Page 101 of The Scarab's Game
Inwardly, I groaned at myself. My father was right again, too—I had terrible judgment in men.
“You said”—Dante’s deep Italian voice startled me—“you were too busy to come to the gallery. I hadn’t expected you meant you were too busy attending the auction.”
I should have known he’d be here tonight. Should have prepared what I’d say if he and the copy were here. I’d been too focused on Emmett to think through what tonight would bring. “And you said you’d ensure the real Constable painting was at the auction.”
He exhaled slowly, a frustrated noise. “Sì, my father said he would.”
I pointed at the signature. “Then what’s that?”
Dante leaned in to inspect the painting. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath the skin, and his eyes flashed with anger and something deeper—probably irritation because I’d caught him red-handed. His voice was low and tightly controlled when he spoke, each word measured as if he were afraid of what might slip out if he let his guard down. “Since you’re not here as my date, I wonder how you got in? Are you accompanying Emmett Stone?”
“You’re the one who told me to pursue him.”
“Things certainly changed quickly.” The way his lips thinned and he didn’t look at me—was Dante jealous? Had he expected Emmett to reject me? Had he thought I’d come crawling back to take him up on everything he’d offered me at dinner?
“Not as magnanimous as you sounded the other night.”
“Don’t tell anyone about the painting.” Dante cleared his throat, his features darkening. “I’ll take care of it.”
Sure, he’ll take care of it. Just like he ensured it wouldn’t be here.“Why did you give me your conservator’s notes?”
“Because I didn’t know.” His nostrils flared, and he stared at me for a beat before turning away. He dodged people on his way to the second row of seats and joined his father. He and Massimo leaned their heads together. Neither of them looked upset, and Dante obviously wasn’t chastising his father.
Mix-up, my ass.Didn’t know? Not likely.They must have planned this all along. How many times had I tried defending him to Emmett? God, I was so gullible.
Dante was nothing more than a criminal who wanted me to keep his secret. Oh, and wanted to get me in bed.
Another man approached me from behind. “So they brought you into the fold after all?”
The air rushed out of my lungs. I remembered that voice. I’d spent so much time with him while he and Scarlett were engaged—dinners and barbecues at their house, evenings out, and card games with friends.
Noah continued, “I never expected Scarlett would read you in.”
Little breaths. Stay calm.I was in so far over my head. I didn’t know what was going on with Dante. Didn’t know what Noah was talking about. But what Ididknow was that both of them were awful people. I turned to face him. “Funny running into you here. Thought you’d be too busy in your evil lair to mix with the masses.”
“You’ve heard about my change in status.” Noah’s gaze raked over me, as if peeling back my layers. He’d always been sharp, but an unfamiliar danger lurked in his eyes. His head cocked, and a curious smile broke. “But you don’t know aboutthem, do you?”
“Them?” I asked.
Noah mused, “No earpiece.”
What was he talking about?
“There’s something bigger going on,” Noah said.
“Bigger? I already figured out your little game with the painting.” I gestured to the De Rosas. “I told your partner in crime that he didn’t fool me.”
“You’re kidding?” Noah laughed and shook his head. “You’re the restorer, aren’t you? The one Dante brought in from Nice?”
My gut twisted. Why was that funny? Had Dante said something to him about me? “I am. I’m working for my—” And why did I need to justify myself?
“Scarlett isn’t here with you, is she?” Noah glanced around the room, a flicker of something in his eyes. Of what? Hope? Longing? Was he still in love with her, despite whatever made him pretend he was dead?
I was probably imagining it, layering who he used to be on top of whoever he was now. “I’m here with Emmett.”
“It’s good to see you again, Jenn. But as much as I’d like to catch up”—Noah patted my arm and I yanked it away—“it would probably be smart for you to leave. Both of you.”
As he wandered off, the butterflies in my stomach mixed with the bile rising in my throat. Dante, I could handle. Maybe. But Noah? Why should we leave? What was really going on?
