"Anthony!" I rush forward.
I would hug him, but the reserved man maintains a certain air of decorum. Instead, I grip his hands and give them a light squeeze.
"What are you doing here?" My pulse races. Anthony is alive. And knowing who the enigmatic man truly is…
He survived.
"Mademoiselle Vivianne, it is a pleasure."
"Where's Paul?"
"He could not make the trip and asked me to see to the delivery." Anthony's bushy brows twitch.
"Of what?" Although I can guess. My breath catches.
Anthony gestures to the crates—the cover of the first crashes to the ground. The men peel back Styrofoam and a layer of plastic wrap. They step aside and allow Anthony to approach. He cuts away a final layer of paper and reveals the most stunning partial nude I've ever laid eyes on: the sweeping curve of a woman's back.
My back.
"Oh my. That's magnificent." Dr. Phillips steps closer.
A river of long, flowing golden hair cascades down her back, caressing her narrow waist and kissing her hips. A roaring blaze in a fireplace silhouettes her body, the flames billowing around her nakedness. Her skin glistens with a sensual sweat and glows beneath the heat of the fire, softening her features—a single starling cartwheels in the flames.
The other men pause in opening the crates to stare at the painting.
"Who is this? What artist?"
"The Starling sends his regards." Anthony turns to me and hands me a folded piece of parchment.
My hands shake as I open the paper. Meanwhile, Anthony directs the men to uncrate the other four pieces.
My dearest Vivianne,
Love is a possession of the soul.In you, I find myself whole.You belong to me, and I belong to you.I am coming, my darling Swan.
Your Starling
I touch my neck, clutch the pendant. I haven't removed it since he placed it there. I thought it was a gift. Now I understand. It's a promise.
Paul is coming.
For me.
I turn to give Anthony a message, but the elderly man has slipped away.
"Viv, do you see this? He exposed himself to the world." Dr. Phillips stares at the paintings.
There's no reason to look at them. I know what each will reveal. One promise after another, and I have no doubt Paul will rescue me once more.
EIGHT
Vivianne: The Unveiling
The Rolls-Royce glidesto a stop before the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My pulse drums against my ribs, a staccato rhythm matching the flashes of cameras outside. I take a deep breath, smoothing down my designer dress—a crimson sheath that hugs every curve. The silk whispers against my skin, cool and sleek.
The first exhibit of the Swan Collection is causing quite a stir in the art world, and tonight's unveiling of the remaining pieces draws the elite of society.
And since the elite are gathering, my father faces the onerous task of attending as well.
