I caressed his cheek and said, “You had to grow up fast when you lost your parents, so it’s no wonder you seem older.”
“I suppose so.”
I muttered, “Damn though,thirty-two! I didn’t even realize I was a… does the term cougar apply to men?”
“It’s not fair if it doesn’t. Why should women get singled out for dating younger people?”
“That’s a good point.”
He kissed me before returning to the painting, and I went back and curled up on the couch. The music was playing, and a light breeze swept through the room from the open windows. This felt really good.
While I watched him paint, I found myself wondering how people would react once they found out about our age gap. My son might find it surprising since they were close to the same age, but he wasn’t the judgmental type, so I knew it wouldn’t be an issue.
And I didn’t really care what anyone else thought. They’d be wrong about their assumptions anyway. Tory might beyounger than me, but I was the one who’d started out totally inexperienced in this relationship. He was also a natural caretaker, so he’d automatically stepped into the role most people would think the older partner would take. I almost wanted to call it a reverse age gap, because it was the exact opposite of what society probably expected.
Not everyone would understand what we had or why it worked, but they didn’t need to. All that mattered was how we felt about each other, and I adored this man.
15
Salvatore
In all, it took me twenty-five days to complete the painting. That was the fastest I’d ever worked. Normally it would have taken me about three months. But I’d been motivated to get Armando home, so I’d put in incredibly long hours, and it had paid off.
The moment I finished, Arie asked the housekeeper to get Fitzpatrick for us. He showed up twenty minutes later and called his art expert, who promised to come for an inspection in the morning. If he signed off on the painting, we’d be good to go.
After Fitzpatrick left, I was so exhausted that Arie and I went straight to bed. He curled up in my arms, and I wrapped myself around him. We weren’t totally out of the woods. Not yet. If that expert actually knew his stuff, he’s see my forgery was flawless. Even working under a time crunch, I knew for a fact I’d gotten it exactly right.
Now the question was whether Ashcroft would actually let us go, or if he’d find some bullshit excuse to keep us here.
The next morning, we packed our bags and brought them downstairs with us. Fitzpatrick and an older man in a tweed suit arrived just as we were finishing breakfast. The man took his time with the painting, examining it with a magnifying glass and comparing it to photographs of the original. Meanwhile, Armando and I stood at the back of the studio, all but holding our breath.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he told Fitzpatrick, “It’s the most exquisite forgery I’ve ever seen. There’s not an expert alive who’d be able to distinguish it from the original.”
Fitzpatrick shook his hand and thanked him. The man left the studio without so much as a glance in our direction. Then Fitzpatrick snapped a few photos of the painting and told us, “Please give me a few moments, gentlemen.”
After a brief text exchange, he turned to us with a smile and said, “You’re free to go.” We grabbed our bags and followed him to the front door, which he held open for us. A black SUV was waiting out front.
“Job well done,” he told me, as he shook my hand. “Mr. Ashcroft is quite pleased with the result.”
“Just to be clear, we’re even now,” I said. “He’s not going to come back in a few months and want something else from me, right?”
“Your debt is paid in full, and that’s the last you’ll be hearing from us. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. di Pietro.” As if I’d had a choice.
Armando looked suspicious. “So, that’s really it? We can go?”
“Yes. You’ve done what was asked of you, and a plane is standing by,” he said. “I’ve given your phones to one of my men,who’ll be accompanying you on your flight home. You can have them when you land. Safe travels, gentlemen.”
With that, we climbed into the back seat of the waiting SUV. The driver and the man in the passenger seat were both dead serious and dressed all in black. Armando clutched my hand tightly but didn’t say anything. A muscle worked in his jaw as he ground his teeth.
We were driven down the same country roads as the day we’d arrived and ended up at the rural airport, where the same plane was waiting. The man in the passenger seat boarded the plane with us and took a seat up front, beside the door to the cockpit. Armando and I sat all the way at the back of the main cabin, outside the bedroom.
As the crew prepared for takeoff, I asked, “Are you okay, Arie?”
“I will be, once we’re on our way,” he whispered. “I keep expecting something to happen, like maybe Ashcroft will change his mind and order his people to haul us back to that house.”
Part of me was worried about that too, but minutes later the plane began to roll down the runway. Arie clutched my hand, and as we lifted off he murmured, “That’s a relief.”
The trip home was long but uneventful. We spent most of it in the bedroom, where he dozed and I held him and counted down the hours. Eventually, we landed and gathered our bags. As we left the plane, the man in black who’d accompanied us handed over our phones.
