Page 52 of Marked By Moonlight

Then Mina added, “But even more important is whether I can trust my own judgment, I think.”

Anastasia shrugged. “Two sides of the same coin. So, tell me. How do you decide about someone?”

Mina thought it over. “I think of a person’s deeds instead of their words. I think of the little things…”

My mind sped away, desperately trying to catalogue everything I’d ever said or done around Mina.

Her sky-blue eyes slipped to mine, then jerked back to her hostess. “I tell myself not to trust my heart, but sometimes, I can’t help it.”

My soul warmed, and Mina flushed a little. And, damn. Her skin took on a glimmer, especially around the neck. Was that the sign of a moonlight mark, as I feared?

Anastasia refilled her teacup. “Are you saying I should trust you?”

Mina shook her head. “I’m saying you should make your own decision.”

Anastasia stirred her tea for a while, then turned to me. “And what about you?”

I blinked. “Me?”

She nodded. “What do you think? Can I trust this woman?”

Ha. Easy answer.

I nodded. “Her only fault is her honesty.”

Anastasia chuckled. “And you? Any faults?”

I shuffled a little. “Too many to list, ma’am.”

She laughed outright. “I like him.” She turned back to Mina. “And I like you.” With that, she stood. “Come. Let me show you my painting.”

“How is honesty a fault?” Mina muttered as Anastasia led us to the upper story of her maisonette.

I munched down the sandwiches I’d snagged off the tray before following her, using that as an excuse not to answer.

“It’s here, in my study.” Anastasia led the way into one of three rooms at the front of the building.

I wondered, not for the first time, what rich people studied.

Light poured in from two large windows, while a third window, between them, remained curtained. Paintings hung frame-to-frame on the side walls, though a couple of gaps showed. Anastasia had recently sold some of her artwork. I was sure of it. And now, she’d contacted Gordon about selling her greatest masterpiece?

I wondered what it was. How much it was worth. Why she wasn’t selling the rest first if this was her favorite.

“Have a seat. It’s best viewed from here.” Anastasia sat on the sofa that faced the windows and patted the space beside her. Mina joined her.

“Will you do the honors?” Anastasia asked me, gesturing to the curtain over the middle window.

I stepped over, looking for the drawstring that would open the curtains. They stirred, and I caught a glimpse of blue paint on canvas. So, that wasn’t a window behind there, but a painting. A big one, with portrait, not landscape orientation.

Taking hold of the drawstring, I looked at Anastasia. When she nodded, I pulled, revealing the painting.

Mina’s eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth in shock.

I glanced at the painting, then back at her. What?

A tear slipped out of her eye. Then another and another.

I cocked my head at the painting. Was it that bad or that good?