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“Isn’t it perfect? I mean, it’s exactly the same.”
Brea walked toward it, flabbergasted. As far as she could tell, the painting was the same from every conceivable angle. And she should know. She’d spent many hours with the horrible thing, marveling at why it was worth so much.
Finally, she turned on her heel and gaped at Neal. “But why?”
Neal’s smile was consistent, open. “Come on, Brea. I thought you were smart enough to figure it out by now.”
Brea’s stomach swam with fear. She hated being told she wasn’t smart enough for something. Then again, she didn’t want to name what was happening. It was horrific.
“Let me ask you a question. Why should Walter Billington spend four million dollars on that other painting when he could spend it on this replica— and never notice the difference?” Neal continued.
Brea thought she might throw up. Her mind whirred with the details of her friendship with Neal, trying to piece it together.Had he followed her? Pinned her down? Manipulated her with his friendship?
“The photographs?” she breathed. “When you spilled the beer, you must have…”
“Yes, I took one,” Neal admitted with a wave of his hand. “I knew you wouldn’t notice just one missing. And nobody else has at your little company, have they?”
Nobody had mentioned it. The painting was sold by now; they were just waiting for Walter to return from Tokyo to pick it up.
“Listen to me,” Neal went on. “If you make the switch, I will give you two million dollars.”
Something cold and hard fell into the pit of Brea’s stomach. She glared at Neal, her hands balled into fists, and said, “I would never do that. I couldn’t.”
Neal’s smile never wavered. He took a step toward her. “You wouldn’t? Not even to save the love of your life?”
Brea’s jaw dropped.How did he know about Kenny?
“You don’t need to trouble yourself with the how and the why of all of this,” Neal went on. “Suffice it to say, I know a lot more about you than you know about me, and we’ll keep it that way for safety reasons. All I need from you is the keys to the castle, so to speak. You help me, and I’ll set you up for the rest of your life. Mark my words.”
ChapterSixteen
Present Day
When their hug broke, Brea and Oriana stared at each other for a long time, neither willing to be the first to speak. It reminded Oriana of the first days of their friendship when they’d been nervous four-year-olds, unversed in the ways of socializing. They both intuitively knew they needed a friend to get through preschool. And they’d settled on one another— maybe because of the color of their lunch boxes, the dolls they’d played with, or how their mothers had styled their hair.
Finally, Brea sputtered. “How did you find me?”
Oriana shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. Her throat was too tight to lend any real understanding.
“You have traveled a very long way,” Brea said finally. “Why don’t we go inside? Here. Let me take your suitcase.”
Oriana watched quietly as Brea handled her heavy suitcase, easily maneuvering it through the sand, up the porch steps, and into her house. Just before the door closed, she waved hello to her next-door neighbor, a Thai woman, who waved back and peered at Oriana curiously.
Brea’s little home was small, just big enough for a woman who lived alone and wanted for nothing. Brea placed her suitcase near the table as Oriana linked her fingers together, trying not to remember the exact moment she’d last seen Brea in the flesh, as it was too painful.
Finally, Oriana found something to say: “It’s beautiful here.”
“Isn’t it?” Brea wrapped a gray curl around her ear. “Growing up in Martha’s Vineyard, I barely even knew where Thailand was.”
“How long have you been here?” Oriana asked.
Brea furrowed her brow. “It’s difficult for me to make sense of time anymore.”
“I know what you mean,” Oriana said. “Now that I’m fifty, I feel like I’ve lived so many lives, and I’m not completely sure which one I’m currently in.”
“Well said,” Brea offered. “Although here in Thailand, it’s always sunny and always so gosh-darn hot. Without seasons, I don’t feel the passage of time and don’t feel any older. Only the mirror is here to tell me that’s happening.” Brea’s smile broke open, and she said, “Although you look spectacular.”
Oriana shrugged, feeling foolish. “I put a lot of money into it. Hair dye. Botox. Expensive face creams. It’s all a lie, really.”
