Chapter 41
RAINE
“That’s it.” I hook my arm with Wren’s. “Did you like the castle tour? There’s just one thing left—the collection.” I take her back inside from the garden.
“I wish we had more time to do the maze. I bet you could really get lost in there.” Wren looks back at the spot where I thought I was going to die.
“Yeah, well, we have to pick and choose, you know. Like when you’re on a one-night layover. Do you go looking at the city or do you sleep?”
“Always go for the tour. I can sleep later.”
“Right, well, I know art isn’t your jam, but this collection is amazing.”
“Okay, lead the way.”
I take her back inside to the south hallway and into the old banquet hall, now collection or hoard room, depending on who you are.
“Whoa, Raine.”
“I know.”
Wren spins around, her mouth open. “This is . . . this is crazy. I don’t know who painted this, but I know I should know.”
“Cezanne.” I pull a few racks out of the paintings I’ve hung up already. “Monet, Vermeer, Cassatt, Renoir, Manet, and Degas. Most of the ones I’ve hung up are smaller canvases under four feet. At some point, I’m going to need an assistant to get the rest properly taken care of.
“Right, Cezanne. These are unbelievable. And there’s . . . whoa. Are you sure they’re paying you enough?”
“I think so.”
“I don’t think so. And I don’t mean to sound like Mom, because you know I love you and I have—”
“I know you have faith in me. I’ll explain later. Let’s just enjoy this for now.” I’d tell her now if it wasn’t for the NDA.
Wren turns, and her demeanor goes still. “You’ll explain later?”
I shrug.
Wren glares at me. She purses her lips. “Okay. This is unreal. I’m lost . . . How did you even know where to start? Weren’t you overwhelmed?”
“I just dug in. And yes, I was overwhelmed. I still am, but I can only do what I can do in the amount of time I have.”
“Raine, this is more than the chance of a lifetime.”
“I know, right?” My shoulders rise to my ears.
Wren walks to the end of the hall. “There are so many. And a lot of them are still packed away.”
I nod. It’s like reliving myself seeing it all for the first time. Only now, I know I have a plan, so it will be okay. At least, I hope it will be okay.
I give her ten more minutes to shake it out of her system, sitting at my desk in the alcove in the meantime.
It’s not enough, and I’m honestly shocked.
Wren normally lasts maybe ten minutes in a museum gallery before she declares herself done.
Or asks for directions to the museum restaurant.
So the fact that she’s still walking around the room is mind-blowing.
Another ten minutes go by, and the notes on my desk call to me. I’m not sure how much time has gone by when I realize she’s standing over my shoulder. “Oh, these are just notes. Nothing exciting.”
“Sure. I wasn’t looking at the notes but the painting you have over your computer.”
“Oh, yes. It’s . . . not a well-known artist. No one you would have heard of.”
Wren laughs. “I haven’t heard of anyone unless you’ve told me their names. So I can believe that. I like it, though. It’s really whimsical.”
“I know, right?” I sink down next to her.
“There’s something about it that just feels good. But what do I know?”
“That’s the point of art. You don’t have to know anything about it if it makes you feel good.”
“Well, it does make me feel good.”
“Then that’s all you need.”
“That, a croissant, and a three-hour nap.” She stretches.
“Ready to hit the village?”
She nods. It takes a while to get back to her car. Because although she would never admit it, she’s just as inquisitive as me. We stop several times to take in a carving on the wall or stare at a mosaic beneath our feet.
Iget in the car, putting my overnight bag in the back seat. “You’re sure you’re good? Not too tired?”
“I can drive, Raine.”
“I know you can. I just wanted to make sure you’re not too tired.” I glance back at Cloud Rift. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone, and it felt weird. But then, there wasn’t anyone around to say goodbye to.
I’m nervous. Why, I have no idea. Maybe it’s being in a car with my sister, who isn’t the best driver on the planet? Or maybe it’s leaving the guys in the castle. I’m going to have dreams about Evander’s workout pants for a long time. The pants and his hot abs.
Wren takes the first corner of the drive too fast. I hate to admit it, but I’m focusing really hard on not gripping the armrest and appearing as casual as I can.
“You’ve lived in New York City for a decade without a car,” I say as evenly as I can manage.
“It’s not something you forget. I drove all the way down here from Zurich. And I had to drive through the village to get to the castle. It’s not far.”
“Not far, right?” I’m not thinking about the five, no, six accidents Wren had between the ages of sixteen and twenty. My parents refused to let me learn how to drive because Wren already had a driver’s license and her insurance cost too much. “Do you have directions to the inn?”
“It’s easy to find. It’s on Main Street.” Wren parks the rental. “See? We’re here in one piece. Nothing to worry about.”
“You did a good job, Wren.”
“Giving me praise isn’t going to make me love you any more than I already do.”
“So keep it up,” we say together and laugh all the way to the front desk. The lobby is quaint. Not a shabby rundown quaint but really quaint, with old ski prints from the ’30s framed on the wall. There are giant wooden skis mounted behind the oak desk.
“I have a reservation for Fischer, party of two. First names Wren and Raine?” Which is the whole issue with having unusual first names: people think our first names are last names.
“Ah, yes. I see you here. Can I see your passports?”
Wren lifts her vest and takes hers from a thin fanny back beneath it. “Excuse me. Once you hear the horrors of someone losing their passport in Asia, you never let the thing out of your sight again.”
“I’ve had more than one guest accuse me of keeping their passports, only to find them in their handbag later.”
“Guests, they can be horrible.” Wren bonds with the agent while I fish mine out of my bag and hand it over.
The agent taps on her laptop. I was kind of hoping she’d have a large leatherbound book filled out in cursive handwriting.
But then she pulls a key off a hook behind her and hands it to me.
“Here you are, Miss Fischer.” She hands us one key on a giant bell keychain, though the striker’s been removed from it, so it doesn’t make any noise when Wren shakes it.
“Yes, we used to have real bells, but guests complained about the racket in the corridors.”
“I can imagine.”
“Would you like some help with your bags?”
“Oh, we don’t have much.”
“Right. You’re up the stairs on the third floor. Room 301.”
“Thank you.”
We’re halfway up the stairs. My sister has one of her bags in each hand and is charging up the stairs in her heels like it’s nothing while I’m huffing with my tiny gym bag. “Holy crap, Wren, slow down.”
“You need to get out of your painting cave more often if you can’t keep up with me in these shoes.”
“The fact that you’ve always been athletic while I’ve been a bookworm has nothing to do with it.”
“Book dragon,” she corrects me. But she stops on the landing too. “You always said you’re a book dragon.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m a bookworm.” I don’t want to think about being a dragon. The massive underbelly of Kieren coming down at me flashes before my eyes. His shiny black talons reaching for me . . .
“Don’t go all pale on me. Geez, sis. You really do need to take it easy. Come on, we can both take a power nap before we head out to see the town.” She climbs the rest of the way to the top floor.
I’m still behind her, but only a few steps. She pushes the key into the door and turns it with a satisfying click.
“Holy shit, Raine. Did you get a really good raise, or did you get the manager’s special?”