Once upon a time, my grandmother had hosted big, buzzing Christmas parties with live music, spiced punch, old-fashioned decorations, and countless guests. But the “biggest” gathering we’d had since she died was when my sister, cousin, mother, aunt, and I had met here for Christmas the previous December. But with the heating broken and empty, echoing halls… Well, it had been a little on the gloomy side.
I looked around at the people and the place, wondering what the coming Christmas would bring. More importantly,whomit would bring.
Sid leaned away from the painting, murmuring, “Incredible.”
My pulse skipped.
He turned, eyes sparkling. “Your father would be so proud.”
Marius squeezed my hand, telling me he was too.
“So, it’s real?” Bene asked.
Sid nodded, and I grinned a mile wide.
“Wow. That’s got to be worth millions, right?” Bene asked.
I groaned. “Way to spoil the mood.”
“Spoiling the mood is your mom butts in on you during foreplay, or what Henrik does whenever he walks into a room.”
The vampire flashed his fangs, but Bene ignored him, and Sid, thank goodness, didn’t see.
“It might fetch millions, but it’s priceless in other ways,” Sid said.
I nodded. “Like knowing it will be displayed for anyone to see.”
“You’re an idealist, you know that?” Bene laughed.
Roux looked at me, then Marius, and a cloud came over his eyes. A cloud that implied I might be overly idealistic about the dragon shifter too.
Well, I could make up my own mind about that. And ultimately, time would tell, wouldn’t it?
“Now, about that Monet. You’re sure it’s a fake?” Sid asked.
I showed him the picture I’d snapped before the guys had handed it over to Gordon. “I’m sure. Look at the signature and the brushstrokes.”
Sid held his lens to my phone, then caught himself and laughed. “Oops. What about the back of the painting? Any clues there?”
I grinned. “Look at the stamp.”
He scrolled to the next image and zoomed in on the mark on the back of the canvas. “Sammlung Flechheim.”
I waited, then prompted him. “Look again.”
He did, then cracked into a grin. “Flechtheimshould be spelled with a T.”
I nodded, and we both broke into hoots.
Bene sipped his coffee, muttering, “Art nerds.”
“Well, you’re right again,” Sid said. “Did I say your father would be proud?”
He had, but I would never tire of hearing those words.
“Just one thing,” Sid said, growing somber. “I respect that you can’t reveal the details of how you procured this artwork, or about the previous owner. But what happens when he or she discovers thatThePainter on the Road to Tarasconhas suddenly resurfaced in the art world?”
“I figured if I wait a few months…” I said hopefully.
