12. Henry
12
HENRY
When I get to the patisserie, I see three people already waiting for me. Amelie stares me down as I walk toward the counter, a slight smirk on her lips. The other two stare at me like I’m the most horrid thing they’ve ever seen, and I can’t really blame them. There’s no telling what Amelie has said about me.
We order our drinks and sit at a covered table outside, each of us shivering like crazy. It’s forty degrees out here, but we can’t very well sit inside. I’ve got a feeling this conversation isn’t going to lean on legality.
“We can make this quick,” Amelie says as soon as we’re seated. She’s taken the chair closest to me, though I don’t think much of it. “In fact, let’s do exactly that.”
“Okay.” I turn to her friends. They look like they’re trying to set me on fire with their eyes. “Amelie said you have the resources to find my piece?”
“Uh, no, I didn’t.” Amelie tilts her head to the side. “You assumed that.”
“You did nothing to correct me.”
“So? That’s not my fault.”
I sigh. “Just give me a starting point, and we?—”
“A starting point? Seriously? ” She gives a dry laugh, and I cannot for the life of me figure out what is so comical about this situation. “I can’t just keep telling you?—”
“Can you two shut up ?”
Amelie and I slowly turn our heads toward the blonde girl across from me. She’s pulled out a laptop now, glaring at us over the top of it.
“Yes, Meg, we can shut up.” Amelie takes a sip of her coffee. “My apologies. You know how I am.”
“I do.” The girl, who I assume is Meg, nods. “Now, Henry, I just need a few details about your piece. Quickly, please. Canvas size?”
“30 by 50,” I say.
“Medium?”
“…Paint?”
“Just verifying,” she says. “Amelie said it was inspired by a classic?”
“Heyser’s Ophelia.” I nod. “The color palette was different; a deeper, more blatant choice, but?—”
“I don’t need to know all that.”
I snap my mouth shut. Amelie stifles a laugh.
Meg lets out a heavy sigh and keeps typing. Her face gives away nothing, but Amelie’s forehead is wrinkled in concentration, so I’m guessing she can read the girl’s expression much better than I can.
“I’m not getting anything,” Meg says finally. “I’m seeing talk of a reimagined classic, but no specifics.”
I tip my head to the side, suddenly amused. How do they just find these things? Is there some page that has all the up-and-coming thievery news? Amelie heavily suggested that there wasn’t, but she isn’t above lying to me. The concept is just ridiculous enough that she wouldn’t want to tell me.
“Oh, what are you smirking at, Henry?” Amelie asks.
“I’m only curious,” I say. “Do you guys have like…a thievery gossip site?”
“I have friends,” Meg says flatly.
“Ah,” I hum. “Friends, felons…”
“Do you want help or not?” Amelie smacks my arm. “She’s not scared of prison. You can’t threaten her.”
“You can’t threaten me,” Meg confirms, dabbing her mouth with the ends of her scarf. “And anyways, I’ll keep an eye out. Don’t worry about it. I get updates frequently; if something new shows up, I’m on it.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She gives me a nod. I look over at Amelie, whose expression is blank. It seems to startle her when I meet her eyes, and she clears her throat, straightens up in her seat. “Okay. Well, I have a plan that we can use in the meantime. One that would be more direct.”
I raise a brow. “Okay?”
“I think we should make you more public.”
I blink. “I’m not sure I understand. I’m public already.”
“Yes, I’m aware, Henry. We’ve seen your pretty face on those banners.” She pats my cheek, and I know the action is condescending, but the feeling of her skin against mine is embarrassingly distracting. “But we need to make you a target .”
The word sobers me up pretty quickly. “That…sounds like a very stupid idea.”
“Not like you’re thinking.” She shakes her head. “We need to make your process more public. To make it all about your paintings, and the fact that you’re about to start a new one. If you’re his only target, it’s guaranteed to catch his eye .”
“But I’m not about to start a new piece.”
She sighs. “Mmm, but you are.”
“No, I’m…not.”
“I literally just said you are. You have to!”
“No,” I repeat. “This sounds like a great way to get further tangled up in a situation that I have no interest in. This wasn’t the deal, Amelie. I don’t care if we catch the guy. I just want my piece back.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, annoyance coloring her features. I know that this is an argument I’ll lose, but I can’t stop myself from pushing back. I don’t want this to be an intricate thing. I don’t have time for it.
“Okay,” Amelie says slowly, “but this is sort of a twofer thing. We want him caught. I don’t know if you know this, but anyone that steals art is kind of in this…how do I put it…”
“Unspoken competition?” The man, who has not talked this entire time, supplies.
Amelie snaps her fingers. “That’s it. We’re in an unspoken competition. Because the more work they get, the less we get. It’s technically ethics.”
“There is nothing ethical about that.”
She shrugs. “I said technically. ”
I close my eyes and wonder, just for a moment, if this is a nightmare.
I decide that it’s not when a voice pulls me out of my reverie.
“Listen, Hector, I think you should do it.” Meg is staring at me once again, and before I can ask if she’s truly forgotten my name, she keeps on. “Seriously. Ames is smart. She knows how to get things done. Besides, this route buys us some time away from you.”
“Ah, Meg.” Amelie flashes a bright smile. “Always the poet.”
Her friend grins back patronizingly.
I sigh and remove my glasses, cleaning the lenses against my shirt. I know that Amelie is smart. Whatever she suggests will probably work. But the difference between us is, I don’t have the luxury of breaking the law. I have to be careful with this. Nobody can find out, and I can’t be stirring up trouble.
“Alright,” I say against my better judgment. “But I’m not getting another piece stolen. This will be a decoy. And if you manage to steal it?—”
“I won’t,” Amelie says, meeting my eyes. “Promise.”
“I caught you stealing a piece of mine last night.”
She toys with her bottom lip. “Well, I mean, no one would want two of those things.”
The man to my left barks a laugh, and the sound is as grating as it is dehumanizing.
“Alright,” I start, standing from my seat. “I’ll start on a decoy.”
Amelie jumps up, and I think she’s about to tell me no, not yet, but instead she says. “I’ll help.”
All eyes go to her, including mine, and there’s a simultaneous HUH from the three of us.
“What?” She says, face painted with false innocence. “You clearly don’t want to work on it. I assume you’re lacking inspiration, so I’m going to help you. And besides, we should really catch up. We’ve got a lot to talk about, don’t you think?”
I really don’t think, for my sake.
Being in Amelie’s presence for too long could be disastrous. It’s something I should be thoroughly against, and I’m not, which is a problem. Even last night, those few minutes around her made my head spin. I shouldn’t have touched her, shouldn’t have gotten too close, but I did. She clouds my judgment and she always has. But in the past, it wasn’t wrong. The decisions I made over her weren’t illicit.
Though that isn’t to say I wouldn’t have done anything she asked of me.
No. No. I can’t do this.
You will not fall for her tricks again.
He’s right. I won’t.
“What do you get out of this?” I ask, voice lowered so only she can hear.
Amelie looks up at me with wide eyes. “Nothing. Really. I just…it was my idea, so I’ll help you out. Not that you need help, but you know. I’ll give you some company.”
“You know I don’t like company when I paint.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because I think this is important.”
“In what sense?”
“All!” She sighs. “We need to have a good foundation for our new blackmailer-blackmailee relationship.”
My brain snags on that last word a bit too long for my liking.
I seriously need to get a grip. What is my problem? Did seeing her steal from me last night trip some wire in my brain? Is this what I’ve come to?
“You can join,” I say tersely. “But if you give away the location of my studio, I —”
“I won’t,” she says. “You have my word.”
“That means very little to me now.”
She gives a brief shrug before looking at her friends. “I’ll see you two later. Meg, check in with the clients from today, okay?”
Clients from today.
Perhaps over the piece she took last night.
I file that away for later, though I can’t figure out what good it’ll do me.
“Gotcha,” Meg mutters, back on her laptop already. “I’ll let you know if I find something on Herbert’s painting.”
Ah. So she is screwing with me.
Amelie grins widely at the incorrect name, and I wish the sight didn’t fill me with warmth. “Thank you very much, Meg.” She grabs her coffee cup and turns back to me, head tilted as she says, “Lead the way, hm?”
I do, of course. I always do.