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I gave him a strange look. “That seems unlikely.”
He shrugged. “Poetry is strange but that doesn’t make it less beautiful.” He kissed the top of my head. “They have replicas of this painting in the gift shop,” he said pointedly.
My heart skipped. “I need one. I want one of every piece I’ve loved but—I don’t remember their names.”
Jonathan snorted. “A neurotic psychopath who will remain nameless told me to take photos of all the ones you lingered on.”
I slid a glance at my husband. “You did?”
Damien made a show of narrowing his black eyes. “You hear the wordsneuroticandpsychopathand jump straight to me?”
“Yep.”
He laughed, his eyes crinkling shut. “We’ll get your replicas on the way out, Vasya. Although we might end up with so many that you can wallpaper our room with them.”
I gasped. “Really?”
“I didn’t mean that literally.” He met my eyes and softened. “It’d be nice to brighten that room up now I think about it. It’s a little blank.”
Jonathan snorted. Loudly.
Damien shot him a glare hot enough to melt glass.
“You two bicker more than we do, and I’m your actual wife, Damien,” I said, finally pulling myself away fromThe Lady of Shalott.I liked to think she got out of the river, realised what she wanted in life, and went for it with no shame or apologies. But Jonathan was probably right that she was dead.
“I haven’t even decided if I like this one yet,” I huffed when Jonathan got out his phone again, but he wasn’t smiling anymore, and he fit his phone to his ear instead.
“I see,” he murmured, his tone making Damien fold his fingers around my hip and draw me closer, his other hand on the outline of a gun. “Saint, lose your weapons,” Jonathan said urgently. “We’ve got company outside intent on coming in.”
“Why the fuck would I lose my weapons?” Damien demanded, so tense I was worried he’d snap. I waited for panic to hit me but with my husband at my side, it never formed. The security team didn’t hurt either. Artur wouldn’t get past them.
“Because the old bill have a warrant for your arrest,” Jonathan bit out, a vein throbbing in his forehead.
Damien dragged in a rough breath and let it out after three seconds.
“Damien?” I asked, panic hitting with enough force to make me stumble. It wasn’t Artur, who would be shot down before he came close to us. It was thepolice,here to take my husband from me. Tears pricked my eyes at the clash of emotion pressing against my rib cage.
“Fine,” he barked at Jonathan and stripped off all his knives and guns, handing them to one of our guards who disappeared swiftly from the room. “Stay with Jonathan, Vasilisa.”
“I’m coming with you,” I argued, ignoring how small my voice was. They weren’t taking my husband. No fucking way. “I’ll tell them I did it, or I helped or—”
Damien’s fingertips pressed to my mouth, cutting off the flow of panic. “Nothing they have will touch me. I’ll be back with you in no time.”
I shook my head, denial thick in my throat. Panic crushed my chest.
Seeing it, Damien set his mouth to my ear and breathed, “It’s not the first time I’ve been arrested, my queen. I didn’t go down then, and I won’t now. They have nothing, this is just someone trying to fuck with me.”
“Artur,” I realised when he dropped his hand.
“Whoever this is, they’re going to regret it,” he swore, so confident and full of rage that I believed him, that some of my panic eased.
“You better come back, Damien Marshall,” I warned, ignoring how strangled my voice was. “Or I’ll march into the police station and get you back myself. Don’t think I won’t.”
“I’ve learned never to underestimate you,” he replied, his black eyes so soft. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back with you soon.”
I nodded, jumping when heavy footsteps shattered the hushed peace of the gallery. I only realised how quiet our guards had been when four police officers stormed into the room and filled it with noise. I startled when I realised everyone except Jonathan had left, like our security team had melted into shadow.
“Damien Marshall?” a woman said, her voice whip-hard.
