Chapter 38
REED
Seattle, Washington
Age Twenty-Nine
“Look at the form here. It’s a tondo,” Evelyn said.
“A tondo?” Reed asked, studying the Botticelli—a painting portraying the Virgin Mary surrounded by angels with an infant Jesus sitting in her lap. It was one of many such paintings in the Seattle Art Museum they’d been examining for the last few hours.
“Correct,” Evelyn said. “A circle. It creates a sense of harmony. It’s an efficient use of space. It adds to the warmth of the piece. Can you see it?”
Reed could see it. Something about the portrait felt more inviting than the others.
At some point, they’d all started to blend together to him.
Painting after painting of figures wearing serene expressions while standing in gardens or posing in churches.
The colors were all too similar, the scenes interchangeable. He was bored in minutes.
But then Evelyn walked him through the differences, and the paintings came to life.
She pointed out the way the impressionists used loose brush strokes while the Baroque artists employed a more energetic style.
She noted the atmospheric effects utilized by the Renaissance painters and the playfulness of the scenes of the 18th century masters.
These little things Reed would have never noticed on his own, but were blindingly clear once Evelyn highlighted them, like he’d been handed a fresh pair of eyes.
She did that. The way she looked at the world continually surprised him.
Evelyn didn’t simply hear music—she felt it.
The way a bass drum throbbed in your chest. How the sound of a violin filled you with a warmth like air.
She saw stories in the mundane. A scuffed doorknob was an opportunity to question how many hands had worn away the paint.
A crack in a ceiling was a home’s slow-motion war against gravity.
The color of the sky was never simply blue but rather cerulean or cobalt or teal.
Her observations were one of the things he loved about her, which was troubling because he shouldn’t love anything at all.
He slipped his hand into hers and caught the scent of ink and paper mixed with that of violet.
Evelyn never left home without a few spritzes of a fragrance she’d found online called Paperback.
When he’d asked her about it, she’d simply shrugged and smiled.
Books are my favorite smell. They were his now, too.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her away from the piece. “We’re going to be late.”
“My father can wait.”
“Maybe for you he will,” Reed replied. “But he won’t for me.”
“He’ll have to,” Evelyn said, looking perplexed. “We’ll arrive in the same car.”
“No, I mean …” He trailed off with a chuckle. “Never mind. Let’s go. I want to be on time.”
Evelyn struggled with anything that moved beyond the literal.
Implied meanings were lost on her. Reed thought of statements like the one she’d just made as Evelyn-isms—quirks of speech that should annoy him but didn’t.
After all the mind games women had put him through over the years, it was refreshing not to have to second guess everything she said.
Evelyn told him exactly what she was thinking.
Her father did the same, but nothing about what Donald Nash said was endearing. He grilled Reed like he was some fresh-out-of-prison felon any time he saw him. No matter how supportive he was of Evelyn, no matter how kind or polite or respectful, Reed couldn’t seem to win the man over.
Not that Reed could blame him.
The Nashes were already seated by the time he and Evelyn arrived. They lounged at a table in the back corner of the restaurant next to a wall of glass overlooking Lake Union. The sun set in the distance, draping the Cascades in a blanket of pink light.
Paula rose as they neared, first hugging Evelyn, then moving to Reed.
Donald remained in his chair and watched.
He had a chin as hard as a dam and eyes that sparkled with all the shine of wet asphalt.
He clutched a half-empty tumbler of amber liquid which Reed guessed to be a Manhattan based on the cherry and the large block of ice.
The man had an affinity for all things whiskey, something Reed enjoyed himself, not that it had helped them connect.
Nothing Reed did or said elevated him above the man’s suspicion.
Reed extended his hand across the table. “Hello, Donald.” Donald, never Don. He’d made that mistake once early on. My friends call me that. You can call me Donald.
Donald stared at Reed’s hand until he pulled it back, then gestured at the empty chair across from him with a tilt of his glass. “Are you going to sit, or are you going to stand there all night, making me uncomfortable?”
“Be nice,” Paula said, slapping her husband’s arm as Reed sat. “So, Adrian,” she asked, “was the SAM everything you imagined?”
“It was,” Reed said. “Evelyn was a great tour guide.”
Paula set her chin on her fingers. “She always is.”
“We spent most of our time studying the European artists,” Evelyn said. “Adrian was especially interested in the transition from the Renaissance to the Baroque.”
“Is that so?” Paula asked, winking at Reed.
Reed smiled. “I didn’t even know the difference between the two before today.”
Donald leaned in and set an elbow on the table, his gaze coming to rest on Evelyn. “Did you find the Reni?”
“Oh, yes. The Atalana. It was there like you said.”
“You remember seeing it in Naples, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do.”
“I’ll never forget that trip,” Donald said, his face softening in a way that made Reed wonder if he was looking at a different person—a gentler, kinder man hidden somewhere beneath all the rock and stone. “It was incredible.”
“It was a very enjoyable experience,” Evelyn agreed, smiling brightly.
Reed had no clue what trip they were talking about which was fine.
The more they talked, the less he had to.
Unfortunately, Paula pulled him right back into the conversation after taking a sip of her wine.
“When Evelyn was younger, Don took her on an art tour of Italy. They stopped at all of the big museums. She came back a brand-new person. It was a real turning point for her.”
“A turning point?” Reed asked, curious. “How so?”
Donald shot Paula a glance. “Don’t.”
Paula opened her mouth, but it was Evelyn who replied first. “Why not?”
“Because,” Donald said with the cement flowing back into his face, “it’s a family matter. And there’s no need to rehash the past.”
“It’s fine,” Evelyn replied, brushing him off as she turned toward Reed. “When I was younger, I struggled with depression. I was … unkind to myself at times. Art helped me heal.”
“I said, don’t.” Donald cleared his throat and waved his empty tumbler at the waiter, who quickly came over. “I’ll take another of these. And then we’ll be ready to order. Everyone pick out your meal.”
The waiter nodded and disappeared. Evelyn remained undeterred. “No. I want to talk about this. We can discuss anything in front of Adrian. I love him.”
Reed coughed, nearly choked, and drowned it with a quick drink of his water.
Love was a weapon he liked to employ as quickly as possible when it came to a con.
Love impaired a target’s ability to think clearly.
Love allowed him to manipulate well. Love had earned him hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years.
And love would help him take much more from Evelyn.
But for her to drop the L-word here for the first time, right in front of her father, was dangerous. It jeopardized everything.
When Reed looked up, he fully expected Donald to be glaring at him, ready to leap over the table and tear him in half with his bare hands.
But he wasn’t. Donald was staring at Evelyn instead, his lips parted, his forehead ashen.
Paula gaped at her as well, a fine tremor running through the wine glass in her hand before she set it down.
“That’s … well, it’s wonderful. Isn’t it, Don? ”
“You don’t love him,” Donald said.
“I do,” Evelyn responded bluntly, as if she were commenting on the weather or the score of a baseball game.
“No, you don’t,” Donald repeated.
Evelyn stiffened. The reaction wasn’t much, but Reed saw the slight tightening of her jaw and the way her lips pressed into a thin line before she spoke. “I’m sorry, but are you implying that you are me?”
Donald’s brow crumpled. “What?”
“You just said I don’t love him. In order for you to know something like that, you would need to have access to my feelings—which you don’t. You aren’t me. I love him. Don’t presume to tell me otherwise.”
“But, Livy, you don’t even know him.” Donald’s tone had turned pleading—the kind of voice Reed knew he never used with anyone but her.
She crossed her arms, a flush coming to her cheeks. “Incorrect. I know that he’s kind and inquisitive and listens to me when I speak. I know I’m his top priority. I know we share many interests, and I know that he loves me. He’s already said so.”
Reed had—several times now, but Evelyn hadn’t said the words back, had simply blinked at him and gone back to whatever she’d been doing at the time without a word.
Donald groaned and rubbed his head. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Evelyn. I don’t care what he says. He doesn’t love you.” He flapped his hand at Reed like Reed was nothing more than a mosquito to shoo away. “He’s using you. Can’t you see that?”
“Donald, stop,” Paula warned with a slight shake of her head. Others were looking now, heads all around the restaurant turning their way.
“No. This guy drops into my daughter’s life out of nowhere like some goddamn magician, moves in with her a few months later, and suddenly they’re in love just like that?
My ass.” Donald shot Reed a quick glare.
“He barely even exists, Paula. Zane hasn’t been able to dig up much on him besides a birth certificate and a few odd jobs, and—”
Evelyn cut him off, her face darkening. “Wait. You’re investigating him?”
Reed’s insides churned.
“Of course, I am,” Donald said. “To protect you. This is moving too fast.”
“No, it isn’t!” Evelyn raised her hand and extended a single finger. “You just can’t stand the fact that someone other than you might make me happy.”
He raised a hand. “Livy, that’s not it at all.”
“Yes, it is!” Her voice climbed toward a screech.
Reed had never seen her like this before—it was like she was transforming into a wild animal before his eyes.
“I’m not a teenager anymore! I’m an adult.
You don’t control my life. And you certainly don’t control Adrian’s.
I refuse to let you ruin what we are building together.
If you persist in interfering like this, I will have no choice but to sever our relationship! ”
Time seemed to slow and then stop all together. The ropes in Reed’s guts knotted tighter. Spiders skittered across his neck. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to be sick.
“Excuse me,” he said, jerking to his feet and stumbling toward the bathroom.
He crashed through the door and made a beeline for the sink and turned it on.
He splashed cold water over his hands, over his face.
He was overheating, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The ground undulated beneath him, rising and falling like he was on a boat.
Stop it! What’s wrong with you?
Reed didn’t usually feel this way with cons.
Sure, the circumstance was extreme—one of the worst he’d endured to date, especially the part about Donald investigating him—but Reed prided himself on his calm, his cool, and this reaction was anything but cool.
He was on the verge of a panic attack. No, he was having one.
But why?
Because she’s different than the others.
Because she actually cares about you.
Because you just might care about her.
The bathroom door slammed open before he could absorb the last part. Reed felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He knew exactly who was standing behind him.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”
Reed slowly rotated. Donald Nash stood a few feet back, fuming, his hands clenched. Reed half-expected to see two coils of smoke rising from his nostrils. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. I know what my daughter’s like. Answer the question. Why are you with her?”
There were so many things Reed wanted to say in that moment, so many bullshit reasons he could give the man. But Donald Nash would see through every one. So, Reed said the only thing he couldn’t argue with.
“I know you might not see it, but I love her, sir. Truly. She’s one of a kind.”
Donald Nash scowled, and a road map of wrinkles imprinted on his forehead.
His eyes boiled like hot pools of tar. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but there’s something off about you.
Something I can’t put my finger on. But I will.
And I want you to listen to me carefully.
I am not a forgiving man. And I’m not a kind one.
There is nothing more important to me in this world than my daughter.
If you hurt her, if you damage her in any way whatsoever, I will destroy you, Adrian.
And I’m not just talking legally. No, I’ll make sure you never walk again. That’s a promise.”
Reed stood there, shocked. He didn’t need to feign it; the threat left him shaken. “I would never hurt her, sir,” he managed. “You have my word.” Then, before the man could say anything else, Reed pushed past him right through the door.