Page 817 of One More Kiss

For a six-year-old, Eloise had forgotten more about art than I had ever learned by the time I was her age. She also had an innate talent for recognizing good art, something she inherited from her mother. We were only searching for a matter of seconds when I spotted what looked like a large puff of cotton candy with feet and taller woman in a black dress, both with waist length chestnut hair. They had their backs turned to me, and they were standing in front of an oil painting of a woman sleeping. Eloise was talking animatedly with the stranger, pointing at different aspects of the painting. The head of security approached me to speak, and I quickly held a finger to my lips and nodded in his direction.

He nodded back and whispered into his shoulder, "We got her. Original positions everyone,” before backing out of sight and disappearing around the corner.

I turned my full attention to the pair admiring one of Henri Matisse’s most famous paintings, on loan from Madrid.

“…It’s his daughter,” continued Eloise, unaware she was being observed. “Her name is Marjory, I think.”

“Marguerite,” the mystery woman and I said in unison. Eloise whipped around at the sound of my voice. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Daddy!” She ran and jumped into my arms.

“Eloise,” I squeezed her tight, trying to squeeze the last terrifying three minutes out of my mind. “I thought I told you to stay where I could see you.”

“I’m sorry Daddy, but I wanted to see the sleeping lady again, and look… I made a new friend!”

I looked up and in the direction that Eloise was eagerly pointing.

I was face to face with Gaia Wesley.

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