“Are you all right?” Sean asked, turning to the right slightly to give me his attention.
“Yes,” I said quickly, worried he knew who I was thinking about. Sure, nothing had really happened with Max, but what we’d done still wasn’t right. I didn’t want the poor guy to die.
The thought only made my mind wander. I thought about what he’d said.
“Don’t kiss another man, Rosalie. I may not be as forgiving next time.”
Forgiving?He’d made it sound like he was the one who killed the men who kissed me. I didn’t believe he was capable of doing something like that without telling me, so I ignored the thought.
Eventually, Sean parked the car on the side of the road.
“Just wait here,” I instructed, fumbling with the door handle.
He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “Nah. I’ll come in with you.”
We walked side by side down the sidewalk until we reached the door to Margot’s studio. She wanted me to pick up something before she left for the night. I figured it was the piece my Momma had likely bought.
The chipped green paint on the door matched the description Margot had given me. I’d never set foot in the studio before this.
I reached out and pushed the door open.
Paint fumes stung my eyes, forcing me to squint as I adjusted to the light. The studio was a far cry from the sterile white galleries that showcased Margot and her daughter’s work.
“Helloooo?” I sang as I stepped further in. Canvases of all sizes leaned hazardously against the walls, some splashed with neon colors, others only half-completed.
Sean warmed my back, almost as clingy as Max.
A cough from behind the walls startled me, the sound echoing through the open space. “Hi, dear!” Margot shouted from the other side of the room. She rushed over to me, grabbed onto my hand, and took me to the back with her.
She began to ramble, of course, telling me all about her daughter’s new opportunities. She’d just got another gallery in Miami, and one in San Diego.
“And I figure Chicago would be a good next step, wouldn’t it?” I interjected, trying to get a word in. “I have a few cousins over there who might be interested.”
“Chicago’s definitely on the list, honey,” Margot confirmed. “Brooke has a couple of friends—Alex and Nina, I believe—who were actually planning on opening a collaborative art space here in the city.”
“Alex and Nina? I haven’t heard of them before.”
“Oh, some of their work is on display too, see?” She gestured to the wall with a painting hanging on it.
My eyes scanned the bottom corner, landing on the signature. It wasn’t the first name that grabbed me but the last name, written in a large cursive font.
Romano?
Panic prickled my skin. I reached out, tugging on the sleeve of Sean’s shirt where he stood right beside me, completely oblivious to what I was seeing. “Nina Romano,” I whispered to him, the name catching in my throat.
Surely, this couldn’t be right.
Had she been to the events before? Was it possible we’d interacted without either of us knowing?
Talking to a Romano was against the rules—which my father tookveryseriously. How would he react, knowing we could’ve been around them all this time? It wasn’t hard to believe. None of us knew what they looked like. They had inside help, most records of them falsified.
“Is the artist’s name Nina Romano?” Sean spoke up for me, asking Margot directly.
“Why, yes, of course,” she replied with a smile.
Sean’s gaze flicked back to mine, his brow furrowed.
If the Romanos were this close to us, that probably meant Sean and I needed to get the hell out of here.
