Page 50 of His Untouchable Heart

He popped the hatch. Inside was a canvas wrapped in acid-free paper, nestled in a custom crate lined with foam. It was small, square, and beautifully packed. My stomach turned—not with nausea this time but with something colder.

“I need to bring it to the gallery,” I said, stepping forward but not reaching for it. “We’ll store it securely during the process. And if you actually want me to find a buyer, I’ll need to verify it anyway.”

Curtain’s smile faded. “It doesn’t leave my sight.”

I tilted my head. “You’ve had me followed, remember? I’m not going anywhere. And if you don’t trust me with it, I can’t move it for you unless it is in a gallery for safekeeping.”

He hesitated. I watched the indecision flicker across his features—his ego warring with his desperation.

Finally, he exhaled and gave a clipped nod. “Fine.”

We loaded the crate into the back seat of my car together, and I secured it with care, noting how light it felt—too light, maybe. I made a mental note to photograph every inch of the packaging once I got back to the gallery.

As I closed the door, I turned to him. “How much are you expecting?”

He gave a lazy shrug. “As much as you can get. You’re the expert, right?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You don’t even know what this is, do you?”

He grinned again, cocky and oblivious. “I know it’s valuable. That’s enough.”

I leaned just slightly toward the window. “Femme au Collier Vert.Picasso. Circa 1946.” I let the name linger in the air. “Woman with the Green Necklace.You’re lucky it didn’t get left in a moldy basement.”

He whistled low. “Fancy. That’s why I like you, Gabrielle—you make it sound legit.”

I gave him a tight smile. “Itislegit. Or it better be.”

He chuckled and slid behind the wheel of his SUV. “Get it sold.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I want the photo back before I give you the payment.”

“Of course. Business is business.”

He laughed—sharp and humorless—then peeled out of the lot like he’d just won something.

I stood there a beat longer, staring after him, the edges of my calm beginning to fray. Then I turned back to the car, brushing one hand instinctively across my abdomen.

Two truths sat in the car with me—one wrapped in pine and canvas, the other growing quietly inside me.

The drive back was quiet—almost unnaturally so. No music, no podcast. Just the steady hum of tires on asphalt and the occasional thump of the crate shifting in the back seat whenever I braked for a red light.

I didn’t glance at it. I didn’t have to.

I could feel it there, looming like a sealed question, waiting for the right moment to detonate.

My fingers rested lightly on the steering wheel, but when I noticed the faint tremble, I dropped one hand to my lap. Without thinking, it settled over my stomach.

The gesture startled me more than I cared to admit.

I wasn’t even showing yet. But now that I knew, it felt like every cell in my body had instinctively shifted into protection mode—for something I couldn’t even see.

I thought about Anthony—his calm presence, his secrets, the way he tried to shield me without being asked.

And I wondered what he would do when I told him about the baby.

Or if I would tell him at all.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

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