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Leo’s expression shutters. Goes hot and dark. “This is about you being in over your head. I always knew you were I, but I never thought you were a fool.” He’s not like this. Not with me. A hurt gasp flies out of me, but I can’t think of a thing to say back. There’s nothing I want to say back. “You want to end up on a true crime podcast? Not on my watch. I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression you had a choice in the matter. You’re staying here. End of story.”
“Honestly?” My throat is tight with tears. “Honestly?” Honestly nothing. I have nothing to say. I push past him and go out. I’m not far down the hall when Leo catches up with me. “Stay away.”
“Daphne.”
I stomp out into the foyer and wrench my purse from the table. I’m not going to leave. I’m not even going to try it. I round on him instead. “Are you even going to apologize?”
Leo has his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”
I stab a finger at him. “You’re being a dick. And I’m not foolish.”
“You’re not,” he agrees. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
What he doesn’t say isI’m tired. I’m afraid. Everything is falling apart.He wouldn’t say those things, though. Not to me. Maybe not to anyone.
“You’re taking me out of my entire life.”
“The tower suite is ready for you.” Leo takes his hands out of his pockets and runs them over his face. An old memory snags in my mind, but I can’t catch it. “The one with the sitting room.”
I like that room. I found it after he moved in and said it should be a guest room. It’s in one of the towers. It goes up above the rest of the house, hence the sitting room.
“The sitting room is a studio now,” Leo mentions. “Tons of windows. Paint. Canvas.”
“I thought you only just decided I was staying.”
He shrugs. “I had it done a while ago. In case you ever wanted to stay.”
I draw myself up to my full height. I still feel small. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Ugh. This is the worst. This stilted conversation. Morelli politeness in Leo’s house.
“I’m still angry.”
“You’re still alive,” he points out, and then he turns and goes back to Haley.
Chapter Thirteen
Emerson
Michael is thrilledabout my next gift for Daphne. This one costs five million, and he is beside himself with joy that I’m not going to spray-paint the fuck out of it. We go through our ritual. I confirm that it’s a Giorgia Russo original. Money goes from my account to his. I allow his assistant to take the piece, heavily wrapped and protected, to the SUV.
Streetlights are coming on in the dying afternoon on the way to Motif.
It’s a violent painting. A woman slashes against demons, knife held high in the moments before a killing blow. The antithesis of Lehmann. It represents the artist’s strength, instead of her fear. It represents Daphne’s strength.
Neon signs shine through the tinted windows, little bars of color across my lap. Across my gloves. It reminds me of stained glass. Of light moving behind a closed door. One side illuminated, then the other.
I’ll give it to her myself.
I didn’t get to see her face when she discovered the ruined Lehmann. This is more important. Especially in light of how we were interrupted. I’m not going to be scared off by a couple of men in suits.
Logan parks directly in front of the gallery. I go to the back of the SUV and take out the painting myself. It’s smaller than the Lehmann piece, but it feels heavier in my hands. It means so much more. Warmth from the front windows of Motif spills across the wrapping. Her hands will be on this soon. Pink in her cheeks. Light in her eyes.
A thin layer of snow cushions the sidewalk. The front door to Motif lets out a gust of heat into my face. They’ve turned it up. Daphne shivered in the cold next to my car window. She won’t be doing that here, no matter what she’s wearing. Robert looks up from his ledger and adjusts his beret.
“Mr. Leblanc. The showing with Nora—it was incredible.” He puts both his hands to his chest. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Where is she?”
