Page 55 of The Voicemail

“Why did you go through my things?” I ask, more calmly this time.

“I swear I wasn’t trying to upset you,” he says. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“But you understand how that makes it worse, right? Alex, if you wanted to search my belongings, you could have asked me. You could have gotten my consent. If I even remotely knew what it is you’re looking for, I could have saved you a lot of time and effort.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

I can tell he means it, but I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him. So instead, I change the subject.

“What’s Bianchi got to do with the gallery?”

He clenches his jaw and looks up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, is that question too hard to answer?” I ask sarcastically.

“I’m just trying not to scare you,” he says tightly.

“It’s too late for that,” I tell him truthfully. “I’m terrified. Scared shitless. What’s another morsel of information? I’m tired of feeling like I’m groping around in the dark for answers.”

He nods. “Bianchi used Bellamy Fine Art as a money laundering front. He cleans cash there, and we think he’s smuggling the file through your back room.”

I gasp at the revelation, my head reeling for what feels like the millionth time. Bellamy’s involved?

“That can’t be right,” I say out loud. “Mr. Bellamy is a rich man. He wouldn’t need to do that.”

“He’s probably rich because of Bianchi,” he says seriously. “Or maybe he fell on hard times and Bianchi pulled him out of it. I don’t care enough to look into his motivations. He’s proven to me enough times during this ordeal that he isn’t to be trusted.”

“He’s my boss,” I remind him.

“Did your boss care that you were being stalked?” he asks pointedly. We both know the answer to that. “I have no respect for that man, and I won’t lose any sleep over his fate.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” I chastise.

“Frankly, Elena, the only person I really care about is you,” he says quickly.

The moment the words leave his mouth, he looks like he wishes he could take them back. He didn’t mean to say it. At least, not like that. I sit frozen, trying to process it on top of everything else.

Instead of speaking again, he slowly gets up and comes to sit next to me. I don’t flinch away this time. He looks down at my wrist and asks, “How does it feel?”

I flex my fingers for a moment, desperate for something to do besides look at his stupid, gorgeous face.

“I think it’ll be fine,” I say. “It looks worse than it feels.”

He nods as he gingerly takes it in his hand. I’m surprised that I let him. I don’t want to. I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop what’s happening.

“It’ll be good to keep icing it,” he says lowly. “So there isn’t any swelling.”

He looks up at me then, and every awful thought I’ve ever had about him flies out the window. His eyes look so tender and his lips look so soft. Before I can think better of it, I lean in and kiss him.

For half a second, he freezes too. I’m finally the one surprising him. Let him be the one caught off guard for once. Of course, it doesn’t last, and his hands find my waist in an instant.

I should stop this, even if I’m the one who started it. I still don’t know if I can trust him. I don’t know if he’s a good man. Yet as his lips press against mine and the butterflies in my stomach start to flutter, I just can’t make myself care.

He pulls away first.

“Elena,” he says in a rough voice. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

I press my fingers to his mouth. “For once, don’t try to talk me out of something.”