Page 7 of Under Arthur’s Protection

The dress had a high, respectable neckline. Was Arthur a plunging neckline guy, or did he appreciate the mystery?

Oh my god, Gwen. It’s a work dinner, not a date.

With a shake of my head, I hurried downstairs to meet the car. When was the last time I’d been this distracted over a dinner? Lionel’s face flashed through my brain, and I shoved it into the mental garbage bin where it belonged.

I arrived fifteen minutes late. Then the too-slow maître d’ walked me through the restaurant at such a crawl it cost me another three minutes.

The interior was stunning, with white walls, a coffered ceiling, and paintings of Greek red-figure vases. Upstairs, the tables were more private. Some overlooked a balcony to the diners below, while others were tucked into quiet alcoves. At the far end, a glass-walled room looked out over the kitchen on one side and the dining area on the other.

Through the glass, I saw my party. Sam and Antonio sat on one side of the table, with Arthur and Lance sitting opposite them. Two empty chairs: one next to Sam, and one between the two Round Table men. My stomach clenched. It would be awkward sitting next to the married couple, but between my ex and his boss?

My stomach clenched a little harder.

A pendant light above the table cast a soft glow over the tablecloth, water glasses, and flowers. The maître d’ opened the door, and the conversation paused.

I smiled as everyone turned to face me. “Sorry I’m late. I lost track of time.”

“You’re fine,” Sam said. “We just sat down.”

The maître d’ took my coat and hung it on a hook inside the door before retreating.

Lance stood and pulled out the chair between himself and Arthur. “I’m happy you could join us.”

Arthur also stood, placing one hand on the back of his chair. He wore a beige half-zip sweater over a white golf shirt and black slacks. It seemed casual, but after reading about his family’s money, it was likely all designer.

“Thank you,” I said to Lance as I sat. I peered past Arthur to see the kitchen, where the staff busied themselves over stoves and prep areas. “Nice restaurant.”

“It’s one of our favorites.” Sam touched Antonio’s arm while Lance and Arthur took their seats. “You met Gwen earlier, right?”

“Sì, we met this afternoon.”

I draped my napkin across my lap. “He tried to convince me that seventh-century swords were less interesting than seventeenth-century Dutch paintings.”

“I said no such thing.” Antonio placed a hand over his heart. “I said they were equally interesting, which I felt was a generous admission.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Sam said.

“Me?” Antonio protested theatrically. “Don’t encourage Samantha to begin speaking about seventeenth-century Dutch paintings, or she’ll start into a three-day-long lecture about Vermeer’s⁠—”

Sam smacked his shoulder and gave him a mock-frown. “Stop it.”

“As much as a three-day-long lecture sounds interesting”—Lance leaned back in his chair—“Antonio, your family’s been in conservation for a while, right?”

“Three generations. My grandfather opened our first studio in Roma, before World War II. It’s a long and boring story, but⁠—”

“Long and not boring, and he loves telling it,” said Sam.

“Oh, bella.” Antonio air-kissed in her direction. “He opened the location here in the sixties, then my father opened the art investigations subsidiary, which this brilliant woman now runs.”

“And you’re lucky to have me.” Sam had been far more serious when we’d worked together in the past. Her husband seemed good for her. He talked with his hands and pulled everyone in, a sharp contrast to the precise and dry woman I remembered.

“My father and I are authenticating the paintings from the black market auction,” he said.

Two family businesses. Two legacies. Antonio wore his with obvious pride, three generations of Ferraros who’d built something remarkable. The article I’d read about Arthur painted a very interesting picture of his family connections. Pendragon’s money, Pendragon’s jet, Pendragon’s name opening doors for him.

“Speaking of the black market, Arthur,” Sam said as she rested her elbows on the table, “I understand the men working for you have a history of protecting ancient artifacts?”

Lance raised his eyebrows at Arthur.