Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“It’s the fresh country air,” Sid said, blissfully oblivious to Bene’s subtext. “It gives one a certain glow.”
“Oh, they’re definitely glowing.” Bene laughed.
Marius growled, and I shushed him, blushing. As close as Sid and my father had been, my father had never let on about supernaturals, and I didn’t want to explain dragons, lions, tigers, or vampires now.
“How did you and Mina’s father meet?” Roux asked, changing the subject.
So, whew. I owed him one.
Sid chuckled. “Care to explain, Mina?”
I did my best to put it delicately. “My father was checking on a series of paintings that appeared on the art market in quick succession. The auction house that obtained them was sure the works were genuine, but my father suspected a forger.”
“Did he get the guy?” Bene asked.
“Yes. Me.” Sid pointed to his chest with a wry grin.
Bene’s eyes went wide. “And?”
Sid shrugged. “The judge wanted to give me five years, but Thomas talked him down to three, and he eventually talked the parole board into releasing me after one. So I could get back to my children, you see…”
He trailed off sadly, and everyone grew quiet.
“Sid was the forger,” I explained, “but it was a guy named Sutherland who drove the whole operation. He commissioned works, faked the provenance, and pocketed the money.”
“He served eight years,” Sid added dryly.
“Plus another six when a separate fraud case surfaced,” I added.
My father despised Sutherland, but he had hit it off with Sid. Other than being on opposite sides of the law, they shared a love of art and art history.
“What do you do these days?” Bene asked.
Sid smiled apologetically. “I paint portraits in the style of any grand master a client requests.”
“He does pets too.” I scrolled through my phone, then turned it around to show off a portrait of a bulldog in a classic Napoleon pose.
Bene giggled. “That’s priceless. Do you do lions?”
Roux kicked him under the table, but Sid didn’t catch on.
“I haven’t had the opportunity, but you never know.” Then he looked at me. “Speaking of paintings…”
I stood with a crisp nod. “I’ll get it. Meet you in the drawing room in a few minutes?”
Everyone stood, and Bene pointed to the pastries Henrik had brought. “Can I bring those?”
“Only if you don’t insult my coffee machine,” I shot back.
“Ha. It deserves every word. But…” He rooted around in his bag, then pulled out a huge box with a triumphant look. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Breville Barista Pro X380.” He held the box to his cheek and stroked it.
Marius whistled. “That must have cost you a couple of paychecks.”
Plus savings, I figured, having learned that Gordon only paid each of them a paltry sum. I’d been incensed when Marius told me, but he’d just shrugged.
The real payment is having our records wiped clean when our contract is up. As long as Gordon sticks to his word on that, I’m good.
I was still of two minds when it came to the darker aspects of my lover’s past, but he’d proven his loyalty and good heart too many times to count.
“Worth every penny.” Bene planted a loud smooch on the box.
“Well, set it up, then. Meet you there,” I said, setting off.
Marius wove his fingers through mine as we made our way up the spiral stairs. I was about to step into the upper hallway when he tugged me back.
“That coffee machine will take some time to set up, you know…” He leaned in to kiss me.
The moment our lips touched, my body heated, and slowly, I melted against the wall.
I tilted my head back, basking in the flurry of kisses he planted along my skin.
“Up these stairs, correct?” Sid’s voice drifted up the stairwell.
We froze.
“Yes,” Henrik said with a hint of glee. “Take those stairs. Up one flight, then turn right. The drawing room is above us.”
“Fucking vampires,” Marius growled as Sid’s footsteps sounded below.
I grabbed Marius’s hand and continued toward my suite. “Probably not the best time right now.”
“Not the best time to kill a vampire?” he grumbled.
I kissed his hand. “Or to make out. But I promise you, tonight…”
“Kill vampire first, sex second. It’s a deal,” Marius said.
I laughed. “Just sex. For now, at least.”
Fifteen minutes later, everyone gathered in the drawing room and watched Sid inspect the Van Gogh. Well, everyone except Bene, who was more interested in the coffee machine’s hissing and sputtering — across the room from the painting, just in case.
Sid hunched over the painting with a small, handheld lens, mumbling to himself.
“And?” Roux asked impatiently.
Even Henrik looked curious.
“Shh,” I cut in. “Let him concentrate.”
Marius snorted. “We already know it’s real. Mina said so.”
I appreciated his faith in me, but my paranoia had grown over the past few days. What if the painting was a fake? There would be no celebration today, no silent pride when the news hit the papers in a few months. No glance at heaven to say, I did it for you, Dad.
A lump formed in my throat.
“Interesting,” Sid murmured, then moved on to another section of the painting.
Bene sipped his first batch of coffee and kissed his fingers. “Magnifique.” He pranced over to sit on the couch, where he leaned back and raised his feet toward the coffee table.
“Don’t—” I started, but he’d already pulled his feet back with a grin.
“Gotcha.” He planted his feet on the floor and sipped, then moaned and started to speak.
“Not a word about my coffee machine,” I warned.
He snorted. “It was a machine, but I’m not sure about the coffee part.” He raised his cup. “This is coffee.”
Roux chuckled. “Now we know what to get Bene for Christmas. Fancy beans.”
Bene gave that a thumbsup. “Dark roast Akagera from Rwanda, please.”
I made a mental note, then caught myself. My contract with Gordon only ran to the end of November. Where would Bene go afterward? Where would they all go?
My eyes wandered to Marius.
Once upon a time, my grandmother had hosted big, buzzing Christmas parties with live music, spiced punch, old-fashioned decorations, and countless guests.
But the “biggest” gathering we’d had since she died was when my sister, cousin, mother, aunt, and I had met here for Christmas the previous December.
But with the heating broken and empty, echoing halls…
Well, it had been a little on the gloomy side.
I looked around at the people and the place, wondering what the coming Christmas would bring. More importantly, whom it would bring.
Sid leaned away from the painting, murmuring, “Incredible.”
My pulse skipped.
He turned, eyes sparkling. “Your father would be so proud.”
Marius squeezed my hand, telling me he was too.
“So, it’s real?” Bene asked.
Sid nodded, and I grinned a mile wide.
“Wow. That’s got to be worth millions, right?” Bene asked.
I groaned. “Way to spoil the mood.”
“Spoiling the mood is your mom butts in on you during foreplay, or what Henrik does whenever he walks into a room.”
The vampire flashed his fangs, but Bene ignored him, and Sid, thank goodness, didn’t see.
“It might fetch millions, but it’s priceless in other ways,” Sid said.
I nodded. “Like knowing it will be displayed for anyone to see.”
“You’re an idealist, you know that?” Bene laughed.
Roux looked at me, then Marius, and a cloud came over his eyes. A cloud that implied I might be overly idealistic about the dragon shifter too.
Well, I could make up my own mind about that. And ultimately, time would tell, wouldn’t it?
“Now, about that Monet. You’re sure it’s a fake?” Sid asked.
I showed him the picture I’d snapped before the guys had handed it over to Gordon. “I’m sure. Look at the signature and the brushstrokes.”
Sid held his lens to my phone, then caught himself and laughed. “Oops. What about the back of the painting? Any clues there?”
I grinned. “Look at the stamp.”
He scrolled to the next image and zoomed in on the mark on the back of the canvas. “Sammlung Flechheim.”
I waited, then prompted him. “Look again.”
He did, then cracked into a grin. “Flechtheim should be spelled with a T.”
I nodded, and we both broke into hoots.
Bene sipped his coffee, muttering, “Art nerds.”
“Well, you’re right again,” Sid said. “Did I say your father would be proud?”
He had, but I would never tire of hearing those words.
“Just one thing,” Sid said, growing somber. “I respect that you can’t reveal the details of how you procured this artwork, or about the previous owner. But what happens when he or she discovers that The Painter on the Road to Tarascon has suddenly resurfaced in the art world?”
“I figured if I wait a few months…” I said hopefully.
Sid shook his head. “A year. At least.”
“A year?” I yelped.
Hiding the painting for a couple of months was a necessity.
Hiding it any longer came with risks. What if a fire broke out in the chateau?
What if Clem stopped by for some reason — and I was sure he would find a reason, such as checking up on my clients — and spotted it?
What if Bene splattered it with coffee or used it for dart practice by mistake?
Marius squeezed my hand. “It will be fine.”
Sid chuckled. “Poor you. You have to live with your very own Van Gogh for a whole year.” He patted me on the shoulder. “I say, make the most of it. Carpe diem and all that, as they say.”
“Yes. You should seize as many carps as you can in life,” Bene quipped. “I certainly plan to.”
“May I suggest a toast?” Sid said.
Roux found a bottle of champagne while I handed out glasses.
“To Vincent?” Bene proposed once every glass was filled.
Sid shook his head. “To a mission fulfilled.”
He meant my father, but it applied to what we’d just been through in Mallorca too.
“To missions fulfilled,” Roux agreed with a wink.
“And future missions,” Bene added. “May they be as successful.”
Warning bells rang in my mind. Future missions? Including me?
God, I hoped not.
Still, I added my voice to the others when they echoed, “And future missions.”
We clinked and drank, but Marius held back, waiting for me.
He raised his glass an extra inch, toasting me, and whispered over the edge.
“To future missions.”
* * *
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