in place.
Her pulse skipped at being granted entry to such a private part of his life. “Thank you for sharing your passion with me.”
“This is a hobby.Youare my passion.”
He looked at her as if he wanted to eat her up then and there, but instead of her body responding with desire as usual, the nausea she had been experiencing for almost an hour worsened.
India placed a hand against her stomach, as if she could force her insides to behave.
“What’s wrong?” Thiago looked at her with a deep frown on his face.
Oh crap, she was going to throw up. “I don’t feel so good.” India lifted her other hand to her mouth.
“You don’t look very good, either,” Thiago remarked, his frown deepening.
India wrapped an arm around her midsection. “I think I’m going to be sick. No, I’m definitely going to be sick.” Nausea bubbled from her stomach into her chest.
Thiago reached for her. “Are you?—”
India turned quickly away and made a mad dash for the adjoining bathroom.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Startled, Thiago stared after her for a few seconds. Then he shot out of the dressing room, but those few seconds of delay had cost him, and India had moved fast. By the time he arrived at the bathroom door, she had already locked herself inside.
He wiggled the doorknob. “India?”
Then he heard her retching.
Thiago pressed his palm flat against the door, helpless in the wake of her obvious distress.
When she stopped, he tried talking to her again. “India, should I call a doctor?”
“No. Give me a minute,” she replied, her voice sounding weak and strained.
