Page 56 of His Untouchable Heart

“Lina, our friend in Switzerland—she’s an art researcher and one of the best. She dug into private archives and found this.”

I turned the screen toward him. “It’s a receipt. From a private sale in Antwerp. Dated just a few months before the occupation. My grandfather bought the painting for his gallery. It’s signed. Notarized. The title is listed in his own handwriting.”

Anthony took the phone gently, studying the screen. His brow furrowed in concentration, but there was no skepticism—only reverence.

“She’s mailing the certified copy,” I said. “It’ll take a few days. But this… this is what we needed. What we’ve been waiting for.”

He handed the phone back like it was made of glass.

“This is extraordinary, Gabrielle,” he said softly. “You really found it. After everything.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

My fingers closed around the phone again. “We want to sell it.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t recoil.

“If we could prove it was ours, the plan was to file a restitution claim and then sell it. Pay off our student loans. Buy a house with a little guest cottage where Juliette could paint. Something ours. Something permanent. Something that didn’t feel like we were still living in borrowed time.”

I glanced at him. “But then I met you.”

That landed with more weight than I expected.

“And suddenly,” I said, my voice dropping, “it wasn’t just about the painting anymore.”

He looked at me for a long moment. Not blinking. Not pulling back.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” he said, but there was no accusation in it. Just quiet disappointment. “Maybe I could’ve helped.”

I swallowed, guilt rising fast. “I was afraid. I didn’t want to risk losing what we were just beginning to feel for each other. I thought if I brought this up too soon, it would seem like… like I had an agenda. Like I was using you. You were my boss, and that made you off-limits.”

His expression softened immediately. “Gabrielle, you could never come off that way to me. But I’ll admit I did feel like I was overstepping professionally, and that made me frustrated and well…sad.”

I exhaled slowly. “How do you feel now?”

Anthony leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

“It makes me love you even more,” he said.

The words hit me like sunlight through storm clouds—unexpected and warm and real. My breath caught.

“Careful,” I whispered, a half-smile wafting over my lips. “You keep saying things like that, and I might start believing them.”

“You should,” he said. “Because I mean them.”

My heart felt like it was beating too loudly in my chest, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was something closer to wonder.

He leaned back, but his eyes never left mine. Then his expression shifted again—this time into something more calculated.

“There’s something else,” he said.

I gave him a wary look. “Please don’t tell me you’re secretly a prince.”

He grinned. “Sadly no. Just a guy with an annoying habit of noticing things.”

I narrowed my eyes playfully. “Go on.”

“Judge Valencia,” he said, growing serious again. “He’s mentionedA Lady and Gentleman in Blackto me. Casually. But enough times that I think he’s interested in acquiring it. He’s subtle, but not subtle enough.”

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