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“Mine too.” I let out a long sigh and focused on ripping the Band-Aid off. “My dad died on a job.”
I’d averted my eyes, looking down at the duvet, but I could feel Cal staring at me.
“What?”
“My dad was an art thief. Worked with your grandmother’s crew. Allegedly, it was an accident, but nobody knows exactly what happened. Or rather, if they know, they haven’t told me.He was young, and on Reuben’s recommendation, Juno brought him onto her team. They were making a play forThe Evolution of Man, and something went wrong. He didn’t come home. My mom was pregnant with me at the time, so I never met him. Reuben wasn’t on that job, working a solo gig with a big payday. He’s carried the guilt for thirty-seven years, thinking he could have saved my dad if he’d been there. Regardless, Reuben thinks there might be a connection between whatever is going on with the painting now and whatever happened the night my dad died.” The words tumbled from my lips, and I wasn’t sure if what I’d said even made sense.
Cal was quiet for a minute, and I squeezed his fingers.
“How could the two things be connected?”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be looking for any information that might lead to answers regarding the current situation and how my dad died. The common denominator is the painting.”
“Did anyone ask my grandmother?”
“I assume because Juno and Reuben are still close enough to throw you and me together, he doesn’t really think she had anything to do with it. But there is a possibility that whatever happened back then set whatever this is in motion, which could mean she’s involved, even if it’s by proxy.”
Cal nodded, and I knew he’d be sharing what I’d just divulged with Julius and Felix the first chance he got. I could almost feel him wanting to track down his phone. “It’s possible. Good thing she’s in the middle of the ocean for the whole month.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think all this shit with the painting is about trying to draw her out?” Cal’s face had lost a shade of color, and I felt his worry through our bond.
“Maybe. Someone could be looking to tie up a loose end.”
“Do you think it’s Mazal?”
I considered the question. “Honestly, no. But I think we’d better get some sleep so we can go to the exhibition opening later today and find out for sure.”
“Damn. I was hoping we could get out of that.”
I shook my head. “No chance.”
“This is going to sound stupid, but what are we supposed to wear to an art exhibition? I’m guessing tac pants are out.”
Cal’s question broke the tension that my confession had created, and I laughed. “Don’t worry. Reuben’s got us covered.” I rolled off the bed and flicked on the lamp on the bedside table before walking across the room to an antique armoire.
“I feel like he’s basically bought me a new wardrobe at this point.”
“It’s been a couple of shirts and sweaters and now a suit.” Pulling open the armoire door, I gestured at the two suits hanging side by side.
“What if it doesn’t fit?”
“It will fit. Reuben’s superpower is being able to size someone up.”
“I hate wearing a suit.”
I faked surprise with a hand over my heart. “Shocking.” Then I looked at where Cal, my mate, was sitting up against the headboard, his sexy-as-fuck chest on full display, and added, “Besides, you’re going to look hot as hell.”
Even in the low light of the room, I saw his cheeks tint. “Get over here.”
I didn’t hesitate, and the second I was close enough, Cal grabbed me and pulled me back down to the bed.
Needless to say, we didn’t get any more sleep.
“Are you sure this looks okay? I’ve never worn a vest before.” Cal fussed with the edges of his waistcoat and rolled his shoulders, and sensing his nerves through our bond, I grabbed his hand, pulling us both to a stop.
“You look hot as fuck.” Reuben had picked a dove-gray vest and matching slim-fit pants that clung to his strong thighs for Cal, along with a crisp white shirt and oxblood wingtips. He’d also picked a blue paisley-patterned tie, but Cal refused to wear it, opting to leave his shirt open at the neck so his saddle patch and my claiming bite were on full display. He’d styled his hair so it was swept up and back from his face, and his short beard was neatly trimmed. I’d seen Cal in various states of dress and undress, but I had to admit, seeing him in a suit made me hard. He wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Paris runway, the bad-boy model everyone wanted to see.
