Page 268 of The Spider Queen
My eyes strayed to his wife. Barrett’s composure had returned. She still appeared slightly wary but intrigued, nonetheless.
It was inevitable. When I unveiled anything and spoke like a soothsayer, it at first triggered feelings of alarm. But with some people, alarm quickly gave way to curiosity.
“Please,” Barrett added. “We’d love for you to join us.”
I wanted to refuse, but something about the two of them made me say yes.
Three courses, four Manhattans, and two hours later, I was following Barrett and Flynn to their penthouse suite so I could finally show them what Flynn’s money had allowed me to create.
“It was supposed to be a birthday surprise,” Flynn said with a feigned annoyed sigh.
Barrett looked up at her husband and smiled softly. “You know I hate surprises.”
“We’ve had enough surprises, that’s for sure.”
Barrett’s smile slipped. I noticed because I was watching her. She was a vivacious woman, quick-tongued and even quicker to laugh. Sharp mind. I knew why Flynn was still enraptured with his wife even after their many years and three children together. They’d shown me photos over dinner.
Kids didn’t really do it for me, but it was hard not to be taken in by the mischievous smiles on their angelic faces. The Campbell genetics were strong, and each of them carried the stamp of their father. I detected traces of Barrett in them as well, but they were subtler.
The penthouse was everything I thought it would be. Only the finest of everything, down to the antique liquor bar cart in the corner. It oozed wealth, but it wasn’t at all ostentatious.
Barrett went to the curtains and pulled them back to reveal a view of Central Park.
“Location, location, location,” I murmured.
Barrett laughed. “Exactly. Stella, can I get you something to drink?”
I shook my head. “No.” I set the box down. “I’d like you to open it.”
Barrett’s fingers darted across the dark red bow. “All through dinner, you deflected. I’m curious as to what my husband paid you for.”
Flynn snorted as he poured himself a glass of tawny liquid. They exchanged another look.
“Open it, hen. Prepare to be amazed.”
“You haven’t seen it either,” I reminded him.
“You haven’t?” Barrett asked, shock in her voice. “Well, well, well.” She removed the lid of the box, pushed aside the tissue paper, and gasped.
My heart swelled with joy and relief. I lived for these types of moments, when a globe found its true home, its owner’s eyes shining bright with tears of awe. I felt what Barrett felt and it swelled within me, completing my triumph.
“Stella,” Barrett whispered. “Did you make this?”
“Yes. If I may?” I asked. I took the snow globe and gently turned it over. I cranked the music key and a moment later, a song filled the air.
Barrett’s brows furrowed. “I don’t recognize the melody.”
“Of course you don’t, love,” Flynn said, his voice thick with emotion he was clearly unable to contain. “I had it composed just for you.”
I turned the music dome back over. Tantalizing dancing snowflakes twirled through globe. The purple Scottish thistle looked suspended within the glass, an illusion that made it appear as though it was free floating. It was a trick of the placement I’d learned on the island of Murano—I’d used the glass as a sort of prism to deceive the eye.
Barrett took the snow globe back and held it up to her eyes to peer at it. “It’s beautiful. And I will treasure it always.”
“Thank you.” I picked up my purse. “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Campbell.”
“Call me Barrett,” she said, her smile wide and friendly, all traces of unease between us gone.
“I’ll walk you out,” Flynn said.
