“What else is there to tell?”
“How did you know for certain it was fake? You said something felt wrong, but that’s not proof.”
I think back to those days in the Christie’s authentication lab. Hours spent examining every inch of that canvas under different lighting. “There was a signature hidden under layers of varnish. The forger had signed their work, knowing nobody would ever see it unless they looked very carefully.”
“That’s bold.”
“That’s arrogance. They were so proud of their work they couldn’t resist leaving their mark.” I sip my tea. “Caravaggio never signed anything. His ego was in the painting itself, not some hidden message for future authenticators.”
“Did you ever find out who created it?”
“No. The signature was just initials. The collector didn’t want to pursue it further. I guess it was too embarrassing to admit he’d been fooled.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a while. The rain starts to let up, becoming a light drizzle instead of a downpour.
“Can I ask you something?” Tony ventures.
“Another question?”
“Do you miss it? Working at Christie’s. Having that life in London.”
I consider how to answer. “I miss the work. I miss feeling like I was building something of my own. Something that had nothing to do with my family’s name or reputation.”
“But?”
“But I was also running away. Pretending I could separate myself from who I really am. From where I come from. Turns out you can’t outrun your own blood.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t know yet. Ask me again when this is all over.”
The compound comes into view. Guards at the gate. High walls. The world I was born into and tried to escape.
Tony stops walking. “Sasha.”
I turn to face him. We’re both still damp from the rain. His hair is starting to dry in messy spikes. I probably look like a drowned rat.
“Thank you.”
I tilt my head to the side and ask, “For what?”
“This afternoon felt…like we’re two people who enjoy each other’s company instead of two people trying to figure out if the other one is lying.”
He’s right. I wasn’t analyzing his motives or questioning his intentions. I was just enjoying being with him.
That realization should terrify me. It should send me running back to my careful defenses.
Instead, it just makes me want more moments like this.
“We should get inside,” I reply. “Before Boris sends a search party.”
Tony nods, but he doesn’t move. Just keeps looking at me with those blue eyes that warm me from the inside out all on their own.
“Sasha—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off. “Don’t say whatever you’re about to say. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
