Chapter 8
8
KERRIGAN
A s much as I was enjoying my whirlwind romance with Aston, it hadn’t left much time for me to hang out with Melanie. Not that she was around at night very often since that was when most of her gigs with the catering company were. But I got lucky tonight since she had a rare night off while Aston was busy elsewhere.
We didn’t see each other every day, but he’d been vague when I’d asked what was taking him away from me this evening. Something about an important deal he needed to close, but he hadn’t mentioned which piece he was brokering.
I hadn’t pushed since I understood that the success of Belladonna Gallery meant that he’d need to be close-lipped about some of his clients. Most serious collectors didn’t want anyone outside their small circle to know about their deals, so discretion was just a part of the business.
Pulling my thoughts away from the man who’d consumed them since we met, I focused on stirring a pot of homemade marinara sauce while Melanie chopped fresh basil beside me. Music played softly from her Bluetooth speaker, and the apartment was filled with the cozy aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and toasted bread.
After she dropped the herbs into the sauce, she got to work on dividing the dough that she’d let rest for the past thirty minutes. “If you’d told me that you were an aspiring chef while we hashed out the details of our roommate agreement, I definitely would have agreed to pay more for access to all of the delicious food you make.”
Melanie shook her head with a soft laugh. “And I would’ve paid you to be my guinea pig.”
“You say that as though you’ve ever made something I didn’t like.” I popped a slice of tomato drizzled with balsamic glaze into my mouth and hummed with pleasure as the flavors burst across my tastebuds.
“Only because you have great taste.” Her hands moved quickly as she rolled out the dough and began to cut it, leaving behind ribbons of fettuccine that curled slightly at the edges, soft and golden. “In men, too.”
My mouth watered in anticipation of the meal I was helping her prepare, but those three little words made me look up from the pot. “Is that your subtle way of asking for gossip?” I teased, dipping a spoon into the sauce and giving it a taste.
“You’re damn right it is. Spill, Kerr. What’s it like dating Mr. Tall, Dark, and Frencher-than-thou?”
I laughed, nearly choking on the delicious marinara. “Frencher-than-thou?”
She looked up from the pasta dough and tilted her head to the side. “He kissed your hand the first time he met you. And you said that it sounds like he’s quoting poetry when he flirts. If that’s not the Frenchest thing I ever heard, I don’t know what is.”
“Fair point.” I rolled my eyes with a grin. “He knows everything about art, but not in a snobby way. It’s more like he’s lived inside every masterpiece. Ridiculously smooth, which I should’ve expected with how he kissed my knuckles when we met. And he looks at me as though I’m the only thing that exists. Which is…”
I tried to think of a word that accurately described how being with Aston made me feel but couldn’t come up with anything.
“So romantic,” she sighed with a dreamy look in her eyes.
“But also intense. In a way that should feel overwhelming, but it doesn’t. Probably because he’s so thoughtful. And generous.”
Melanie gave me a look that was equal parts impressed and wary. “That sounds almost too good to be true.”
I paused, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth. “I know. I keep thinking the same thing. But he hasn’t given me a single reason to doubt him.”
She plopped the noodles into a pot of boiling water. “Except for how you haven’t mentioned that painting you thought was fake in more than a week.”
That stopped me cold. I blinked at her. “What?”
She quirked a brow. “The whole reason you went to that gala was because you were hoping the painting was part of the auction. And it was. But ever since you met Aston, it’s like your inner detective has taken a sabbatical.”
I turned away, pretending to stir the sauce, but her words hit harder than I expected. It was true. I hadn’t even looked at my notes in over two weeks. The theory that had consumed me, the one I was sure would make my career…I’d practically forgotten it existed.
Because of Aston.
The sensual fog that filled my head each time I was with him made me want to forget the world outside his arms. Which was probably why I’d been avoiding my research notebook like it had personally offended me.
“I just needed a break,” I explained, but my voice lacked conviction.
“Maybe that’s for the best,” she mused as she drained the pasta. “At least you won’t get sucked into something dangerous if your suspicions are right.”
We finished prepping dinner in silence before settling on the couch with our food and starting a romantic movie. Something old and dramatic where the heroine wore sweeping dresses and the hero spoke in passionate declarations.
But I couldn’t focus.
Not on the food or the movie.
I wasn’t even tempted by the delicious crepe cake Melanie had brought home from her job the night before.
My thoughts kept circling back to the recently discovered painting that had been certified by an expert as the stolen Caravaggio and auctioned for an obscene amount of money.
And Aston.
He had shown me priceless works tucked away in hidden places. Had told me stories that only a true insider would know. Not just about gallery politics or museum acquisitions, but about stolen works of art and infamously smuggled pieces. Perhaps it was just knowledge he’d picked up over the years, considering he’d been in the art business for far longer than me. Still, it didn’t sit completely right with me.
I had been so dazzled by his charm, by the intoxicating way he made me feel, that I hadn’t questioned anything. Not even how he seemed to have an unerring sense of timing when it came to distracting me from the Caravaggio. A topic that I just now realized he had avoided.
Was it all to keep me distracted? Had he been showering me with private tours and exclusive experiences to lead me just far enough away from the one thread I’d been following before I met him?
Had the rumors about his connections to the darker side of the art world been true?
“Hey,” Melanie said, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re in your head again.”
I set my dessert on the coffee table in front of us. “Sorry.”
She patted my hand in sympathy. “You don’t owe me any apologies.”
My mind raced as I tried to focus on the movie flickering on the screen. I didn’t want to believe Aston was capable of deception. He had been nothing but thoughtful and kind to me. My heart ached at the possibility that he wasn’t falling for me as I had hoped.
My voice was barely audible as I whispered, “He told me I could trust him.”
Melanie didn’t say anything. She just watched me with quiet understanding.
And maybe that was what I needed most. Not someone to tell me what to do. Just a friend to remind me who I was.
I rose from the couch and went to the small bookshelf in the corner. From behind a row of cookbooks and art theory texts, I pulled out my notebook. It was worn and dog-eared, filled with scribbled notes, sketches, timelines, and suspicions.
I ran my fingers over the cover, suddenly more certain than ever. It was time to pick up the thread again.
“Are you going to talk to him about it?” Melanie asked from the couch.
I hesitated, clutching the notebook to my chest. “I’m not sure. What if it’s all just a coincidence and he’s only been a distraction because we’re falling for each other? I’d hate to accuse him of something and be completely wrong, ruining things between us before they truly get started.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “You don’t have to confront him. Not yet. Just…start asking the right questions again. Get back to doing what you do best.”
“I think I will,” I agreed, glancing down at the notes I hadn’t touched in too long.
As I sat back down beside Melanie and picked at my creamy dessert, I reminded myself that Aston had never lied to me. He hadn’t hidden where he worked, his far-reaching connections, or even how deeply he was entrenched in the art world.
Sure, he had access to places others didn’t. But so did a lot of influential people. That didn’t mean he was part of something shady.
And there was always the possibility that he had the same concerns as Melanie. Maybe he didn’t want me to get hurt chasing down a theory that could blow up in my face professionally. Or worse.
Aston could just be trying to protect me.
That sounded exactly like something the man I was falling for would do.