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“You’re such a little shit, Jules. Nice.”
Nero pushed off the doorframe and stalked into the room. “Any news on the painting?”
“Hey, Nero. Good to hear from you too.”
My older brother shrugged. “Whatever. Just making sure you’re doing the job you’re supposed to be doing. We haven’t found much to go on from here.”
I waved my hand. “We can talk about the painting in a minute. Cal has some huge life news he’d like to share.”
“I hate you, Quin. Just so we’re clear.” Cal’s words were gritted out through clenched teeth, and even without seeing him, I knew the muscles in his jaw would be twitching.
“What’s up, Cal?”
Another long sigh from my twin. “Jack’s my fated mate. We’re mated. That’s it. Not a big deal.”
Nero’s scowl disappeared. “Like hell it’s not a big deal! Congrats, man.”
“That’s awesome, Cal! Congratulations!”
Julius frowned. “Wait. Haven’t you known Jack for, like, two years? Since that job he stole from you in South America?”
“In Colombia, and yeah.”
It was my turn to ask a question, and I already knew I wasn’t going to like the answer. “Have you known all this time that he’s your mate?”
Another long silence from Cal’s end of the line. “Maybe.”
A pang of sadness lanced my heart. Cal and I had grown apart in our teens and into adulthood, but he was still my twin. I couldn’t deny that it hurt that he hadn’t told me he’d met his fated mate. I also couldn’t deny that on the heels of that pang of sadness was a wave of jealousy. I usually hid it well, but my artist’s heart was soft, and in lots of ways, I was a hopeless romantic. Cal had never bought into the idea of fated mates. Was I happy for him? Of course. But I was also sad for myself. It felt a little unfair that the twin who couldn’t have cared less about finding their fated mate had found them before I did. “Oh.”
“Quin. I didn’t keep it from you on purpose.”
I shook my head again, biting my cheek to hold back tears that threatened to fall. I was Quin Hunter, gallery owner and elite forger badass. I didn’t cry. But I was also Quin Hunter,hopelessly romantic artist, and this was hitting me hard in the feels on a number of fronts. “No, of course not. I know.”
Even if I didn’t.
“It was just complicated because it was Jack, and I hated him, but I was fated to him, ya know? It was a lot to process.”
“Right. I totally get it. I’m so happy for you.” But my tone felt flat even to my own ears.
Felix put a hand on my forearm and squeezed, and his touch brought me back to myself. I cleared the emotion that had threatened to overwhelm me from my throat. “So can we talk to Jack to give him our congratulations?”
“He’s packing right now. And there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. Felix and Jules are still there, right?”
“We’re here,” Julius said. “Congrats, by the way. I didn’t say it before.”
“Yeah, thanks. I need you and Felix to get me everything you can find on Stefan Dasselaar.”
The name tickled something in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t put my finger on why it sounded familiar.
Felix pulled out his phone and started making notes. “What do you know about him so far?”
“He owns a gallery in Amsterdam. Rumor has it he’s trafficking stolen art to the highest bidder.”
“Do you think he has the painting?”
“We don’t know, but if anyone knows where it is, I have a feeling it’s Dasselaar.”
“Okay, we’re on it.” Felix and Julius started for the door of my study, anxious to get digging.
