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“Tell me what’s happening.”
He was focused on the canvas, fingers no longer resting. She smiled at his curiosity.
“There’s this guy, the protagonist. He’s a thief and has a crew that can be pretty stupid at times, and while they are close to him, they lead him to some stupid outcomes. One of them ends up kidnapping their latest victim’s stepdaughter. She refuses to return and joins them. Finds them every time they return her. She leads them to even more misadventures.”
“What made you smile?”
“The girl. She’s feisty and won’t take no for an answer. The crew thinks she’s a spoiled brat and the guy keeps picking a fight with her, but she’s starting to win a few of them over and gets herself involved in their next heist.”
“Let me guess. They are going to fall in love.”
“It doesn’t seem to be the direction the story’s going, but we will see.”
He flicked a glance now and then, orbs glazed. She flipped the pages and continued reading, holding back laughter when the heroine improvised on a heist gone wrong to save their ass, then had a yelling match with the male when he refused to acknowledge her quick wit. She rolled her eyes when attention from a wealthy target had the protagonist raging with jealousy and dismissing it as being protective over someone who was still new to their gang.
“You were right. I think he has feelings for her but won’t admit it.”
A smug smile petered out of his mouth, drawing her attention there.
“See? I knew it.”
“You read this already,” she surmised in suspicion.
“No. But some cliches just make sense.”
Archie wandered out of his bedroom and joined them, studying the painting a bit before moving on to play. The hours flew until there was no stream of light coming from the closed curtains and the protagonist and heroine finally declared their love for each other after the former almost died. When she closed the book, Edmund dropped his paintbrush and took a deep, steadying inhale. He sounded bone-tired and satisfied at the same time.
“Are you done?”
“Yes. See for yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do…oh. That’s…Edmund.”
Words left her as she took in the painting, finished in record time and depicting her with the many emotions she felt upon reading the book. It captured her excitement and her melancholy and made her look so relaxed and mysterious. Most of all, it portrayed the talent that overflowed from this man as every detail was covered, from the tendrils of hair straying away to the crumpled on the hem of her long skirt.
“It’s one of my best,” he admitted, stunning her. “Normally, that means it stays in my studio as part of my personal collection, but this one I have to get out for the world to see.”
“If you are asking for permission, you don’t need to. I have no control over your pieces. Besides, my face is partially hidden and easily unrecognizable.”
“It is. I wanted to capture your face and its beauty, but…Italy.”
He strode away before she could recover from the absentminded praise, then watched as he paced over her rug.
“What?”
“I need to sell it in Italy. The highest bidder. It deserves to go to the best museum or owner. I will mail it right away.”
“Mail it? Are you not going?”
“I don’t go outside of New York. I don’t go to Europe.”
“Wait,” she called out before he could continue, reeling from the information. “Don’t tell me you have never been to Europe, ever?”
“I was there once. That’s it. There’s no need.” He frowned. “They send me the details and—”
“And you don’t see who takes your creation, only who gave the most money.” It didn’t sit well with her. “Doesn’t it sound so…cold?”
Edmund gawked at her, baffled. “Cold?”
