“Can we check his passport?” Kace asks.
“We have,” Blake says. “I don’t see an Italy trip, which means either Sofia came to him or he used a fake passport. If he had a fake passport, he acquired the contacts, and/or skills, to do so before he ever went to Italy.”
“I don’t know what to say to that. I mean, the letter did reference how Sofia claims to have changed Gio’s perspective on everything. I don’t know if I know where his head is anymore. And he says he never saw the letter anyway. I’m not sure if that tells us anything.”
“You found the letter when?” Blake asks.
“About two weeks before the VIP auction at Riptide.”
Blake’s brows dip. “And yet Gio says he followed Sofia here? Where’s he been in those two weeks?”
In other words, Gio is lying to me. My fingers curl on my knees and my eyes start to water. Damn you, Gio, I think. I never cry. He’s making me cry.
I swallow hard because everyone knows that’s the way to burn away tears. Not really, but somehow it works. Or maybe it’s Kace’s big hand settling on my leg. Either way, I pull myself together and meet Blake’s stare. “All I can tell you is what he told me and it seems that might be lies.” And there it is, I think. The reason the girl who never cries almost cried: my brother has always been the one person I could trust. Now, I’m not sure that was any more real than anything else in my life.
Kace hands me the glass and when I would drink, Blake says, “He didn’t necessarily lie. He could have been watching you.”
I snort and drink. “If he’d been here and seen me with Kace he would have blown a gasket.”
Blake’s impassive expression is somehow not impassive at all. “All right then. Let’s go back to the letter. It reads, and yes I have it memorized as well, ‘I wasn’t lying. The answers you need can be found with me and at the Riptide Auction House. I promise you. Come see me. I won’t keep secrets any longer. I’m done with secrets. The answer can be found at Riptide.’” He glances between us. “What does that mean?”
“Kace was there,” I say immediately. “I meet Kace’s stare. “Gio and Sofia have decided that you were with my father right before he disappeared. They think the formula is somehow with you.”
“Based on what else?” he asks. “Because I was a kid training with your father? I’m back to where I was before: to assume it’s me is illogical. I was a kid.”
“All I can tell you is what he told me in a ten-minute conversation.”
“And why am I with you if I have the formula?”
“He believes I’m somehow a piece of the puzzle. Or you think I am.”
Kace picks up my glass, downs the contents, then refills the glass. “The good news here,” he says, “is that no one wants us dead. Not yet. We are somehow the secret to the Stradivarius violin.”
Blake looks between us and runs his hands down his knees. It’s what he does before he leaves. I’ve noticed because, apparently, I notice what’s going on with strangers but not my own brother. “Let me go do some work on this. You two get some rest.” He stands. Kace stands with him. “I’ll walk you out.”
I capture his hand. “So you can say things to him that I don’t hear?”
He kisses my hand. “Exactly,” he says resolutely and heads out in Blake’s wake.
Despite his reply, or perhaps because of his reply, I find my lips curving. That reply was honest. I don’t know if I really realized how much I craved honesty in my life until these past few weeks. And if there is one thing Kace and I have been with each other these past few days, it’s that.
And my brother was not honest with me today.
I am not sure the last time he was.
I down the drink, and oh God, it burns fire down my throat. Choking, I stand up and walk to the window, the sun pressing low in the sky, a rainbow of color haloing the shoreline. My head spins and I reach for the steel rail that runs across this portion of the glass. The sound of music lifts in the air, the song “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish starts to play.
So you're a tough guy
Like it really rough guy
Just can't get enough guy
It’s like she’s singing about my brother and the very idea churns in my belly. Kace is suddenly behind me, his hands settling gently on my shoulders, his touch igniting a welcome hum in my body. He caresses down my arms, goosebumps lifting in the wake of his touch, my lips parting as his fingers slide over mine and then twine. With our fingers just like that, his arms fold around me, easing me against the warmth of his big, powerful body. I am desperate to block everything out but him.
We are above the city here, miles above the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, floating in the sky above the water, untouchable. But soon the rainbow of colors in our sky will fade to black and I welcome that darkness, at least for a moment. Then the stars will come, they will find the darkness, they will pierce it and illuminate it. The way my brother, Sofia, and the past will find us, too.
CHAPTER FOUR
The music shifts and the same song I’d heard on the drive to the charity event back in San Francisco lifts the air: “Pieces” by Rob Thomas. There’s a pinch in my chest with the emotion it stirs. I swear, it’s as if the song is chasing me right along with my past. I swallow hard with the impact of the words that so many have listened to while living in the prison of my birthright’s creation.
Didn't I tell you, you were gonna break down
Didn't I want you, everybody wants you
Memories surface, painful memories, and anger—there is anger—anger at all the years I lost in hiding, anger at Gio for his betrayal, and he has betrayed me. He exposed me to trouble without so much as a warning. He didn’t have the courage to own his actions. And now he wants me to doubt the world I’ve created because he screwed up. I shove aside the thoughts. I shove them hard.
The words of the song ignite in my mind again.
We build it up, we tear it down
We leave our pieces on the ground
I don’t want to tear my world apart. And I won’t let Gio tear it apart either.
And with that thought, I am desperate to feel anything but what I’m feeling right now. Kace must sense the turmoil inside me. He must fear it’s about him, because he leans in, his lips at my ear, his breath this warm, sweet tickle on my skin. “I only want you. Tell me you know that.”
Realization washes over me. I’m selfish, so very selfish. I’m not the only one affected by this night. Gio threatened him. Gio accused him. Gio all but ripped me from my home with Kace and all of this just after we faced Alexander and his attempt to tear us, and Kace, apart.
I rotate and press my hand to his chest, his heart thundering beneath my palm, telling a story. He’s affected by Gio’s return. He’s affected by my reaction to Gio’s return.
“I know,” I say. “You know I know. I trust you. I trust you more than I trust Gio, but then, words are just words, right?”
His eyes—those blue, blue eyes—widen slightly and then narrow. “What does that mean, Aria?” His palm settles warmly on my waist.
My hand goes to his, holding it in place. I have this sense that this man, who I can only compare to a majestic eagle, is about to spread his powerful wings and fly away. Or maybe it’s him who believes I will fly away when I will not. “We both need more tonight, don’t you think?”
“Define more,” he urges, just a hint of an edge to him, that I both understand, but do not like. Despite my words, despite my being right here with him, I’m right. He believes I might fly away at any moment. He’s not sure that my heart, mind, and body are in sync. And going into this encounter with Gio, he was already raw and exposed from a weekend where his secrets and past delivered reality with a sharp blade, still unsure where that leaves us.
He does need more.
This understanding is the courage I need to be vulnerable with him. The sheltered girl, with very little experience and many desires, at l
east where Kace is concerned, has found in this man, and a battery of circumstances, my motivation to be daring.
I twist away from Kace, catching the hem of my tee and pulling it over my head, quickly dropping it to the ground, but I don’t face him, not yet. I place a small distance between us, and when I turn to face him, I’m out of reach to him and him to me, that black sky now swallowing the Hudson River to our sides. “What are you doing, Aria?”
My pulse is pitter-pattering in a wicked beat. “I have control, right?”
“You do,” he says, his voice low, tight, controlled. “What are you going to do with it?”