Dangerous Notes (Dark Pen)

“It’s so pretty here. So different from the U.S.,” she says, still holding my hand as two lovers would do strolling on a lovely date beneath the dimming London sky.

“London has a different energy,” I add. “Especially this area because of all the tourists. You can actually feel their excitement. There’s a certain buzz in the air.”

“Why would you leave this place? Why pick up and start doing business in New York?”

“The heat got too intense here,” I answer. “I’m really good at what I do. Too good at times. So good that I became notorious. Recognizable by every art dealer and collector in the UK and most of Europe.” I chuckle. “It got to the point where gallery owners or exhibit organizers would hire private security and investigators to follow me weeks, even months, before a showing to try to intercept whatever I was planning to do. They’d do anything to make sure they weren’t the target. Some even offered to buy me off to spare them the embarrassment of having art stolen right from underneath them regardless of their security system.”

“I’m sure they do the same in New York,” she states, looking up at me as she does. “Your name is notorious everywhere.”

“True.” I nod. “But going to New York showed I’m now mobile. I’m not setting up shop in one place. I could be in Manhattan one night and Miami the next. Much harder to know where I’ll strike.”

“Makes sense,” she says as she stares into one of the antique shops we pass by. “But I bet the best art to steal is in Europe.”

“Without a doubt.” I notice a vendor selling single red roses on the corner of the block we’re approaching. “Maybe you and I should team up in Europe for a bit. I bet we could do a lot of damage in London, Italy, France… The sky's the limit.”

Without waiting for an answer to my suggestion, I walk over to the vendor and purchase a long stem rose and then hand it to Valentina. She pauses before taking it from me. She glances down at my hand holding the rose, then up at my eyes, back to my hand, licks her lips, and then eventually takes the rose.

“What? Just a rose this time? Not a priceless piece of art hanging on my wall,” she teases.

I can see she’s trying to make light of the gift as it’s obvious it’s made her uncomfortable. But the way her eyes softened when I hand it to her, tells me all I need to know.

“For now,” I play back as I lean in and give her a soft kiss on her cheek. “But the night is young.”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

The awkward way she’s holding the rose has me saying, “The thorns aren’t going to draw blood. Just a rose.”

She looks down at the rose , brings it to her nose to smell, and says, “I’m just not used to—”

“Being on a date,” I interrupt and finish the sentence for her. “Neither am I. Our professions sort of make it hard to date someone. It’s not like we can just casually bring up what we do for a living over a steak and a glass of wine on a first date.”

She smiles and nods. “Exactly. I guess this is all foreign.” She reaches her arms out and motions around us. “Everything is so foreign. I’ve seen pictures and have seen London in movies, but nothing could give this place justice. Actually, walking and breathing it with you…” She looks back down at the rose in her hand. “This has all been a whirlwind. Everything about you has been a cacophony of chaos.”

I rub my knuckles on my chest and wink. “At your service, my dear. My specialty.”

“I’m serious,” she says as she allows me to take her hand in mine again as we continue to walk to the restaurant. “One minute I’m stealing an art piece you want, and the next minute I’m being swept away in a private jet and walking the streets of London with a gifted red rose in my hand. My life truly feels like it’s in the middle of a storm. Chaos.”

“Isn’t that the best way to live? Exciting right?”

“I don’t know…maybe a little less exciting would be good.”

“Bullshit,” I say. “You wouldn’t be doing what you do for a living if you liked boring. You’d take some accounting or banking job if you did.” I shake my head. “No. You and I are a rare breed. We thrive on the fear. We tempt the devil every day and wouldn’t have it any other way.” I glance down at her. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You aren’t wrong,” she says. “I’ve thought about quitting many times. Going and getting a normal nine to five job.”

“But you can’t. It’s not you. Just as I can’t.”