Page 32 of Forging Caine

“But if I do, perhaps you’ll eventually deal with it.”

“Don’t wanna deal with it.”

I lifted her arm to peek underneath.

“You knew I was going to say yes, didn’t you?”

“Of course. Why would you ever say no to me?”

She snorted. “I’m pretty sure that’s all I originally said to you.”

“And now here we are, making love on our patio. Who would have thought that would ever happen?”

Her face tightened. “Promise me you’ll never leave?”

I leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m not your father. I’d chase you to the end of the earth if you ever left me.”

More tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. “I’d do the same for you.”

“Hopefully, it never comes to that.”

Chapter 11

Samantha

Thenextmorning,Isat on the floor in Antonio’s studio, paintings and easels shoved against the walls, the standing safe open wide. Hundreds of sheets of paper surrounded me. Photos of paintings, of logbooks, of scribbled notes from Elliot’s box of mysteries.

My priority was to review every painting recorded in the box. Study them. Learn the dimensions, the colors, the flow. Who was it by, if known? What style? Dates and names didn’t imprint as soundly in my brain as the images, but I reviewed those, as well.

Behind me, the two items I wanted to focus on. I had a timer set on my watch for twenty-five minutes, and after staring at information from the pawnshop for that amount of time, I allowed myself five minutes with the mysterious onionskins sent to Ferrero’s Fine Art Investigations. Five minutes of twisting sheets this way and that, holding them up to the light, trying to find an angle that made sense.

Then I’d go back to the pawnshop details, because the other item—my dad’s letter—shouldn’t have received any time. But it called to me from where I’d left it on the desk. Every time I turned around to look at the mysterious sheets, the looping code that Dad sent to Mom stared back at me.

I should have put it away somewhere secure and never looked at it again. I didn’t even have Lucy’s translation with me. What good was reading and re-reading it, now that I knew what the words were?

I’m sorry I have to leave again.

For twenty-six years, I thought he’d abandoned us. Thought Cass and I weren’t enough to keep him around. The logical part of my brain recognized that belief caused most of my relationship fears—if my dad wouldn’t stay around, why would I expect anyone else to? But that was ridiculous. Lots of people came from homes like that and turned out fine.

The fact was, I was different. I’d always been different.

I walked to the desk to pick up Dad’s letter, smoothing my fingers over the old ink, which had barely faded after all these years. Being hidden inside the lining of the Shakespeare book must have protected it.

Mom had included the book in her will, insisting we never sell it. Did she plan to tell us about it someday? Was it supposed to be that same someday that she wanted Elliot to tell me the truth?

The day she—

I squeezed my eyes shut and drew in a deep breath.It’s okay, Sam. It’s been eight years. You’re alright.

I opened my eyes and my new ring flashed in the bright studio lights, all the colors of the rainbow trapped inside the little—huge—piece of compressed carbon. It had to be at least two carats. A single round diamond on a platinum band channel-set with smaller diamonds. It was gigantic, yet somehow simple.

Fiancée.

Engaged.

Mrs. Samantha Ferraro? Caine-Ferraro? Stick with Caine?

For how many times he’d teased about marrying me, how many times I’d stared at his bedside table while he was gone, sure there was a ring inside, I hadn’t decided. When I wasn’t sure I wanted him to ask, I refrained from thinking about it because thinking would make it happen. And once I was sure Ididwant him to ask, thinking about it would jinx it and ensure it never did.

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