Page 5 of His Untouchable Heart

Juliette smirked, leaning back with the confidence of someone who knew she’d hit the mark. “Oh, you so do. You’ve been suffering from a dry spell for far too long.”

I sighed, rubbing my thumb against the stem of my wine glass, my mind a tumult of conflict. “I don’t have time for this. We have bigger things to focus on.”

Juliette set her glass down and leaned forward, her expression shifting from teasing to serious. “You mean likeA Lady and Gentleman in Black?”

I met her gaze and nodded. “Yeah.”

She exhaled, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I still can’t believe we’re this close.” Her voice was softer now, laced with something heavier than excitement—something closer to longing. “After everything, after all the years of knowing it was stolen from our family, of hearing our grandfather talk about it like a ghost he could never put to rest… we might actually bring it home.”

Home. That word hit me harder than I expected.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “If it really is ours—if we can prove it belongs to our family—we won’t just be reclaiming a painting, Juliette. We’ll be reclaiming a part of our history.”

She nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. “I wish Great Grandfather Bram were here to see this.”

A silence stretched between us, filled with the weight of everything that had been taken from our family. The painting was more than just a piece of art—it was proof of what had been lost. Proof that our ancestors had owned something valuable, something that had been ripped away from them during the war.

Juliette’s fingers tightened around her glass. “And if we do get it back… we don’t have to let it haunt us like it haunted him. We could finally do something with it. Sell it, use it. That money could change everything for us.”

My stomach flipped at the thought. “We could pay off our student loans.”

She nodded. “Buy a place of our own. Finally stop living like two overworked grad students scraping by on wine and takeout.”

I let out a slow breath, letting the reality of it sink in. “It would change everything.”

Juliette met my gaze, determination hardening her features. “That’s why wehaveto make sure it happens.”

I glanced down at my wine, feeling the weight of her words settle deep inside me. This wasn’t just about art. It wasn’t just about history.

It was about reclaiming what was rightfully ours.

Juliette’s lips quirked into a smirk. “So, about getting closer to Anthony…”

I groaned, throwing a napkin at her. “Don’t start. He’s off-limits.”

“Sure.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “But if you happen to learn something useful while being professionally near him, I wouldn’t complain.”

She laughed when I clinked my glass against hers with a halfhearted glare.

Finally, we fell into a comfortable silence, the wine softening the edges of our stress.

Juliette yawned first, stretching her arms overhead. “We should probably sleep. If I oversleep again, my students are going to start thinking I died.”

I snorted. “Try explaining that to your PhD committee.”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

I drained the last of my wine, stood, and followed her to our rooms. As I shut my door behind me, I exhaled slowly, resting my forehead against the wood for a beat longer than necessary.

I’d said it out loud. Now, it was real. And if I wasn’t careful, it was going to get messy.

I flicked on the light and surveyed my closet, my fingers trailing along the fabric of dresses and blouses. I needed something that would catch Anthony’s eye, something that would make him notice me in a way that was more than just professional. My heart fluttered at the thought, and a tingling sensation started to build inside me.

I pulled out a sleek, red dress, the kind that hugged every curve and whispered promises of allure. Holding it against my body, I imagined walking into the office, Anthony’s eyes lifting from his papers to rest on me. I imagined the way his gaze might linger, the slow smile that might spread across his face.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I bit my lip to suppress my growing desire. This wasn’t just about attraction; it was strategy. I needed to get closer to him to expedite the authentication process of the art pieces before others in the vault. Time was of the essence, “and being near Anthony was the key,” I muttered.

I turned back to my closet, searching for the perfect shoes. A pair of black stilettos with a delicate ankle strap caught my eye. They were daring, a little dangerous, exactly the kind of statement I needed to make. I slipped them on, strutting a few steps to test the effect. The mirror confirmed what I hoped; I looked confident, powerful, and yes—provocative.

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