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Putting the frames back, I head back downstairs. I’m really running late now. But I need to get out of here and think. There’s so much about Roman that I don’t know.
Will he ever fully let me into his life?
* * *
My sisters, cousins, and I spend the day shopping, but my heart isn’t in it. I should be solely focused on college, on my bright future, and how everything is going wonderfully. But I can’t. My thoughts keep slipping to Nik’s death and Roman’s vague explanation of why they hated each other. I wrack my brain to come up with a stolen artifact that could warrant such hatred.
And then there are the stacks of artwork in his attic. The only sign in the entire house that his late wife once existed. If he can’t bear to be reminded of her, then why keep anything of hers at all? Does he visit the attic?
Which leads me to my greatest worry of all.
Roman’s inability to tell me the three little words I most want to hear from him. The short phrase that would entirely end my worrying and second guessing about our relationship.
Does he still love her, is that why he won’t say it to me? Are his vows to her still sacred to him after all these years? If so, then why marry me?
I don’t want to take second place to a dead woman.
I cut our shopping spree short, claiming I have a headache and need to get home. Which is true. All this thinking is making my head hurt.
Though my mind keeps churning over what information I have as Enzo drives through the city streets toward home.
Suddenly, I recall Arianna’s accusation of Roman murdering his first wife because he became jealous and possessive when she tried to leave him.
Then that time when Roman thought I tried to kill myself with pills. His late wife had tried to commit suicide, he told me so himself.
Broken beyond repair.
Stolen and returned.
I’m reminded of the painting of that sad woman Roman stood in front of at in the Louvre. The one titledLa Mélancolie.
I sit up straighter in my seat and slap a palm over my mouth. The question isn’twhatNik stole from Roman, it’swho.
Roman’s first wife.
Is that even possible? I do the quick calculation in my head. Six years ago, Nik would have been twenty. Roman was twenty-four or so. Assuming his wife was around their age, it’s possible that she had an affair with Nik.
But why?
Who would choose Nik over Roman?
BOOM!
A deafening explosion jolts the car forward. I cover my ears and duck down, unsure of where the noise came from or how close we are to the destruction. The flicker of firelight catches my attention through the blacked out rear window. I briefly pop up to see what’s going on.
The car behind us is on fire. My security team is in that vehicle.
Now they’re obliterated.
Oh my God, what just happened?
“Fuck!” Enzo’s curse is my only warning before someone crashes into us. My head hits the doorframe—hard. Then we’re spinning. Not just my head, the entire car.
Then it stops.
Two shots ring out.
Someone opens my door.
