Page 25 of Canvas of Lies (Spruce Hill #3)

“How do you figure?”

“He’s saying he’s owned that painting since I was a baby, right?”

He blinked at me. “So?”

“So,” I continued, “if a painting worth millions of dollars was in my father’s possession the last time you and I were together in that office . . .”

Nico sucked in a sharp breath as he followed my train of thought. “Then it would be subject to the divorce settlement, unless it was written into their prenup, which obviously it was not.”

“Exactly.” I tucked my knees under me, turning toward him.

The excitement sparkling in his dark eyes mirrored my own.

“And while you and I might not have the funds for a long legal battle, I know someone else who would be extremely happy to take his ass back to court over it. That will leave him to either reveal he’s lying about ownership or fork over millions to my mother for her half of the asset.

Either way, it buys us time to make our own move. ”

“You’re a genius,” he said, leaning over to kiss me. “An evil genius, in this case, which I’m finding almost disconcertingly attractive right now.”

I grinned. “Why, thank you. I even surprise myself sometimes. I was thinking, though, that maybe we should pursue another angle once we turn that information over to my mother. When’s the last time you went back to France?”

“France,” he repeated, frowning in confusion. “We went back just once since I moved here when I was what, four, five? For my sixteenth birthday.”

It was a long shot, I knew, but if Nico hadn’t found anything useful in his father’s belongings after the funeral, it was the only other option.

“Nico, if we can find anything, literally anything proving the link between that painting and your family, we can discredit him completely.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Discrediting him might have to be enough,” he said finally. “I don’t know if there’s any chance of that painting being returned to me, and I may have to accept that.”

I’d come to the same conclusion, though it pained me. As much as that painting symbolized family and history to Nico, to me it represented the only place in my entire childhood where I’d felt like I belonged.

Losing it would hurt. A lot .

I squeezed his hand and nodded. “I want to see him pay for what he did to you. But if we can’t get the painting back, we can at least ruin him.”

“There’s something else you need to know, Kitten.”

His solemn tone freaked me out. “What?”

He drew a deep breath before speaking. “There’s something hidden in the back of the painting, an SD card, embedded in the frame. I don’t know the details, but my father called it leverage.”

My lips parted in surprise. “Leverage. Like, dirt on my father?”

“I assume so. He said if something suspicious ever happened to him, I should take the painting and use that information to protect myself. He told me to get far away from your family if it came down to that.”

A tiny fissure of hurt zigzagged through my chest. “Were you going to leave?”

“No. Kitten, even when he told me about it, I wasn’t willing to leave you behind, and that was before all of this happened. If your father stumbles across whatever it is, though, he may assume I’m the one who put it there.”

“Shit,” I whispered.

“Yeah. And at this point, you’re linked with me, which means it might put you in danger, too.”

Something he’d said caught inside my head. “Something suspicious,” I murmured.

Nico stayed silent, watching me closely .

“Your father was a fit man in his fifties. He told you he had a bad cold, and then he died the next day. Doesn’t that strike you as suspicious?”

Double shit. I didn’t want to believe it, but given the evidence of my father’s other misdeeds, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

Nico shook his head. “He didn’t kill him, Kitten. There was an autopsy. He had pneumonia and developed sepsis. Your father might be powerful, but that’s not something he could orchestrate. Believe me, it was the first thing I considered when I got that phone call.”

My eyes flew to his face as relief flooded my veins. My father’s hands weren’t clean, but I hated the thought that he’d had something to do with Pierre’s death. “Are you sure?”

“Unless he had the autopsy faked. But I think you’re right—he might’ve taken the painting because my father said something while he was delirious.”

“I was thinking it was about the artist, but what if he said something that made my dad suspect the painting housed whatever evidence he had? It might not have been about Clément at all.”

“That’s possible,” Nico conceded. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“If that’s why he took it, though, he must have realized you weren’t involved. It’s been two years, and he hasn’t come after you yet.”

“True. ”

The relief sweeping over me was overwhelming in its intensity. Maybe Nico was safe from my father, after all—at least until we poked even harder at this hornet’s nest.

“Right. So finding proof your family owns that painting is still the only chance we have of knowing whether he uncovered what’s inside or not.”

“And maybe,” he mused, “even if we can’t get our hands on it, we can manipulate things in a way that might get the painting donated to a museum. That would be almost as satisfying as having it in my possession, and it would keep whatever’s in the back safe from him, if he hasn’t found it already.”

He tugged me onto his lap and nuzzled my throat until I was laughing and breathless. “So we have a plan?” I asked.

“We have a plan. You really are a goddess.”

“I am pretty fantastic,” I agreed. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Nico stood, lifting me easily into his arms. “We’ll get working on the details tomorrow. I have plans to celebrate my evil genius girlfriend tonight.”