2. Jenn

Chapter 2

Jenn

The Monte Carlo Casino was one of the most beautiful buildings I’d ever seen. The people milling outside taking photos of the cars screamed tourist trap—although arriving in one of those vehicles, cameras flashing at me, was surreal—but the inside made my artist’s soul cry.

“Don’t fall over,” Dante chuckled. His voice was deep, thick with an Italian accent.

I shook my head at myself. Yes, I was busy staring at the huge paintings and the gilded ceilings, which must have been forty or fifty feet high. But what else was I supposed to do? Play it cool and miss everything? “It’s breathtaking.”

“Designed by the architect of the Paris Opéra.”

“I love that building. One of my favorites in Paris.” If only I had time to stop there before I flew home.

He guided me toward a dark-wood doorway at the side of the first gambling room. Royal blue walls covered in twelve-foot-tall paintings flanked it, with a decorative wood and glasswork topper. “How long has it been since you visited?”

“Five years, I think?” On an unfortunate holiday with an even more unfortunate ex of mine. “I’d originally planned on Florence being my next European trip, but Nice came up at the perfect time.”

He spoke with the ma?tre d’, who ushered us inside the restaurant. “Many would disagree, but I recommend Naples over Florence.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“It’s where I was born, but we live where the business needs us.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Today, it’s Monaco. My father’s returning home soon while I’ll deal with our interests in Paris.”

The restaurant was as grand as the rest of the Casino but somehow felt more intimate. I studied the female figures decorating the ceiling, floating on clouds, draped in flowing dark fabrics.

“It was designed as a smoking room.” Dante slowed and craned his head heavenward to match mine. “They painted the ceiling in browns to hide the smoke.”

Despite the sprawling size, the room reminded me of a Parisian boudoir—warm and cozy. “I appreciate the tour.”

Dante stopped and pulled out my chair. “Care to sit, or would you rather see the view from the balcony?”

I dropped my gaze to the room—to the table where Massimo De Rosa and his distracted assistant sat. “I’m good here. Although I might have to come back during the daytime.”

“I suspect your days will be long.” Massimo leaned back in his chair. “There’s quite a lot to complete before the auction.”

“I’ll have some time after I finish.” I’d already canceled my flight home and hadn’t rebooked yet, so I had some flexibility. Maybe I could swing a trip to Paris?

“We are rather fortunate Dante found you, are we not?” said Massimo. “An art restorer materializes precisely when we’re in need of one.”

“Very fortunate.” Dante smiled as he sat beside me. He and his father dressed in similar casual, yet luxurious, clothes. Their wealth was subtle but somehow obvious. “Nice has been good to us this year.”

I spread my napkin across my lap. “And you have tools available at your gallery?”

Massimo nodded. “New artwork arrives often, so our regular man established a small workshop.”

“And why isn’t he doing the work?” I was only an apprentice restorer, working for my favorite aunt after years in an unfulfilling project management job. I’d worked for her during summers as a student—and sometimes just to get out of the house—so I’d known how to clean and retouch paintings, repair damaged canvases, and craft one-of-a-kind frames long before she hired me. She’d always said I was a natural.

“He’s sick and currently in Geneva.” Dante leaned closer and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Although I suspect he’s hiding from his wife.”

Massimo’s assistant, a man whose name I kept forgetting, typed away on his phone. He sat across from Dante and had hardly looked up. “Signore?”

The two men began a hushed conversation in Italian.

Dante gave a subtle wave to a server with brilliant red hair and bright pink cheeks. He ordered red wine for the table, and she was off. Then he turned his focus to me. “The tools at the gallery are rudimentary.”

“That should be fine. It’s a simple sprucing up, right? The photos you provided didn’t show any damage.”

“We’ve only had it cleaned once, after Papa bought it seven years ago. We’d like it looking its best for the auction on Friday.”

If I were listing something in an auction, I would have prepped it much further in advance than a week. But their poor planning was my giant win. Three weeks ago, I’d discovered what a lying, cheating pig my most recent ex was. So I’d begged my Aunt Penny to send me to Nice, in her place, to hand-deliver a painting she’d conserved.

She was the only one I’d told about the pig. I’d almost called my bestie brigade over a dozen times to tell them, but I wasn’t ready for the pity looks. Let alone the ones that said I was the last one to figure out what a sleazebag he was. Again. “How long has your conservator been out of town?”

“He’s not a conservator, per se.” Dante placed his hand on the back of my chair, an oddly intimate move for a man I’d only met two days ago. “But he has training, plus a unique passion for art.”

“Unique passion?”

“Indeed, he?—”

“Jenn?” came a male voice behind me. One that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. “Jenn Thatcher?”

I turned as he came up beside me.

Emmett.

Freaking.

Reynolds.

Dressed in a black suit with a black shirt, the buttons undone at his neck. My heart forgot how to beat for half a second. When it started again, my brain also reminded my lungs to breathe.

“I thought that was you!” He held his arms wide, as though expecting me to jump up and hug him.

I wanted to jump up and hug him. Smell the fresh cologne he’d been wearing for years, with its notes of cardamom and bergamot, plus a hint of vanilla. All I could manage was, “Funny running into you here.”

“No kidding.” He lowered his arms. “I heard you were in France but didn’t expect to run into you in Monaco.”

Me, either.

After delivering the painting for Aunt Penny, I’d had a few days to enjoy Nice. Dante and I crossed paths at the Marc Chagall National Museum. He’d commented on one of the paintings—said it looked drab, which was uncharacteristic of Chagall’s usual brilliant color palette. I suggested it needed a cleaning, and the conversation somehow stumbled into my job as an art restorer.

Massimo’s gallery negotiated a short-term contract job with my aunt, and I’d gotten into Dante’s Velatti convertible for the quick drive to Monte Carlo. I’d had a few doubts, but Aunt Penny confirmed he was who he said he was, and he even set me up in a room at the H?tel de Paris.

Now here I was.

“I’m in town for a contract.” I gestured to Massimo. “Massimo De Rosa, this is my friend Emmett?—”

“Stone.” Emmett winked at me before shaking hands with Massimo.

Stone? What was he talking about?

Emmett produced a simple white business card with black letters and handed it to Massimo—but his assistant intercepted it. “Antiquities broker.”

I introduced him to Dante, the courtesy more instinct than anything else.

Why Stone?

Emmett shook hands with Dante. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Before I could embarrass myself by not remembering Massimo’s assistant’s name, the man stepped away to take a phone call.

“And how do you know Jenn?” asked Dante.

“She’s my sister’s best friend.” A lazy smile pulled Emmett’s mouth up, tugging at memories best left out of my business dinner. “Known each other since we were kids.”

We’d been friends forever.

But he was also the first boy I’d kissed.

The first boy who’d broken my heart.

Now he was the guy using a fake name. Why was he?—

Wait. The Reynolds Recoveries company specialized in locating lost things, making special deliveries, and negotiating for the return of stolen items. Scarlett had once told me she sometimes used an alias for privacy. Was that why he’d winked?

“De Rosa, was it?” asked Emmett. “Any relation to the De Rosa Gallery?”

Dante nodded. “It is. And Emmett Stone? Is this a name I should know?”

“I work for a discreet brokerage, dealing in high-value items.” Emmett looked from Dante to Massimo, then turned his smile on me. “I’m always on the lookout for potential acquisitions.”

That smile settled low in my stomach, bringing back memories I didn’t want to relive.

“I’m in Monte Carlo looking for rare Egyptian antiquities for one of my clients.”

“We open tomorrow at ten.” Massimo lifted his menu, a not-so-subtle hint he was done with the conversation. “I prefer not to speak business after hours.”

“Of course.” Emmett bowed his head in courtesy. “But I’m sure you can agree a thing of beauty can be discussed at any time?”

Dante shifted in his seat, squaring up toward Emmett without letting go of the back of my chair. “However, we only discuss purchases during business hours.”

Emmett gave a faux tip of his hat to the men. “I’ll be stopping into Galatea and Brise Galleries in the morning. Perhaps I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon?”

Massimo nodded curtly and focused on the server, who’d arrived with our bottle of wine.

Emmett extended his hand as though to shake mine, something he hadn’t—ever?—done with me. “And I’ll definitely be seeing you around. Where are you staying?”