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She bites her lip, shaking her head. Either she's reading my mind and knows my triggers, or she's naturally this alluring. "Perhaps," she says softly. "I might have fantasized about discovering someone... and maybe, recently, since seeing you, I embellished those details. I might have entertained some silly notions because talking with you feels easier than it should. But that was before, Nico. Be. Fore."

Her expression hardens with resolve. " You know what I’m saying. You understand my reasoning."

"We should exercise restraint," I tell her.

Not solely due to her convictions. I'm escorting Anya to an upcoming gala. I can’t risk offending the Russians, despite my growing weariness with appeasement. I feel my darker impulses surfacing.

"Weshould," I reiterate. "But your presence brings out a new side of me."

"That's flattering. Truly. But put that aside. One night—and it's over."

"The night hasn't yet ended."

She crosses her arms defiantly. "Yes, it has."

ChapterTwelve

Sienna

It’s two days until my next portrait appointment. I dedicate the intervening time to my surrealist work, mundane errands, and deliberatelynotthinking about Nico. At least, that's my intention. I attempt to block him from my thoughts, focusing on anything else. But it proves challenging.

I continually anticipate his call, text, or unexpected appearance, despite explicitly communicating my disinterest. When he touched me in the car, it was like letting go for the first time in my life. I didn’t need to think or feel.

His touch radiated heat. Something intoxicating permeated that fleeting moment of belonging to him. Just for that instant.

On the morning of my latest portrait – a painting of one of Gianna's friends – Gianna calls. "Honey, I'm so sorry."

"What's up?" I ask, eager to get to work.

Not eager to see Nico. Not eager to discover if he can unearth anything about Mom's death. Not eager to feel his touch against my skin again, to experience the electricity when our bodies connect.

"My friend cancelled, and I have to rush into town for a business meeting."

"Ah, so no work this morning, then?"

"I do need a painting of Nico in the garden. I think that would look absolutely magnificent. Perhaps you could do that instead?"

"Isn't he busy?"

"He can spare the morning for this."

I nibble my fingernail. Is Gianna doing this on purpose? Is her nickname Cupid, or is she merely being considerate?

"Have you asked him?" I say.

"No, but if I explain the circumstances, I'm sure he'd be delighted to assist."

"No – that's okay."

"If you're sure..."

"No – I mean yes. Call him. Let me know his response."

I end the call, toss the phone onto the bed, and stare vacantly like a fool. When anything involves Nico, my cognitive abilities seem to evaporate.

A minute later, my cell phone rings again.

"He said he's delighted to help."