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As he’d tried to fall asleep last night, he kept thinking about her smiles, her laughter, about her lying in his bed…and sleep became a distant memory, knowing she was only a wall away.
She stopped in the middle of the living room when she saw the sleeping bag wadded up on the bean bags he’d pushed together. She pointed in horror. “You didn’t sleep on those, did you?”
He’d jumped into the shower in the hall bathroom before everyone got up and hadn’t put the living room to rights yet. Grabbing the sleeping bag, he started stuffing it into its carrier bag. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Right.” Her pretty smile was nowhere in sight as she hugged her iPad to her chest. “Of course.”
She must be imagining what it had been like in the Middle East, with the dust and the sand and the wind and the death. But he didn’t want her to go there, just as he didn’t want to go there himself anymore. He wanted them both to remember only the good things he’d told her yesterday, about him and Zach, about building schools, about helping villagers.
“The boys are playing in Noah’s room,” he said. He smiled thinking of them. Being with Rosie and the kids made him smile more than he was used to. A lot more, considering zero smiles was his default expression. “They said no parents allowed.”
Thank God the mention of the boys brought back Rosie’s good humor. “They’re probably building an amazing Lego structure ten feet tall to show off to us.”
“Probably.” He found himself smiling again, just from the look on her face when she talked about her son.
“Well, I promised you a nice breakfast.” She clapped her hands lightly. “Time to get started.”
“I already made coffee.”
“Man of my dreams.” Her lips curved up, and his heart beat faster with how badly he wanted that to be true.
In the kitchen, she poured coffee into the mug he’d left on the counter for her. She must have had more than just a swimsuit in that bag she’d brought with her, because she was wearing a different shirt from yesterday, and not one of his. Colorful and slightly sheer, the flowery cover-up was spiced up with a bright tank top underneath, leaving her bare shoulders a mouthwatering sight through the filmy material.
He needed to control himself. Especially the need to truly be the man of her dreams. In her bed, in her life, in every way possible…
When she turned, leaning back against the counter, her eyes sparkling from the hit of caffeine, he had to confess what he’d done last night. Her trust meant everything to him. He wouldn’t break it now, or ever.
“Look, I have to tell you—” he began.
She said, “I think you should know—” at exactly the same moment.
As they both stopped speaking, he lost himself in her coffee-colored gaze, in the scent of her in his kitchen, in the vision of her asleep—and naked—in his bed last night.
“You go first,” he suggested.
“Okay.” She paused a beat, before saying, “I looked up more about your painting. Did some research.” She held up her hand as if warding off potential objections. “I know I should have checked in with you before my deep dive on the Internet, but you know how much I love art. And I’ve got this majorly huge feeling that your painting is rare and totally awesome.” Her eyes were alight with excitement.
That’s who Rosie was. She threw herself into things, whether it was playing Marco Polo in the pool with the boys, or jumping her heart out at a trampoline park, or creating an incredible painting at a museum. He was sure she’d even be enthusiastic about accounting too. Rosie would never do a half-assed job at anything.
Now it seemed she’d found a cause in him. Or at least, his painting.
He could never be angry that she’d tried to help him. “What did you find out?”
“I’m not completely sure yet,” she admitted, “although my gut tells me I’m on the right track. Miguel Fernando Correa always signed his work with just his initials. And since he was born in Mexico City in 1705 and died in 1798, he had a huge body of work. Some of which could have been unaccounted for until now.”
“I’m pretty sure Karmen’s family came from Mexico City.”
“That’s good to know,” she said. And then, “He did a lot of city scenes like the one at the Legion of Honor. He did tavern scenes or people in salons or churches. There was even a series of bullfights. As well as ordinary people going about their business, like women carrying water. He was a people guy, not a landscape guy.”
Gideon thought back to the painting he’d seen in the museum. It had an amazing amount of detail, from the clothing to the faces, even the buildings and trees.
“He also did portraits, especially of famous people of the time.” Rosie opened her iPad and tapped to bring up a photo of a painting he hadn’t seen before. “This is a portrait of Diego and Catalina Sanchez. I gather they were a prominent family, to be able to hire him.”
“Karmen never said anything about prominent ancestors.” Although she had been extremely wealthy. She’d told him her dad was an important business type, but it hadn’t seemed significant back when making it from one day to the next was the only thing that mattered. For the first time, Gideon wondered if Karmen’s distinguished roots originated much further back than two generations. How long had the painting of the angels been handed down?
“The only break in Correa’s usual style was during this one period around 1775, when he did a series of religious paintings. Angels, mystical themes that represented God or Jesus looking down from the clouds. I found a photo of a huge painting of a battle between the angels and Satan called Battle of Angels. It’s at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.”
“Have you been there?”
