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The urge to grab the reliquary away from him came again, this time combined with the same primal dread I'd felt the day before. Run! My muscles tensed. I clenched my hands and controlled myself.

After a few more minutes of inspection and a few photographs taken with his phone, Tristan removed his gloves. “Thank you, Ms. Takeda.” He paused. “Or is it Mrs. Takeda?”

“It's Miss. If you're done, I'll get back to work.”

“Would you mind walking me out?”

I raised an eyebrow while I internally did somersaults and prayed he'd ask me out. Ridiculous, I know. But I'd lamented my lost chance with him all night, and here he was, providing me with a second opportunity. It had to—

“I'd like to speak to you about the damage.”

Damn it. “What about it?”

“I really must go, Ms. Takeda. Shall we?” Tristan motioned at the door.

“Very well.”

As Tristan turned toward the door, Sabrina spun around and gave me two thumbs-up and a huge grin. Even as I shook my head at her, I smiled. It was good to see her back to her normal self.

I led Tristan into the corridor behind the lab and toward the door to the public areas. As we walked, I took a moment to reason with myself. With his gorgeous face, fit body, and aura of wealth, Tristan Bane probably had women throwing themselves at him. Although this felt like another opportunity I shouldn't waste, I did not want to be one of those women. I was not going to flirt with him.

With those thoughts steeling me, I opened the employee access door and waved him into the public area of the Lunder Center. As we headed to the front door, I asked in my most casual, unaffected tone, “What did you want to speak about?”

“The damaged face.”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Eleven years of pretending, Harold. Eleven years,” one of the museum visitors screeched at the man beside her.

I jerked to a stop. “Whoa.”

“Pretending?” The man glared at her. “You want to talk about pretending? I've been pretending I still love you even though you hardly look at me anymore.”

The woman yanked off her wedding ring and shoved it at him. “We're done!”

“Has everyone gone crazy today?” I took Tristan's arm and guided him away from the couple. When we were past them, I looked up and noticed how pale he had gone. I was tempted to drop my mental barrier and touch his emotions, but it felt wrong to use my gift to spy on a stranger. I only allowed it to rise when someone I knew needed comfort, and then only to take some of their pain and ease them. “Are you all right? I know that was shocking, but I assure you, things like that rarely happen here.”

Tristan glanced at me and straightened his shoulders. “I'm fine. It just surprised me.”

Something felt off, but I let it go and his arm as well. “So, you were saying?”

“Do you know who made the repairs to the face?”

“No, but so far, the repair work appears to have used similar materials.”

“Meaning, it was repaired within a few years of its creation?”

“I don't know about that, but I'd say within the 12th century. Cloisonne techniques changed in the 13th century. They used less expensive materials. But I could be wrong. The reliquary was made with a silver foundation, gold, and jewels. You wouldn't want to repair it with cheap materials, even if they were the standard. All I know for certain is; the artist who repaired it wasn't up to the job.”

Tristan flinched and drew closer to me. Expecting something horrifying, I followed his gaze to a couple holding hands, and then looked back to him. His expression wavered between soft and sharp, before sweeping the room. A woman handing her husband his glasses got a brief smile from him, but his gaze didn't linger. He looked like a soldier scanning a hostile environment.

The second time he smiled at a couple, I said, “You like seeing people in love.”

“I do.”

“And yet you look disturbed by them.”

“I think love is the most wonderful thing in the world.”