by Maisey Yates
He regarded her closely for a moment. Then he nodded slowly, moving over to where the painting was, extending his hand and brushing his thumb along the edge of the canvas. “It is very beautiful. In fact,” he said, looking away from the painting and back at Gabriella. “It reminds me a bit of you.”
Her face heated. “I don’t look anything like that.”
“You certainly do. Beautiful. Lush.”
“I don’t.”
“This painting is not the view of the subject. It’s the vision of her admirer,” he said, his dark eyes locked on to hers. “For that reason, I would say that I’m in a much better position to evaluate it than you.”
“You’re not my lover,” she said, the word sweet and thick like honey on her tongue.
“No,” he said, his tone taking on a wistful quality. “I’m not.”
“How are we going to get this back to our room?”
“Very quickly,” he said.
He took the portrait out, covered it with the burlap again and quickly closed the original painting.
She moved forward and pressed her necklace deeply into the notch again to lock it just as before.
“If he truly had no idea this painting was here, he will have no reason to believe it isn’t mine,” Alex said. “Of course, carrying a rather large canvas through the house may arouse suspicion. I doubt I could convince him I was simply taking the painting out for a walk.”
“Then we had better hurry,” Gabriella said. “Everyone else is still occupied in the ballroom.”
“And thank God for Prime Minister Colletti’s devotion to having a good time.”
They walked to the double doors that led back to the corridor. Alex opened the first one slightly, peering out into the hall to see if anyone was there. “It looks clear,” he said.
She nodded, and they both slipped through the outside, closing the gallery door tightly shut behind.
It was ridiculous. Alex was wearing a suit that was rather disheveled, they were both masked and now Alex was also carrying a piece of art.
If anyone saw them, they would likely imagine they had simply had too much to drink.
They walked down the hall quickly, then they rounded to the left and froze. Up against the wall was another couple engaged in the very thing Alex had wanted the rest of the party to believe they were engaged in. The man had the woman pressed tightly against the wall, her hands held over her head while he kissed her again, his other hand roaming over her curves.
A flash of heat wound itself around Gabriella, her entire body ready to go up in flames at the sight of it.
What would it be like to have Alex unleash his passion on her like that? To have him press her up against the wall. To have him touch her like that.
The scene before them highlighted just how circumspect he had been.
For some reason, she was disappointed.
“Quietly,” Alex whispered as the two of them continued behind the amorous couple. The woman’s eyes were closed, the man’s back to them, and they were able to walk along behind them without detection. They hurried through the halls, the rest of which they found empty. Not stopping until they reached their rooms.
“Excellent,” Alex said, closing the door tightly behind them. “I will pack this away, and if anyone looks through my suitcase I will say that I acquired it elsewhere during our travels. There is no reason for them to think otherwise.”
Gabriella shook her head, laughing—a husky sound. “I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would be involved in an art heist.”
“Does it not belong to your family, Gabriella?”
“I feel it does,” she said.
“Then it’s hardly a heist.”
“Still. I’ve done quite a lot today that I never imagined I would.”
Dancing with him. Kissing him. Being called beautiful. Now it was ending. This was the end of it all. She didn’t care about stealing the painting. She cared about the mission being over.
“I have to say the same, Gabby, and I did not think that was possible.”
She wasn’t even irritated this time when he called her Gabby. No one else called her that. It was a name that only came from Alex. And she decided that there was something she quite liked about that. Whether it was because it kept this entire event separate from her real life, or because it made all of this feel special.
She was desperate to feel like it was special to him.
“I’m glad you found it diverting.”
He laughed. “Oh, I found it more than that.”
He took his mask off then, reached up and loosened his black tie. There was something about that look. That rakish, disheveled look that made her heart beat faster. That made her limbs feel weak. That made her stomach tighten.
Of course, it was the same when he was perfectly pressed, the same when he had a mask over his face. It was the same no matter what.
“We will leave tomorrow,” he said.
“What reason will we give?”
“I will tell him that urgent business has come up in the States. I think I have done enough to secure a deal with the prime minister, and I managed to get what I came for. All in all, quite a successful trip.”
Gabriella couldn’t help but laugh. “Almost too successful. I keep expecting guards and hounds to descend upon us.”
“Nothing like that, I think. I’m not sure this painting is truly valuable to anyone other than our grandparents.”
Gabriella blinked, pulled up yet again by the link between Lucia and Giovanni. “Yes. It’s very strange, that.”
“Not especially.”
“A bit.”
“Only if you like romanticizing things. And I do not.”
She rolled her eyes. “How very surprising.”
He paused in front of her, a strange expression passing over his face. The left side of his lips curved slightly upward as he studied her. He moved forward and her breath caught in her chest.
He reached out, tracing the edge of her mask before lifting it slowly. He pulled it away, the soft brush of his skin against hers enough to make her feel like she was on fire. “So very beautiful,” he said, his words hushed.
She waited for him to lean in. Waited for him to kiss her again. But he didn’t. He simply stood, looking at her, not touching her, not making a move to close the distance between them.
She wished she were brave. Brave enough to touch him. To lean into him. To recapture what had happened in that empty room.
“Goodnight, Gabriella,” he said finally, his words summarily dismissing her, stealing her chance at bravery.
She cleared her throat. “Goodnight, Alex.”
She turned and walked into her bedroom. She felt very much like she had missed something. Like she had left a very important piece of herself behind.
She blinked hard against the stinging sensation in her eyes, did her best to breathe around the rock that had settled on her chest.
They would leave tomorrow. They had completed their objective. Tomorrow, she would be back on Aceena. Back with her grandmother. And everything would return to the way it was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EVERYTHING HAD GONE smoothly during their escape from Isolo D’Oro, and it continued to go smoothly upon their reentry into Aceena. Alex would have been surprised, but things tended to go smoothly for him, so he saw no reason this should be different. Except for the fact that everything about it felt different in a million small ways he could not quite quantify.
Well, there was one thing that he could name. Gabriella. He ignored that thought as they walked into the hall at the D’Oro estate.
He had the painting under his arm, the rest of their bags being handled by the staff. Gabriella was walking along beside him, wearing a pair of plain pants and a button-up blouse, her very large glasses returned to their usual position. And somehow, even with all of that, he saw her no differently than he had last night. She was fascinating, beautiful, irresistible. But here he was resisting. Overrated,
in his opinion.
“We must bring this to my grandmother as quickly as possible,” Gabriella was saying, the animated tone of her voice never failing to stir something inside of him.
She cared about so many things. Dusty books and history and the people around her. It made him ache. Made him wish he could still feel like that. Feel in ways he hadn’t since he was eleven years old.
They were directed by the staff to the morning room, where her grandmother was taking her tea.
“Grandmother,” Gabriella said, the word sounding more like a prayer than anything else. As though Lucia were Gabriella’s salvation, her link back to the real world.
He still didn’t feel linked to the real world. The shipping company was back in New York, along with a great many of his real-world concerns. Somehow, over the past week, his life had started to revolve around a painting, and giving compliments to the woman that stood before him.
“Is that it?” Lucia asked, gesturing to the painting that Alex held, facing away from her.
He nodded slowly.
“May I?” she asked, her voice suddenly hushed.
He handed the painting to her, careful not to reveal too much of it. He had seen it, but he felt the need to allow her to experience this at her own pace. In somewhat of a private fashion.
He watched the older woman’s face, watched as she placed her fingertips over the painting, her dark eyes filling with tears. “I can see,” she said, her voice trembling, “I can see how much he loved me. It is there. Still.”
“Who?” Gabriella asked.
“Bartolo. His name was Bartolo. An artist. And I… I did not think there was any way I could sacrifice my position for love. But I’m old now, Gabriella. And I look at this and I see just how deep his feelings were. And then… Then we were thrown out of Isolo D’Oro, anyway. I asked myself every day what the sacrifice meant. I married a man who was suitable. I rejected the one who was not. For what? For a kingdom that crumbled. Seeing it again… Understanding… His love was more than I deserved. He did not deserve one so faithless as myself.”
Gabriella’s hands were folded in her lap and she was wringing them as though the queen’s words were causing her great distress. “Grandmother, of course you did what you had to do. You did what you felt was right.”
She sighed slowly, sadly. “It is all any of us can do, I’m afraid. But when your best isn’t good enough it galls particularly with the sharp clarity of hindsight.”
“I hate to cause you any further pain, Your Highness,” Alex said. “But—”
“But your grandfather wants this painting returned to his possession,” Lucia said, her tone grave.
“Yes. There are few things in his life that he prizes beyond money. Beyond anything. This painting is one of them. And though I can’t tell you why, though it must seem strange as you are the subject of the painting, I can only tell you that it is an old man’s greatest wish to have this again.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, and Alex felt shamed by the emotional display for some reason. Shamed by how jaded he was, by how little credibility he gave to love and emotion when he saw such depth of it before him.
“Of course he can have it,” Lucia said, her words shocking Alex down to the core.
“I will pay whatever you ask for it. He’s prepared to compensate you handsomely.”
She placed her hand over the painting again. “I don’t want money. I want him to have it.”
Alex met her gaze and nodded slowly. “He will.”
Gabriella looked over at him, her expression filled with concern. “He isn’t going to make a scandal with it?”
Alex shook his head. “No. My grandfather has no interest in scandal. He has no need for money.”
Gabriella didn’t ask if he was telling the truth. Something about that warmed his chest in a way that he wasn’t certain he deserved.
“You must stay with us tonight, Alex,” Lucia said.
His heart slammed against his breastbone. Denial was on the tip of his tongue. He shouldn’t stay. He should go. But he was in no position to deny the older woman anything. “If you wish.”
“And I do have a condition on giving you the painting.”
Everything inside of him stilled. “Do you?”
The older woman nodded. “Gabriella shall go with you. She will help deliver the painting. Acting as an ambassador for our family.”
“If you wish,” he said again.
He had been desperate to escape Gabriella. Her tempting mouth, her soft touch. Nothing good could come of the attraction between them. Ever. Acting on it—more than they already had—was simply not an option. He would leave her untouched.
But in order for him to honor such a vow, he would need to get a good deal of distance between them.
This was not conducive to that goal.
He had honorable intentions, but he was a flesh and blood man. His spirit was willing but his flesh was very, very weak where she was concerned.
Still, he could not refuse.
“Of course,” he said.
“Excellent,” the queen said, “I will have some of the staff show you to your room. In the meantime, I would like to spend some time with my granddaughter.”
*
Gabriella looked at the clock. It was nearly midnight, but she was still sitting awake in the library. Her conversation with her grandmother was playing over in her mind.
Lucia had been talking of an old love, of honor and duty perhaps not being everything. Of how her heart still ached, all these years later, when she looked at the painting.
It was so very strange for Gabriella, to hear her pragmatic grandmother speaking of love. They had spoken of it before, but always Lucia had been cautionary, because she had spoken of its loss.
Now, though…she said when she looked at that painting it made her feel so full. It made her realize all the beauty she had carried with her thanks to that ill-fated affair.
Made her realize she could never truly regret loving Bartolo, though she had not spent her life with him.
In addition to that, Gabriella’s nerves were slightly frazzled with the idea of going to New York. More specifically, going with Alex.
It meant an extension on their time on Isolo D’Oro. More time just to be near each other. Circling around the larger things that neither of them were prepared to embrace.
She wanted it. She wanted more time with him. But she wasn’t sure they should have it.
Things were… Well, they weren’t normal between them. She had been looking forward to getting away from him, and now it appeared that wouldn’t be happening. Of course, as much as she had been looking forward to there being some distance between them, she had also dreaded it.
The idea of going back to life as it had been before. As though she had never met him, as though they had never spent a week on Isolo D’Oro together. As though he had never called her beautiful, as though they had never kissed… The very idea of that was painful to her. Sat in her chest heavily like a leaden weight.
Which was probably the most telling sign that she didn’t need to get away from him.
She stretched out on her tuffet, raising her arms, her hands balled into fists. She looked back down at the book she’d been reading and rubbed her eyes. It was a history book that focused on the art and culture of Isolo D’Oro. She had thought to look at it with her newfound real-life take on Isolo D’Oro to see if it might enhance it. Mainly, she had just sat there staring at the pages. Imagining the countryside. Being there, standing in the sunshine with Alex. Sitting in the garden with him, basked in moonlight as he tasted her. Touched her.
The door to the library opened and she startled.
Alex was standing there looking dashing, like a hero from a historical novel come to life.
He was wearing a white shirt open at the collar, the sleeves pushed up past his forearms. His hair looked as though he’d been running his fingers through it. He looked… Well, he looked like temptation personified.
“I thought I might find you here, Gabby,” he said.
Her stomach did a little flip at his use of her nickname. “Yes, I do like the library.”
She took her glasses off and rubbed at the bridge of her nose before putting them back in place.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I am. But I couldn’t sleep. I don’t see how I could with everything that’s happening tomorrow. New York. I’ve never been.”
“I feel much the same.”
“Why? Are you so anxious to get back to your real life?”
“No,” he said, his tone dry. “That isn’t the problem. It isn’t fantasies about work that have me tossing and turning.”
“If it isn’t fantasies of work, then—” Her eyes clashed with his, the meaning of his words suddenly sinking in. “Oh.”
“It would be better if you were not coming with me, Gabriella,” he said, his tone full of warning.
She nodded slowly. “I have no doubt that’s true.”
“Doing what’s right is incredibly tiresome,” he said, walking deeper into the room, moving to sit in the chair across from hers. “And yet, it is the only thing that separates us from our parents, is it not?”
She nodded mutely.
“And I have to separate myself from them,” he continued, his voice rough.
“You have,” she said. “You’re nothing like them at all.”
“I have a half brother,” he said, the words hitting her in a strange way, taking a moment for her to untangle. It seemed like a change of subject, and yet she knew it wasn’t. Not really. “I found out about it when I was eleven years old. My father had an affair, as I told you before.”
“My parents have had many,” she said slowly.
“Affairs were nothing new,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “But a child… My mother was incensed. He was humiliating her. Bringing shame upon her. Causing the world to believe she might not be desirable.”
Gabriella tried to force a smile. “My mother screams a very similar refrain once every few months.”
“This was different,” Alex said. “I heard the altercation. It was Christmas. Snowing. Outside, the house had white lights strung all over it. As though they were trying to tell the world that we were normal. That we were a happy household. But inside… There were no lights. There was no tree. There was no happiness. And out there… My father’s mistress brought her son. He was not much younger than I was. Ten, maybe. She stood out there screaming at my father, their son by her side. Telling him that he had to acknowledge him. My father refused. I…I looked out there and I saw him. And I knew exactly who he was. I told no one. My father drove off in a rage, my mother with him, as they tried to escape the scene. Tried to get away from his mistress. This monster of his own making. That was the night they were in the accident. It was the night they died. And the only people left alive who knew about Nate were his mother, himself and me. I told no one. I kept my half brother a secret.”
