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“We should talk tomorrow once you’ve had the chance to open your gift,” I heard Richard say before they shook hands and said good night after we’d waved the others off.
“Bloody hell,” I heard him mutter when we made our way back inside, no doubt in reference to his father’s comment.
My tribe had made sure everything was spotless before they left, leaving me without an excuse to avoid the inevitable conversation Brand and I needed to have.
“Would you like a glass of port?” I asked when he settled on the sofa in front of the fire.
“Please. Perhaps you should bring the entire bottle.”
I picked up the two glasses I’d set aside earlier, grabbed the wine, and joined him on the sofa.
“Ah, tawny, my favorite. But then, you knew that, didn’t you?”
I nodded once and poured us each a drink. When I relaxed against the cushions after handing him one, I noticed he held his father’s envelope in his other hand.
“I think it best to get this out of the way,” he muttered, taking a healthy swig before setting the glass on the table. He leaned back like I had and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Are you going to open that?” I asked, motioning to the envelope he still held.
“Yes, but…”
“But what, Brand?”
“Touching you, feeling you next to me, soothes me. I need that right now. I pray I’m not making you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not.”
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “We need to discuss what happened earlier, but not just yet.”
I rested my hand on his leg. “You don’t have to do this tonight.”
He straightened his neck. “If I wait, it’s unlikely I’ll get any sleep.” He sighed, took his arm from around me, and sliced open the envelope with his finger.
“Do you want me to give you privacy?”
He turned to look at me. “God, no.”
I shifted closer so my body pressed against his. Something told me he needed me to soothe him with my touch now more than ever.
“Do you know what’s in it?” I asked when he still hadn’t removed the contents.
“Not precisely.”
“But you suspect what it is?”
“It’s something Tara warned me about long enough ago that she probably doesn’t recall doing so.”
“God, Brand, it sounds scary.”
“I fear you’re right in your assessment.”
14
MICHELANGELO
No matter how long I stared at the envelope, it wouldn’t change its contents. The last time my father presented me with one of these, I’d ruined my life. Intentionally. Then, it had been the gift of my own company. He was my partner and money man, but it was up to me to broker and sell art from around the world. My own work was included in our catalog of offerings. I’d hit the ground running, as they say, with my paintings interspersed with world-renowned masterpieces.
And what had I done with it? I’d immediately began forging lesser-known works that still would’ve fetched hundreds of thousands of dollars if they were authentic.
