Chapter 59 #2
Her glare cuts like a knife, but her phone rings before she can fire back a retort. Concern immediately replaces the irritation on her face when she sees the screen. “It’s Viv,” she says. “She’d never call on a Tuesday night unless it was important.”
“Take it.” I pat her leg reassuringly. I’m glad she’s grown close with her sister. Vivienne is one of the most level-headed people I know, and Maeve needs family members she can trust. Ever since Bash’s accident, she’s become terrified she’s going to lose one of them.
“I’ll be right back.” She stands and walks out of the room, phone already pressed to her ear.
The chatter around the table has died down, our cheerful camaraderie replaced by a thick unease as we wait to see what’s wrong.
Walker places her hand on my arm. “I’m sure everything’s okay,” she says, but we all know those are empty words. The last time Maeve got a call like this, her brother had nearly died in an accident.
Maeve returns several minutes later, her face fighting for composure. Her eyes find mine, and I stand up and move toward her. Whatever has happened, we’ll get through it together. We’ve already been to hell and back. Nothing could be worse than nearly losing her for good.
* * *
Two hours later, I close the door behind the last of our friends and turn to Maeve. “What did Vivienne want earlier? You looked a little shook up,” I say, pulling her into my arms.
She shakes her head. “I’m not really sure. She was worried about something Dad did after Bash’s accident. I got the sense he was up to something back then, but Viv didn’t want to tell me what it was.”
I frown. “That doesn’t sound like her.”
“I know.” She bites her lip. “Whatever it is has her feeling guilty.”
“If your father’s involved, I imagine she has good reason to.”
Maeve buries her nose in my chest. “I don’t want to think about my family right now.”
“What would you like to think about then?” I brush my lips against the shell of her ear, and she shivers.
“I thought maybe you could help me relax,” she says, lifting her face to me.
“Maeve Allegra Wilson, are you propositioning me for sex?”
She grins. “What are you going to do about it if I am?”
“If you have to ask that, I clearly have some work to do.” I grab her hand to lead her to the bedroom, but the painting in the foyer catches my attention.
It’s my favorite, Emancipation by Simone Caldwell.
I hung it right inside my door so I can see it every time I come home, so I’ve literally looked at it hundreds of times. Tonight though, something feels off.
Maeve tugs on my hand, but I stop in front of the abstract lines. “Hang on,” I say, studying the canvas.
“What’s wrong?” She returns to my side and stares at it with me.
“There was a tiny mark on this painting when I got it. The gallery said it happened during transit.”
“And?”
“And it’s not there anymore.” I squint at the painting and try to remember the last time I saw the small scratch, but I haven’t looked closely at this particular piece in months.
“Okay, well, that’s a good thing, right?” Maeve reaches for the top button of my shirt. “Now are you going to take me to the bedroom and do all those things you promised earlier?”
“Maeve, you don’t get it,” I say, placing my hand over hers. “If that mark is gone, that means this one’s a forgery.”
She huffs out an impatient sigh. “Or it means that fate decided to reward you for being so sexy. Besides, that painting is ugly.”
My frown deepens as I look down at her. Her tone is too flippant. The Maeve I know would already be three feet deep in a revenge plot over this. “What aren’t you telling me?” I take a step back and watch her face.
She turns red, as I knew she would. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lifting her chin, she takes a step backward.
My mind whirls over the past six months and lands on one particular challenge—the only one she won, because I didn’t give a fuck anymore and stole her perfume.
It drove me crazy that I couldn’t figure out what she’d taken from my place, and I tore apart my flat, trying to discover what was missing. After several days, I convinced myself she must have taken a dust bunny from beneath the sofa, because everything else was exactly where it should’ve been.
“Where’s my painting, Maeve?” I move toward her, and she retreats another foot.
“I don’t have your stupid painting,” she says.
“You’d better have it, because that one’s fake.” I point at the wall while keeping my eyes trained on her.
She watches me for several seconds, chest heaving. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I read the indecision on her face right before she darts down the hall.
Grinning, I give her a tiny head start, then bolt after her. With her short legs, I’ll catch her before she reaches the bedroom. And when I do, there’s going to be hell to pay.