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To my right I spy Amber manning a preview booth and hurry that way. “Welcome,” she greets.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m excited to be here.”
“And expected. Crystal arranged for you to be the first to view the violin. Just exit the room again and go up the stairs to the right and you’ll be set.”
“Thank you so much, Amber.” I start to turn and hesitate. “Who’s doing the showing?”
“Mark.”
That name is like a thud. Lord help me, I think, and obviously, I grimace, because Amber laughs.
I cringe. “I made a face, right?”
“Big-time, but I get it. Mark is hard as steel.”
“Is he really as cold as he seems?”
“I used to think so, but after Crystal came into his life, I think he has a softer side. But don’t tell him I said that in case he doesn’t.”
I fake a zip of my pink-painted lips and we both laugh. Offering a tiny wave, and finding it crazy just how at home I’ve felt at Riptide, even despite Mark’s crankiness, I hurry away and exit to the hallway. Finding the stairs, I’m so eager to view the violin, hopeful that it might somehow, someway lead me to Gio, that I barely maintain a respectable pace up the stairs. Reaching the top, I’m halted by a red velvet rope and a tall, stoic man in a suit, with a buzz cut.
“Can I help you, miss?” he inquires.
“Aria! There you are.” Crystal is instantly at the barrier, looking heathy and lovely in a floor-length champagne silk gown with a V-neck, her blonde hair worn long and silky around her pale shoulders. “She’s approved, Jacob,” she says, motioning to the rope. “This is Aria Alard on your list.”
“Of course,” he says, quite formally, but he also quickly unhooks the rope and welcomes me forward.
I step into a foyer of sorts with another gorgeous chandelier directly above while Crystal makes sure Jacob and I are properly acquainted. “Jacob’s with Walker Security, but he’s also a friend. The man literally saved my life, which is a long story that requires drinks. He’s amazing. He’s good friends with Chris and Kace as well.”
Kace.
She keeps bringing up Kace. I keep thinking about him, too, which is why I focus on Jacob. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”
“Likewise,” he says, but he remains stoic, a hint of danger to him. I wonder how he saved Crystal’s life, but I sense something beneath her surface, a cautious edge that somehow defies her friendliness.
“Speaking of Kace, Jacob,” Crystal says, “where is he? He was supposed to be here with Aria for the first showing.”
Adrenaline surges through me. She’s clearly matchmaking and just the idea of him being here with me heats my skin.
“His flight hit some weather,” Jacob replies. “He just called in to inform me that he won’t make the preview, but he’s on his way.”
Disappointment that should be relief flits through me. My God, what is wrong with me? Crystal links her arm with mine. “Come. Let’s go see that violin.” She tugs me along and we head down a hallway.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says. “Still a bit of lingering queasiness, but I’m finally walking, talking, and even chewing bubblegum.”
I’d nudge her on the topic of pregnancy, but I don’t know her well enough, I decide, and besides, we’re already in front of a giant silver vault door, with a fifty-something armed guard in uniform next to it. “I’m leaving you here with Louis,” Crystal informs me. “I have to head downstairs, but I’ll see you again soon. I hope it’s what you’re looking for. I’ve seen it. It’s stunning.”
She departs and Louis hits a buzzer next to the door and chit-chats not at all. A few seconds later, it opens and another guard steps aside to allow my entry. I walk forward and pause just inside a room lined with lockboxes. In the center of that room is Mark Compton, looking intimidating and perfect in a tuxedo, his square jaw set hard, and standing next to the violin that is encased in glass.
The door behind me seals.
I wait for an invitation to approach that doesn’t immediately follow.
Mark just stands there staring at me, dripping arrogance, power, and judgment, his handsome face schooled to steel. His gray eyes hard.
“Approach,” he commands.
I don’t need to be told twice.
My feet move forward in a slow, steady pace, but my heart is racing. The violin is in fact, beautiful, the exterior shiny and perfect, and the truth is that this is the first time I have been near a Stradivarius, or any violin for that matter since I was a child. Memories flood my mind of my father playing and crafting the Stradi, his creation, that could not duplicate our ancestors’ work. I stop at the glass and glance up at Mark. “Can it be removed from the glass?”
