As the men spoke and the next course arrived, Silvia’s gaze kept darting to Damian— hungry. Persistent. At one point she leaned close, her lips brushing his ear in a whisper. Felissa, meanwhile, dismissed me after two sentences and drifted toward the bar. Mason and Damian were locked in negotiations, but Silvia made no effort to draw me in, no matter how many times I tried. Instead, shetugged Damian into her own conversation, her voice syrup-sweet, while Mason’s eyes turned on me—deliberate, probing.
“So, Miss…” Mason paused, as though daring me to fill the silence.
“Elfhorn,” I said evenly.
“Ah, yes. Miss Elfhorn. You work for Damian in his antiques shop, correct? But that hardly explains why he spoke of you with such admiration. You studied art history, if I recall?”
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “With a focus on ancient manuscripts. I’ve also trained in identifying forgeries and restoring documents. That allows me to understand objects more fully—to recognize their true worth.”
Mason tilted his head, interest flickering. “That does explain much. But Damian mentioned something else—your uncanny ability to identify an era at a single glance. Not everyone possesses such an eye.”
I gave a faint smile. “It isn’t really a glance. It’s experience. Attention to detail. The smallest signs—the style of an inscription, the material, even the decay. They reveal themselves if you know how to look.”
“A trained eye and a sharp memory. Remarkable,” Mason said, his gaze glinting. “I imagine you’ve solved quite a few puzzles in Mr. Miller’s shop?”
“A few,” I said with a shrug.
“So you have a gift for noticing what others overlook?”
“You could put it that way,” Damian cut in, his tone slicing through Silvia’s murmurs. “Daisy has an extraordinary instinct forthe hidden. She’s uncovered truths that stumped seasoned dealers. Her eye digs deeper.”
Before Mason could respond, Silvia reclaimed Damian with a coy smile. “That’s impressive,” she purred, ignoring me entirely. “But Damian, what about my proposal for our joint project?”
Mason leaned back, studying me with an appraising gleam. “A rare gift, Miss Elfhorn. Most stop at the obvious. Few dig beneath the surface. Tell me—what do you make of this?”
He withdrew a black leather bag, producing a bronze amulet etched with intricate engravings. He set it before me. Out of the corner of my eye, Damian watched—silent, expectant.
I lifted it carefully. To most, it would look like a reproduction. But the surface whispered its secrets beneath my fingertips.
“Interesting,” I murmured. “At first glance you’d call it medieval. But the engraving tells another story. The lines are older—likely Byzantine. See here? Fine, restless strokes. Precision in its infancy. Early, before refinement.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed, following every word.
“Very well observed. The piece dates to the sixth century.”
I met his gaze. His approving smile carried no warmth—it was calculated. I had earned his respect, though I wasn’t sure I wanted it. He slipped the amulet back into his bag.
“Damian didn’t exaggerate your talent,” Mason said, folding his arms. His smile curled dark. “A woman who sees what others miss. Perhaps I should consider what it would take to win you over, Miss Elfhorn.”
The air went cold. My stomach tightened. Beneath his mockery coiled a threat.
Damian shifted beside me, jaw locked, voice dropping to ice.
“Daisy is not to be courted. She’s part of my team. That will never change.”
Mason raised both hands, amusement tugging his mouth. He was enjoying it.
“Of course, Damian. Only a joke. And who could blame you?”
But his eyes told another story. He wasn’t joking at all.
Later, between dessert and the final round of drinks, I excused myself. When I returned, Silvia’s hand rested lightly on Damian’s shoulder. My chest tightened. I forced a smile.
“Damian, may I speak with you in private?” Silvia’s voice was soft, deceptively sweet.
Damian hesitated.
“Just a few minutes.” She gestured toward the stone staircase leading to the rooftop terrace. “The view is especially beautiful from up there.”
