Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I arrived at the gallery at ten forty-five, fifteen minutes before we opened like I did every morning, coffee in hand. Not that it really mattered because I’d never had anyone walk in the door right when we opened. Clients usually stopped by after lunch—if they stopped by at all.
After I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the alarm usually beeped, giving me one minute to disarm it before it started to blare and inform the police. But once I stepped inside, there was no beeping, like the alarm hadn’t been turned on.
I stopped beside my desk and looked inside the gallery, seeing nothing but the company of the paintings on the walls. Never in my life had I forgotten to turn on the alarm while working here. I never walked in and realized it had slipped my mind the night before. It was muscle memory, like locking the front door when you left the house.
I stood there and stared, feeling my heart race as I peered into the different sections of the gallery. I flicked on the lights in each room and scanned, expecting to see blank walls where artwork had been taken, but everything was exactly the same.
Maybe I did forget…
It’d been a long week. I had a lot on my mind. Maybe it just…slipped.
“Sweetheart.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard his voice behind me, right at the back of my neck. “Jesus…” I slowly turned around to meet his gaze, my heels not enough for our eyes to meet.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Theo, you shouldn’t be here.” The fear turned into panic, panic that Bolton would know about this and there would be another tornado in my living room. “I don’t know how Bolton knew the first time.”
“I’m not sure either because he didn’t have his men watching the gallery, but now he does.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?”
“I’ve been here since five. They don’t show up until around ten.”
“The alarm…” So, I did remember to turn it on. “How did you…?”
He moved to one of the armchairs. “Sit.”
I stood there, the shock still hitting me in waves. The guilt striking me too. “Theo, I said we can’t do this anymore.”
“This is the last time,” he said. “Then I promise I’ll leave you alone…if that’s what you want.” His elbows rested on his knees. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, showing the tendons down his arms.
I hesitated before I sat in the armchair across from him, a large painting taking up the entire wall beside us. I was in a pencil skirt and a tucked-in blouse with stockings. The clothing suddenly felt tight and made it hard to breathe.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, just looked at me across from him. “I want to know why you called.”
“I—I haven’t called you.”
“I’m talking about that night. The night when you called and I didn’t answer, but Bolton did.”
My body flushed with heat, the adrenaline that dumped into my blood in preparation for an attack. “It doesn’t matter—”
“It matters to me.”
I looked down at my hands in my lap. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why?”
“The same reason you haven’t shared stuff with me.” I knew there were pieces of himself that he hid beneath the surface, locked behind a steel vault. I’d knocked on that front door a couple times, but he never answered. “It’s just hard to talk about.”
He stared at his hands for a while before he released a sigh. “Fuck, here it goes…” He straightened then sank back into the chair, knees spread, his elbows moving to the armrests. He stared off across the gallery for a moment as he remained lost in thought.
I had no idea what he was about to say.
His eyes found mine again. “I was married.”
A little bomb went off inside my heart, a bomb I didn’t know had been dropped until it exploded. My face must have conveyed my shock because he looked away and stared at the painting again. I didn’t know what to say, and the longer he remained silent, the more it seemed like he wanted me to say something. “When…?”
“Ten years ago.”
He’d been divorced for ten years, and he still couldn’t talk about it? “I—I had no idea.” Did he still love her? Was that why he didn’t want anything serious? Did she hurt him? I couldn’t picture any woman being stupid enough to cheat on a man like Theo. There would be no reason to. He was the dream guy, and everyone else was beneath him. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yeah.” He gave a slight nod. “It was. Still feels like yesterday sometimes.”
A jolt of jealousy ran through me like lightning, but I swallowed it back because it was immature and hypocritical. I still loved Bolton even when I was with Theo, so I had no right to be jealous of someone he loved. “Why did you get divorced?”