“This is insane,” I whisper, grabbing his arm. “It’s just an old music box. It doesn’t even play!”
“Relax, it’s OK,” he murmurs back.
“If this is still about winning the challenge, then Pedro never said we had toownthe music box,” I argue. “Our task was tofindit. And we did! We can just snap a picture?—”
“Laura, I know what I’m doing,” he interrupts dryly.
Do you?
Because I’m starting to think he doesn’t. The price shoots up again—500,000, then 600,000. The other bidder’s face darkens with frustration. Antoine maintains a calm façade, though I notice the clench of his jaw.
At 800,000, the murmurs in the room turn to full-on talk. I grip the edge of my chair, trying not to hyperventilate. The other man seems to have second thoughts but raises his paddle for 850,000.
Antoine doesn’t hesitate. “One million.”
The room gasps. I’m fairly sure I do, too.
Antoine’s competitor lowers his paddle and shakes his head.
Oh, no! Come on, man, whoever you are! Don’t give up now!
The auctioneer beams. “One million dollars. Going once, going twice… Sold!”
Applause erupts. Mrs. Wu drops her dignified demeanor and pumps her fists in the air in an impromptu victory dance. When she’s done, she and her husband, along with the president of the animal shelter, make their way over to congratulate Antoine personally. I sit there, stunned, as he stands up to shake their hands, grinning. The look of relief on his face is beyond my comprehension.
Mr. and Mrs. Wu and the shelter lady congratulate me, too, and then return to their seats.
“Why?” I whisper at Antoine. “Why?”
“Corona Ducti, Fide Stabiles,”he recites.
“Which is Latin for… ?”
“Guided by the Crown, Anchored by Loyalty.”
“Do you really have to speak in riddles?”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Here’s what I do understand: You just spent a million dollars on a three-hundred-year-old paperweight.”
His lips quirk into a faint smile. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t my money.”
“It’s your dad’s, I know, but still…”
He says nothing.
I shut up and just stare at him, baffled. The thrill of outbidding his competitor is still plastered across his face. But another emotion creeps in as we eat our dessert and wait for the auctioneer to hand over Antoine’s new overpriced toy.
Disquiet.Maybe even apprehension.
Antoine’s eyes keep darting to the music box, but he’s in no hurry to take a picture of us with it. I don’t think this is about the challenge anymore. It’s about something else. And, unless I’m completely off base here, whatever that something else is, it’s getting under Antoine’s skin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LAURA
As the guests finish their desserts, Antoine, Mr. Wu and the auction crew sort out the payment. And then the auctioneer hands the music box, packed and secured in a sleek black briefcase, to Antoine.
