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He hadn’t mentioned her theft in a while. It had only been a rationalization to do what he would have done anyway. They both knew that. But with her running all over the world throwing around millions of his dollars, he’d been able to more easily pretend this was some sort of justice he was meting out. As if she deserved it. As if stealing a human being and stealing mere money had moral equivalence.
“If I hadn’t conned you, would you have still found a way to have me?”
Quill looked up, his head whipping around so quickly, it seemed as if it might pop right off. He’d been standing by the sink, cleaning the brushes.
“Where is this coming from?” he asked, back to practiced indifference.
She shrugged. “I just wondered if this was really all something I brought on myself or if you would have let me go if I’d stolen the painting for you like I promised.”
“It makes no difference now, does it? You’re here. You picked your course. I picked mine.”
But it mattered to her.
He let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, Saskia. I’m sure I would have found a way to get what I wanted. You always had a price. I just had to figure out what it was.”
He washed his hands with the artist soap and returned to her. He offered a hand, and she took it as he pulled her to her feet.
“I think we need to go out.”
“To the club?”
She wasn’t sure if she was yet prepared to be back at the club with him. They hadn’t returned since that first night. They hadn’t even left the house. If she were being honest, she’d developed some cabin fever. And while she was sure Quill had gone out a few times, if he had, he hadn’t gone far or been gone very long. He must be as ready to do something else as she was.
“Not the club. Something much better.” He took an envelope from his back pocket and gave it to her.
It looked like an invitation to a ball. When Saskia removed the crisp linen card from the envelope, she found her speculation wasn’t far off. Another fancy party at a museum in the city.
“It’s an opening for a new exhibit. All the top donors will be there, including most of my friends.”
It felt as if there was a hidden meaning there, one Saskia thought she knew but decided to pretend she didn’t.
Quill continued, “I want you to wear that dark purple gown you wore that night.” He meant what she’d worn to Eric Raine’s twenty-first birthday party.
“It’s been stuffed in a box and hasn’t been cleaned...” It was silk. It needed to be dry-cleaned.
“I took care of it earlier today. It’s hanging in the bathroom. We all need a night out.”
“We all?”
“Marcus is coming.”
Of course he was. Why did she have to feel so jealous of and attracted to Marcus at the same time?
Saskia jumped aschampagne flutes clinked and raucous laughter filled the large open space in the museum where the party was being held. The new exhibit was just down the hall.
She was so jumpy. She hadn’t been around this many people in a while. But it wasn’t as if she’d been isolated from all human contact. There was Marcus and Quill and the servants who drifted in and out at the periphery—most whose names she still didn’t know and likely never would at this rate.
They avoided her—probably on direct order from Quill. He might keep secrets from the rest of the world. He might have endless social groups and various aliases within each, but inside his home, there were no secrets. And it was understood no one would cross him there.
Saskia began to wonder if he had horrible secrets on all of those in his employ. Or did he just pay them an astoundingly large sum of money—plenty to keep their mouths shut? Or did he keep them in an orgasmic stupor, falling all over themselves trying to please him like she and Marcus did? Even though Marcus would never fully admit to it.
She took a glass of champagne off a passing tray and glanced around for a sign of Marcus or Quill. One moment they’d been there with her, the next... gone. She knew what they were probably doing, somewhere in some dark corner of the museum. And the jealousy tugged at her again.
She was still surprised he’d brought her out into the open like this among the normals. Didn’t he worry she’d say something? Run away? Find a police officer to have him arrested?
But despite Quill’s current downplaying of the situation, she knew he could bring out the trump card of her theft at any time. And she was sure he’d meticulously preserved all the evidence. He was smart like that.
And she’d walked on that plane voluntarily. And it wasn’t as if she was dirty or had physical signs of damage. She certainly wasn’t chained down or locked in a closet. Who would believe her? Wandering around in a fancy dress at a fancy party?
