I pointed to the bottom. “These initials, DC, they shouldn’t be here. I’m no expert but this is a Van Gogh painting. It costs an arm and a leg, if not a whole body to buy.”
“It’s another Zayne secret we will never know.” Trent gave me a gentle smile. “You want to go?” I nodded.
An hour or so later, I stood outside the quaint gallery Zayne had brought me to visit. I hesitated on the first step, swallowing back the dryness that settled there the second I’d read Zayne’s letter.
Trent placed his arm on my lower back and gently massaged. “You okay.” It was amazing how he knew exactly what I needed and when.
“Yes.”
When we entered, my gaze automatically snapped to the wall where the painting of the little girl had hung. It wasn’t there. Disappointed, I neared the counter at the back.
“Hello, dear,” Mary looked up.
“Hello, Mary, do you remember me. I was in here almost two—”
“Of course, I remember you.” She beamed. “Zayne came back, you know,” she said then noticing Trent for the first time, offered him a pleasant smile. “You must be Trent.”
I blinked. “How do you know?”
She chuckled. “Zayne said that the next time you came back here it would be with your husband, Trent.”
I blanched and Trent gave my waist a gentle squeeze, drawing me closer to his side. “How did Zayne know I’d return here with Trent?” I asked. “And when did he come back?”
With one hand on her hip, she tapped her lip, trying to remember. “I think it was the week after your visit if I’m not mistaken. He met my daughter. Hang on a sec, let me get her.” She stepped through a door at her rear.
“You okay?” Trent leaned in to whisper.
I nodded and a minute later the door opened and a younger woman stepped out. The second her gaze landed on me, she froze. Shock evident in her wide eyes and I immediately tensed. She knew who I was.
“Davina?” She approached me, her steps slow. “Oh, my God, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you?”
“You know me?” I asked, apprehension and excitement quickening my pulse.
“Yes, oh, wait. Zayne mentioned the memory loss. Come on.” She gestured to a sitting area to one side of the room. “I think you might have a few questions for me.”
I glanced up at Trent and he gave me a reassuring smile. We followed her and after we were seated and Trent and I declined her offer for a drink, she leaned toward me.
“So, I’m Susan by the way and you must be Trent?” She smiled at him and he nodded before her gaze returned to me. “Zayne mentioned you’d suffered memory loss and that you’d come looking for answers. I must say, Zayne and Trent are a huge step up from that lowlife you had to put up with.” At my baffled look, she slapped a hand to her brow and chuckled. “I’m sorry. Let me start from the beginning. So, your name is—was Davina.”
“Davina,” I whispered the foreign name.
“Does it ring any bells, sweetheart?” Trent took my hand in his giving it a gentle squeeze.
I shook my head, surprisingly not disappointed.
“You’re an artist,” Susan drew my gaze.
“An artist?”
“The paintings you loved of the little girl. Those are yours.”
I blinked. That revelation struck a chord. Now, I understood my keen eye for art. “They are?”
She nodded. “You wanted to make it a career, but he held you back.”
“Who?”
“Easton Daniels.”
