It took him precisely three seconds to freeze, then retreat, with a stream of muttered words I had no chance of hearing.
I shook my head. “What’s he doing here?”
Lola watched him walk away then shrugged. “What’s it to you?”
The sharpness of her tone sent a creeping sensation down the back of my neck. She wasn’t exactly warm and chummy with me these days, but her voice was like acid dissolving through metal.
“Maybe he wanted another shot with Esmé, unless, of course, that would be a problem with you?” Her eyes gleamed, and not with happiness.
“What do you mean?”
She twisted her mouth like a pretzel. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps that the two of you have been working so closely together. What with all the late nights and storeroom boiler repairs, you must be the best of friends by now.” Her eyes seethed, and she clamped her jaw tight.
A prickle of warmth crept up my spine, and I longed to step outside into the cool of the square. Instead, I cleared my throat and straightened. “Lola, if you have something to say, we’d prefer it wait until after tonight.”
Her eyes widened, and she scoffed. “We?”
I blinked slowly, willing my face to stay neutral. I’d all but admitted there was something between Esmé and me. Or at the very least, that we talked about the gallery together—her business. As far as Lola knew, I was only a junior member of staff.
“What I mean is, I’m sure Esmé would agree with me.”
Her lips curled, the smile not reaching her eyes. “I’m sure she would. You know, it’s a shame we didn’t get to know each other better. Though I’m probably a little on the young side for you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she got in first.
“Besides, I can’t imagine Esmé will keep you around much longer. You’re not really her type.”
I was about to ask what she meant, but Maurice arrived at her shoulder. “Is the video presentation ready to roll?” he asked.
The two of them had put together a video reel to showcase Luc’s work and touch on some of his inspirations. Esmé had shown it to me last night and told me some amazing stories about growing up on Luc’s family estate.
“It sure is,” Lola said with a triumphant look.
“Okay, then let’s get this show on the road,” Maurice said, placing a hand at the small of Lola’s back as he guided her toward the tech desk. As they walked away, Lola glanced back, chewing her bottom lip.
I narrowed my eyes at her retreating figure. Ever since I’d turned her down on her birthday, she’d been distant and downright rude at times. I hadn’t been arrogant enough to assume it was because of my rejection—but as she disappeared into the crowd, an uneasy feeling crept over me.
29
ESMÉ
Istood at the back of the gallery, evaluating the night. The exhibition had gone seamlessly so far. Luc’s paintings went down a storm. Each purchase meant a healthy commission for me and more money in the bank for Rome.
Maurice hovered in the corner, hand on the dimmer switch. Lola and he had compiled a video to compliment Luc’s work, full of sweeping pictures of his vineyard, the country estate he owned, and his little secret beach on the coast.
I sent him a nod, and he grinned. In the few seconds before the lights dimmed, I scanned the room for Matteo. He wasn’t hard to spot—taller than most of my guests, he towered over the customer he chatted with.
I smiled. He’d been perfect tonight. Charming, but low-key. He’d kept his distance, but every time I caught his eye across the room, he sent a little wink.
The room darkened, and the chatter in the gallery stopped. After a few seconds, a beautiful image of Luc’s chateau filled one of the bare walls and stirring orchestral music filled the gallery.
I glanced at my feet, fighting the smile threatening to erupton my lips. Luc and I had argued about the music. He’d wanted something gentle, like the harp, but Iris had overruled him. I knew he’d hate what I’d decided on, and I could picture his brows furrowing right now.
I wrapped my arms around my waist, closing my eyes to savour the swell of violins, when a scream filled the room. I opened my eyes, staring around the gallery. Was someone being murdered? As I scanned the crowd, a full-throated cry of “Matteo” pierced the air and I looked at the wall, my blood instantly turning to ice.
It wasme. I’d been the one to scream, and that was my body, flailing around helplessly on the zip wire being projected onto the makeshift screen.
A prickle ran down my neck. Silence thickened as guests exchanged wary glances. Me? I just stared at the screen, willing myself to wake from this obvious nightmare.