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TWENTY-NINE

A Broker of Thieves

Vivianne

I pace the confines of my luxurious room, my mind a whirlwind of questions and suspicions. The elegance surrounding me feels suffocating, reminding me too much of my gilded cage back home.

Paul’s request that I stay in my room during his “important business meeting” rings hollow. What kind of business requires such secrecy? And why bring me here if I’m to be shut away?

The silence of the chateau presses in on me, broken only by the occasional creak of the old building settling. I strain my ears, hoping to catch a snippet of conversation from downstairs, but the thick walls muffle any sound.

Hours crawl by. I flip through art books left on the bedside table but can’t focus on the words. My fingers itch to sketch, to capture the turmoil in my mind on paper, but there’s nothing to draw with.

As the afternoon wears on, my thoughts turn darker. Am I an unwitting pawn in some larger game? Paul’s presence at the Met, at the FBI office, and his specific request for me on this assignment all seem too convenient now.

And what of Dr. Gachet ? The painting that brought me here feels like a distant memory.

Once a source of pride, the weight of my family name now feels like a burden. Have I been so naive? So easily manipulated because I was desperate to carve out a place for myself in the art world?

As four o’clock approaches—the time mentioned for dinner—I steel myself. I may be trapped here, but I won’t remain a passive player in whatever game unfolds.

Well, if I’m going to be asked to stay in my room like a child, no one says I have to comply. The copy of The Lovers in that cave needs a closer look. With exceptional poise drilled into me from an early age, I rise from my seat by the window and move toward the door.

I pause, listening intently for any movement in the hallway. Hearing nothing, I slowly open the door and peek out. The corridor is empty and silent.

Keeping my chin level, I walk down the long hall to the end, where the servant’s entrance awaits. My heart pounds, but I force myself to move with purpose. If anyone sees me, I’ll say I’m looking for Paul.

Leaving the door ajar, I slip inside the narrow stairwell. This time, I search thoroughly for a light switch, running my hands along the walls.

Nothing.

Steeling myself for another descent into darkness, I count the steps.

One hundred steps later, I reach the bottom. Immediately, I seek the lever that will open the door to the cave. The latch was about chest high. I fumble in the darkness until I feel cold iron.

However, the door doesn’t budge.

It’s locked.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” Paul’s cultured voice rumbles through the dark, making me jump.

“Paul.”

A switch clicks, and the staircase floods with light.

“I thought you might come back down here.”

“Why are you waiting in the dark?” I ask, my heart racing.

“I wasn’t waiting. I was—anticipating.”

“Tell me about The Lovers ,” I demand, trying to regain some control. “Why is a copy of it in there?”

Paul’s eyes darken, a storm brewing in their depths. He takes a step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the narrow space.

“It’s not a copy.”

I instinctively back up, my heart racing. “That’s what your butler said.”

He huffs a laugh, advancing again. “Anthony?”

“Yes.” My back hits the cold stone wall, but Paul doesn’t stop. He’s so close now I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Anthony is many things; butler might be his least favorite role.” His voice drops lower, sending a shiver down my spine.

“But—” My protest dies on my lips as Paul places one hand on the wall beside my head, effectively caging me in.

“He acted a part. Much as I asked you to do by staying in your room.” His other hand comes to rest on the wall on the opposite side of my head.

I swallow hard, acutely aware of how little space there is between us now. “I don’t appreciate being shut away while you conduct your—business.”

Paul leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “It was for your protection, Vivianne. The less you know about certain things, the better.”

“Protection from what?” I whisper, my skin tingling where his breath touches it. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Tomorrow, we will be heading to a gathering of people who are…Morally flexible, let’s say. I needed to keep you separate from that world for as long as possible.”

“I’m not a child.” My frustration mounts even as desire pools in my belly. “I don’t need to be sheltered.”

“No, you’re not.” His body presses closer, pinning me gently to the wall. “But you are—innocent in ways that could be dangerous in the world we’re about to enter.”

My mind whirls, trying to piece together the fragments of information I’ve gathered: the cave full of priceless art, Paul’s connections, his artistic brilliance. A half-formed suspicion begins to take shape.

“What about what’s in there?” I gesture weakly toward the locked door. “You have a cache of stolen art. Where did all that come from? And what’s it doing in a cave when it should be in a museum?”

Paul’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “You assume a museum can protect what’s in there or that they have any right to it.”

“And you do?” I challenge, despite the heat building between us.

“My foundation does.”

The pieces are falling into place, but I’m afraid to voice my suspicion. Could he really be…?

“Are you…” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, “are you the Starling?”

His eyebrow arches upward as he waits for my reaction. “I’m impressed. You figured it out faster than I expected.”

The confirmation staggers me. “But—the guard at the museum. The murder…”

“I’m not a murderer,” he says firmly. “But you already know that.” His free hand cups my cheek, his fingers tangling in my hair. “I didn’t paint the forgery left behind in the Musée d’Orsay.”

“Then who did?” I ask, my mind reeling from this revelation.

Paul’s eyes darken with an unreadable emotion. “Now, that is a very complicated question.” He pauses, his gaze locking with mine, tension crackling in the air between us. “One I don’t mind exploring—later. But right now…” His voice lowers, dripping with heat as his body presses even closer, “…I’m much more interested in finishing what we started upstairs.”

He leans in, and I feel the air between us disappear. My heart races, and my breath skips.