Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Anyway, we talked about this. You talked at me until you were blue in the face and I listened patiently. Remember?” Kit scolds me again with her eyes.
“And I bought you ice cream every other time for being such a good listener.” I mock scowl at her, but it’s true. The second I decided on writing our whole future in stone, I ran it past my little girl first.
It’s not just my life now. Never was. It’s Kit’s, too.
Luckily, there was never any question and zero complications in her mind.
“Okay, okay,” I grumble, kissing her on the forehead. “Message received, loud and clear.” I check my watch. “I should find Clee. You know what to do?”
“Yes, Dad, I know. Now go. Scram, or you’re gonna miss the show. She’ll never forgive you for that.”
I’ve never seen the love of my life look so starry-eyed.
We’re standing in the middle of the display room with glittery gold details on the walls and a sparkling chandelier overhead, lost in the crowds and the glamor.
I can’t tell if she’s more awestruck by the turnout or the setting.
Clee’s red lips fall open as she stares at everyone. There’s a bubbling glass flute in her hand, but she barely touches her champagne.
People love her stuff.
And why the hell wouldn’t they?
That’s the part I had unshakable confidence in. There are folks here from across the whole damn world.
The Hera Egg is a big draw, displayed proudly in the center of the room. People crowd the glass case, marveling at the newly refurbished treasure. They worked miracles with the repair.
It’s not perfect—never could be after I shot it to bits—but the fragments wound up being bigger than they seemed.
Jasper Fairfax owed me a favor for saving his ass. He felt awful about helping the wolves into our lives, despite having a literal gun to his head.
So, after the dust settled, he connected us with restoration experts and paid the bill. People with unholy talent. They did an unbelievable job repairing ninety percent of the ruined egg.
From a distance, the thing looks nearly as perfect as it did the first time I ever saw it.
All the cracks that were too big to be filled are now lined with gold.
Cleo says it’s a lot like some fancy Japanese art technique. All I know is it’s goddamned beautiful, this broken marvel made whole. The golden imperfections add to its soul, glowing under the soft lights.
I squeeze Cleo’s hand until she looks up at me.
“Amazing, amazing,” she whispers.
“Never had any doubt it would be, Clee.”
“But Holden—seriously. Look at it.”
“Seriously,” I repeat. “People aren’t just here for the egg, you know. They won’t shut up about your art.”
I raise her hand to my lips as she laughs.
Then she looks over the scene and finally sips her champagne with a soft smile. “I know. My stuff has done okay, but—”
“More than okay, liar,” I interrupt gruffly.
Ever since the heist and the attention it brought, her textured art has exploded.
Not in a small way either. There are viral videos all over the internet with millions of views.
They’ve brought her fame, respect, and a nice haul of money. Not that either of us need it.
First time in my life I can say that, and I still can’t believe it.
My girl’s done mighty well for herself, staking her name on her own terms. Same for me as I slowly hack away at getting my consulting biz off the ground.
I landed my first big client a couple months ago, Enguard Security from California, a premier firm looking to start up a satellite branch in New York and Boston. They want to know the lay of the land and decided I’m the right man for the job.
But this gallery is her first public show. Her debut, a double feature shared with the return of the legendary Hera Egg.
After the New York debacle, plans changed.
She agreed to loan the egg out to a smaller local museum in Portland first to help promote tourism.
Now, she stares at it with wide eyes like she can’t quite believe our luck.
Screw Cleopatra of Egypt. She’s younger than Alexander the Great and she’s taking the world by storm.
I’m so fucking proud of her.
We stroll the room. So many people recognize her in that stunning red dress and start gushing.
Family names roll past, people I’m just getting to know. Ethan and Hattie Blackthorn. Margot and Kane Saint with two kids who are already thick as thieves with Kit.
Big names in the art world, too.
I don’t know them from Adam, though I looked at everyone who bought tickets, just to be on the safe side.
A man never buries his instincts. No Russian mafia in sight.
“You’re doing great,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss her. No one here knows or cares who I am except for the fact I’m obviously her man.