Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gabrielle
“I’m just saying!”
Juliette’s voice buzzed in my ear as I stepped down the jet’s narrow stairs, “If this turns into another lecture about keeping my blinds closed at night, I’m hanging up.”
“I’m not lecturing you. I’m just asking you to meet Anthony and me at the campus café before you go home.”
Juliette sighed; it was the kind that carried a thousand eyerolls. “You’re back already?”
“We just landed.”
I was careful on the last step in heels that weren’t designed for tarmac landings. I glanced over my shoulder as Anthony followed, his suit jacket slung casually over his arm, calm as ever despite the soupy Miami air pressing against us like a second skin.
“Thirty minutes?”
“Fine. I’ll be there. But I’m ordering something with three shots of espresso if we’re doing this.”
“Deal,” I said and hung up.
The blast of humidity hit harder once I started walking, like Miami was trying to melt me on principle. My hair, pulled into a low twist, already threatened to rebel. I adjusted the strap of my bag and headed toward the small private terminal lot. My old sedan was where I had left it, sticking out like a sore thumb between two sleek black town cars.
Anthony kept pace beside me, quiet but attentive. He hadn’t asked who I was calling. He didn’t need to. There was something about the way he moved in silence like he was always scanning, processing, thinking six steps ahead.
I didn’t say anything, but I felt the tension in my shoulders slowly start to uncoil. Not because the problems had lessened. But because his presence, maddeningly steady, grounded me in a way I hadn’t expected.
We reached the car, and I unlocked it with a chirp that sounded far too cheerful for the day ahead. As I slid into the driver’s seat, Anthony circled around to the passenger side, and for one ridiculous second, I wished we weren’t driving straight into more uncertainty.
I wished we were just going for coffee.
The A/C in my car wheezed like it had just been woken from a decade-long nap. I twisted the vents toward us, hoping it would at least fake competence before we melted into the seats.
“Is this a lease?” Anthony asked mildly as he shut the door.
“Not hardly. Completely paid off—mine,” I said, clicking my seatbelt and cringing at the faint rattle the engine made when I turned the key. “Try to contain your awe.”
He smirked but said nothing, which somehow made it worse.
As I pulled out of the lot, I caught a glimpse of my car in the glass facade of the terminal—my dusty little sedan pulling away. The absurdity of it all tugged at my mouth until I almost smiled.
Almost.
Now that I knew who Anthony really was—or had been, before everything—I couldn’t stop the errant, shamefully shallow thought: would I someday replace this car with something nicer? Something that didn’t have a glove box that jammed and a gas cap you had to jiggle like a magic trick?
I shoved the thought away, ashamed of it. His wealth wasn’t a perk. It was inherited through grief, not ambition. Charlotte. The name alone was a quiet slap.
“I’ve had worse flights. Being with you was the best part,” he said, staring out the window, breaking the silence.
“No. It was you that made it interesting,” I replied, though I’d spent half of it pretending I wasn’t nervous and the other half pretending I didn’t want to sit on his lap and seductively unbutton his shirt.
I reached for my cold water bottle in the cupholder, and my fingers brushed his, just for a second. He didn’t move. Neither did I. But the touch lingered on my skin like heat from the sun.
I saw him glance at his phone—screen angled slightly away, constantly analyzing, always managing a dozen unknowns, and probably working on a contingency plan to deal with Curtain.
The soft purr of the road filled the car, a comforting and constant presence.
And yet everything about the world we were driving into felt anything but.
Juliette was already seated at one of the outdoor tables when we arrived, arms crossed and sunglasses perched high on her head like she meant business. Three iced coffees waited on the table in front of her, sweating in the heat. She hadn’t touched hers.
“That one’s yours,” she said, nodding toward the one with extra foam. “Don’t say I never spoil you.”
I slid into the chair across from her. “Thanks,” I murmured, but she was already leaning in with a tight expression.
She tilted her chin toward the remaining drink. “Black, no sugar. Hope I guessed right.”
Anthony sat beside me and gave her a quick, appreciative nod. “You did. Thanks. you are a mind reader, Juliette.”
“Now, listen,” she added, waving away the moment. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to not tell me I’m being paranoid.”
That got my attention. Anthony shifted slightly beside me, and I turned fully toward her.
Juliette lowered her voice. “I’ve been noticing things. At the apartment.”
My stomach tightened. “What kind of things?”
“Footprints,” she said. “In the sand by the back fence. Near where I park. Men’s dress shoes. Same size, same tread, showing up more than once.”
Anthony’s brow ticked upward slightly. “Anyone in your building wear those?”
Juliette gave him a flat look. “It’s a ten-unit complex full of broke grad students and retired Floridians. I’ve seen Birkenstocks and boat shoes. No one’s strolling around in Oxfords.”
I exchanged a glance with Anthony. Calm. Listening.
“There’s more,” Juliette said, voice dropping further. “My laptop’s been acting weird. Random shutdowns. Once last night, the camera light blinked on for a second. I wasn’t even in a video call. Audio glitches. It only happened at home while you were gone.”
I felt a cold prickle crawl up my spine. “Juliette…”
“I know. I sound like I’m a tinfoil hat away from spiraling,” she said, eyes scanning the area around us. “But I swear to God, I feel like we’re being watched.”
I reached across the table and wrapped my hand around hers. “You’re not paranoid.”
Her fingers twitched under mine, not pulling away but not relaxing either.
“This is my fault,” I said softly. “I never should’ve involved you?—”
“You didn’t,” she snapped. “I offered to help. I just didn’t think help would mean having to check over my shoulder every time I go outside.”
“I know,” I murmured. “But I think it’s time we stayed somewhere else. Just until we figure out what’s going on.”
Juliette scoffed. “What, like a hotel?”
“Not a hotel,” Anthony said, speaking for the first time since his thank-you. His voice was low, certain. “But she’s right. It’s not safe right now. I suspect it’s Curtain or someone he has hired, but you never know.”
Juliette looked between us, her jaw tightening. “I didn’t sign up for this, Gab.”
I swallowed hard. “I know. I didn’t ask you to. But I need you to trust me now. Just for a little while.”
She stared at me, her features hard with worry. Then, finally, she let out a breath and nodded once.
“Fine. But if I find out someone’s been creeping around my Spotify playlists,” she said, grabbing her coffee, “I’m suing.”
It was a joke, kind of. But it landed like a sigh we hadn’t realized we’d been holding in.
Anthony stepped away from the table, phone pressed to his ear as he paced a few feet down the sidewalk. I watched him move—his shoulders tense but not rigid, his free hand tucked casually into his pocket. This wasn’t the usual businesslike Anthony. There was something different in his posture now—less detached with more personal concern. He wasn’t just managing a situation anymore.
He was protecting us.
Juliette sipped her coffee, clearly trying not to stare but absolutely failing. “Does he always look like he’s negotiating a nuclear ceasefire?”
“Only when things are really serious,” I said, attempting a smile. It didn’t quite land.
A moment later, Anthony returned, slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket. “Damian’s giving us access to his yacht. It’s docked in Coconut Grove Marina.”
Juliette blinked. “You’re serious? A yacht?”
“There’s one rule,” Anthony added, glancing between us. “We can’t take it out for a joyride.”
I leaned back in my chair and let out a theatrical sigh. “What a shame. I had my eye on a midnight sail to Cuba.”
That earned the smallest smile from him—just a quirk of the mouth, but I felt it like a ripple through my chest.
“It’s secure,” he said. “Private. We’ll be able to come and go without drawing attention.”
Juliette hesitated, then nodded once. “Fine. I’ll pack a bag. But for the record, I still hate this.”
I could see past her sarcasm, though—beneath it, a flicker of real anxiety had taken root.
Before I could respond, Anthony looked at me and added, more softly this time, “I’ll stay with you. Like I said—I keep my promises and that includes your twin sister.”
A tight breath escaped me. I didn’t realize how much I’d been bracing until he said it. Until I felt fully that we weren’t doing this alone.
And for the first time all day, I believed we might actually be okay.
We were just starting to gather our things when Juliette held up a hand.
“One more thing,” she said, her voice tight. “Louisa’s in. She’ll help—but there’s a condition.”
I froze mid-reach for my bag. “What kind of condition?”
“She wants proof,” Juliette said. “Real, technical, indisputable proof that the piece is authentic before she even thinks about going further.”
A twist of dread curled low in my stomach.
“Can’t say I blame her,” she went on. “After everything with the Devereux family? The lies, the cover-ups, the mess that name left behind? She doesn’t trust Frank Curtain just because he is Alistair Devereux’s attorney. I didn’t tell her he was blackmailing you. I feared it would scare her too much, and she would tell me she didn’t want to get involved.”
I sank back into my chair—heart suddenly too loud in my ears. Louisa had always been guarded, but this level of scrutiny—this demand—was unusual.
“She’ll get her proof,” I said quietly. “The Burker Tracer is already set up at the gallery.”
Anthony nodded beside me. “It’ll give us a full breakdown—chemical signature of the paint, aging analysis of the canvas. If the piece is real, we’ll know.”
“And if it’s not?” Juliette asked.
He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to.
I stared down at the condensation dripping from my coffee cup, fingers tightening around the plastic like it could somehow anchor me.
If the painting wasn’t real…
I didn’t finish the thought. Didn’t want to. But it hovered there, quiet and heavy, a question I wasn’t ready to face. Louisa’s cooperation, the work we’d barely begun, the fragile sense of momentum—all of it suddenly felt like it was balancing on a single canvas.
There was a fine line between preservation and exposure. The Burker Tracer didn’t lie. But sometimes, knowing the truth came with a cost you couldn’t predict.
I looked up and caught Anthony’s gaze. He had a glint of something in his eyes. “This is about to get interesting.”
Juliette didn’t add anything. She stood with a sharp scrape of her chair and tossed her empty coffee cup into the bin like she was done playing nice with the universe.
“Guess we’d better go pack.”
As we stepped away from the café, Anthony’s phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen and veered ahead, lifting it to his ear with a muttered, “Give me a minute.” His voice faded into the noise of a passing car as he moved a few paces ahead—definitely talking to Damian again.
I let the quiet between Juliette and me linger for a beat before leaning in. “He doesn’t know,” I murmured. “About our connection to A Lady and Gentleman in Black —or that we’re trying to prove it belonged to our family.”
Juliette blinked. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “Since there is no evidence there are living heirs to the Van Den Berg family, it was easy to bury the provenance. But I haven’t told him that we are the heirs the MM&W Foundation is searching for. Not yet. Not without proof.”
She absorbed that, lips pressing together like she wanted to say more but thought better of it.
“Oh—and Lina, from Switzerland, called,” I added quickly. “She left a message. Said she had some interesting information for us, but I haven’t had a chance to call her back.”
Juliette’s face lit up. “You want me to?”
“Please.”
“I’m on it.”
Her excitement softened the knot in my chest. It reminded me why we were doing this at all.
Anthony returned a moment later, slipping his phone into his pocket with a flash of a smile. “All set. Damian said the harbor master was waiting for us with the keys. Oh—and he wants to meet Juliette if she looks anything like her twin.”
I rolled my eyes. “Damian isn’t the guy for her unless she wants bottle service, international parties, and maybe never hear from him again after date three.”
Juliette shrugged, licking her lips with an exaggerated slowness. “You never know.”
I groaned. “I do. I definitely do.”
Anthony chuckled, and Juliette winked at me like the world was still ours for the taking.
For a moment, I let myself believe she might be right.