Page 17 of The Woman at the Funeral (Costa Family #11)

Nico

It had been three days since I’d slept on Blair’s couch, since I’d woken up to her right beside me, her heated, hungry gaze staring at my cock that was—once again—not behaving.

Three days since I’d told her she could touch me…

and then she did. Three days since I cursed Zeno’s terrible timing seven ways to Sunday.

I’d yet to come up with a good enough excuse to try to see her.

I’d been trying to come up with reasons that I should keep my distance. Though, I was coming up with fewer and fewer of those each time I spent any time with her.

There was the issue of the safe.

It had been gnawing at me since my brothers and I made our way out of her apartment once the cameras were all up and she knew how to use the app.

Why would someone try to take the damn thing?

Anyone who knew Matt knew he never had anything of worth.

Though, was that true?

Did either of us actually know Matt at all?

He’d been lying to both of us for years.

And if the money I’d given him for the ring and shit like that didn’t actually go to those things, where did it all go? What had he been up to?

Maybe if I figured out that, I could figure out who’d killed him, who might be harassing Blair. Then put an end to it, once and for all.

To do that, though, I felt like getting into the safe might be necessary. But how could I possibly broach that with Blair without making it weird, without her asking a million questions?

As if thinking about her conjured her up, I glanced over at the stairs of The Met to find her sitting there in one of her elegant black dresses, looking effortlessly sleek.

Enough so that a group of teen girls kept looking over at her, then making comments to one another about how they wanted to have style like hers one day.

As great as she looked externally, though, I could see something troubled behind her eyes.

“Hey,” I called as soon as she spotted me.

“Oh, hey,” she said, giving me a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Surprised you haven’t gotten enough of this place,” I said, walking up a few steps to speak to her.

The teens had a lot to say about that as well.

It ranged from Ugh. Can’t a beautiful woman just exist without a guy thinking he can take her time?

to I would be totally fine with a guy like that wanting to take my time.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“No? Then why do you seem a little down?” I asked, moving to sit next to her.

“Have you ever been told that you’re almost unnervingly perceptive?”

“My siblings have told me that a thousand or two times. Everything alright?”

“Yeah. I’m actually just frustrated with trying to get some fresh content for my blog,” she admitted, waving her delicate hand back toward the doors.

“I feel like I’ve done everything I can do to give a different perspective.

Without being one of those obnoxious people who set up tripods in public spaces to make content. ”

“Hm. What about if someone else took pictures of you looking at art or standing next to art?”

“No one wants to see me.”

“Says who?”

“People who are on my blog are there for art.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, looking at her.

“Well, thanks. But you know what I mean.”

“How about I take one picture of you looking at art? And you can upload it and see.” At her hesitation, I stood and offered her my hand. I could have sworn I heard a collective aww from the girls. “What do you have to lose?”

“Alright,” she agreed, placing her hand in mine so I could help her to her feet.

But I didn’t exactly let go after she was standing.

It wasn’t until we were almost up to the ticket counter that I released her so I could reach for my wallet.

“Absolutely not,” I said when she went for her own.

“What?” she asked, seeming genuinely perplexed. Again, I was forced to wonder about her marriage, about how many times she had to pay because Matt wouldn’t shell out twenty-five bucks for admission.

“I know it sounds outdated and possibly even sexist, but no woman is paying when I’m with her. Regardless of what kind of relationship we have.”

The smile she gave me to that was soft.

“Well, thanks. I know we technically don’t have to pay full price, since we live here.

But I think of all the times I visited as a kid and teen, when I could only pay a few dollars—if that—and how much those visits shaped my future.

It feels right to pay now that I can afford it.

To maybe help cover another kid who can’t. ”

“That’s a really nice way to think of it.”

We made our way through the museum, me taking every opportunity to ask her about different art pieces, wanting to catch her in unguarded, genuine moments.

It wasn’t hard to have a hundred snaps of her looking passionate or serious, staring at a canvas longingly, even mildly annoyed by a piece when she thought it had overshadowed better work from the same period.

It was too cheesy to say aloud, but Blair was her own work of art. And the juxtaposition of her beauty next to the framed art was breathtaking.

“Did you get anything that would work?” she asked when we drifted back out the front doors almost two hours later.

“Tons,” I told her, already dropping my favorites in a text to her.

She reached for her phone, scrolling through the images. “I guess this one could work,” she said, choosing the only picture I’d snapped of her where she was almost completely turned away.

It was contemplative and closed-off.

Which, it seemed, was the image she wanted to project to others. Even though I’d seen many instances of that not being who she truly was.

It was her blog.

She could project herself however she wanted.

“Thanks for this. I’ve been feeling really stuck about my blog lately. But I need to keep creating content.”

“You’ve had a lot going on.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’ve been doing a lot of catch-up.”

“In town?”

“A lot of the consulting is done through emails or video calls. I’ve mostly been in my office going back and forth with clients and doing a lot of art research in their areas. I have one client who keeps me on retainer.”

“For art curation?”

“He’s, ha, he’s absurdly wealthy. Whatever you’re thinking, quadruple it.

He is constantly buying up real estate around the world.

Some are private homes; some are hotels.

He wants art in all of them. He’s the client I’m most likely to have to travel for.

You can only do so much research online for what artwork is available in a small town in Greece. ”

“Do you like the travel?”

“Sometimes. I liked it more when I was younger. These days, I really like just being home.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, a little bit of everything. Reading. Cooking or baking. Organizing. Trying to get into calligraphy because it lets me feel artistic even though I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. Watching documentaries. Wow, I sound like I’m eighty.”

“I don’t go out much either,” I told her. Clubs and bars were left in my twenties.

“What do you do then?”

“I work. I see my family. I’m growing herbs on my balcony,” I admitted.

“Really? How’s that going?”

“My basil needs its own zip code. But my oregano is barely hanging on to life. I got into it because I kept getting herbs from the store that wilted before I could even use them.”

“So, no video games or sports?”

“I mean, I’ll watch a game here or there. And one of my nephews is demanding I get a gaming console so I could play some lamb game that he’s obsessed with.”

“So when is the console arriving?”

“How’d you know I already ordered it?”

“You don’t strike me as someone who could turn down a kid’s simple request.”

“You’ve got me there.”

“So you really do want them? Kids,” she clarified. Like she didn’t believe me the last time she’d asked. But after all the shit she’d gone through with Matt, I figured it was natural for her to be dubious.

“Absolutely. I’ve wanted kids as long as I can remember.

I know a lot of people who were parentified as children ended up not wanting that for their future.

But it was a role I’d enjoyed and wanted again now that my siblings were all grown and didn’t need me.

” My mind flashed back to Zen. Okay, didn’t need me much .

“A large family?” she asked, watching me.

“I guess that will be up to my future wife, not me,” I admitted. “But I would love that. Though, with that many, I’d have to invest in a brownstone. How many do you want?” She flinched at that. “I’m sorry. Was that inappropriate?”

“No. It’s just… I’d gotten so used to thinking that I couldn’t have kids. It’s almost jarring to hear that I still could. Maybe.”

“Why only maybe?”

“My husband is dead. I’m single. And not getting any younger.”

“Oh, honey. You’re way too young to worry about getting older.”

“You’re forgetting that I have to have time to meet someone, get to know them, learn to trust, fall in love, get married, then start a family.”

“Does it have to be in that order?”

“I mean, marriage and then kids is the ideal.” She thought on that as we walked. “I guess I kind of cleave to the traditional because I didn’t have that. I mean, I haven’t ever known my mom or my dad. Even though they’re both alive. Well, as far as I know, anyway.”

“There’s nothing wrong with tradition. But sometimes the best things in life don’t go to plan.”

“True,” she agreed, then exhaled hard. “I just don’t know how I can trust again. Knowing everything I know now. And, let’s face it, I’m sure there is a lot I don’t know about Matthew.”

That was a segue if I ever saw one.

“While we’re on the topic—”

“Oh, God. What else did he lie to me about?”

“I was actually going to suggest you let me help you open his safe. That might help us answer some lingering questions.”

“Like who killed him,” she said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Yes, that. And maybe who broke into your place and why.”

“Shouldn’t we maybe leave that up to the police?”

“From what I can tell, they’re not actively working his case right now.

There are three to four hundred murders in the city each year.

And while the NYPD has a better clearance rate than almost anywhere else in the country, almost a hundred of those murders a year never get solved.

It’s an acceptable statistic for them. They’re not going to kill themselves over the ones that slip past them. ”

Something sparked in Blair’s eyes then. Something I didn’t like seeing there. It was a mixture of suspicion and distrust. “How do you know that?”

It was my turn to be confused.

Because was it actually possible that she didn’t know what I did for a living? Had Matt never mentioned that? I’d never known him for being able to keep his mouth shut.

But, no.

That was no longer true, was it?

Matt was apparently incredibly adept at keeping shit to himself, at lying and deceiving.

This was the point where some part of me wanted to lie, to not expose her to any more discomfort.

But that made me no better than Matt.

I glanced around, aware of so many ears nearby.

“Can we discuss that back at one of our apartments?”

Blair’s suspicion was cutting, but she gave me a slight nod. “Okay.”

We both slipped into a cab and rode back to our building in silence.

As I tried to tell myself that this was for the best.

She would finally figure out who I was.

It would kill whatever attraction she had toward me.

And then I could finally move on from this goddamn infatuation.