Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 184(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
She was still staring up at the house in awe, but when I took hold of her hand once again, her attention shifted to me.
“It’s beautiful. I just…I wasn’t expecting something so big.” She glanced at me sideways before casually adding, “I don’t think even the owner of The Peachtree could afford this house and land, though.”
She was fishing for information, trying to be stealthy and failing miserably. However, I held back my laughter at how adorable she was and answered honestly. Mostly. “I work because I enjoy it, not because it’s necessary. My parents were pretty wealthy, and they set up trust funds for my brother and myself.”
“Wow. Okay. Well, this is the ‘get-to-know-you’ stage of a relationship, right? Now I know you’re basically a Rockefeller.”
I snorted. “He wishes he was this rich.”
When Kerrigan gawked at me again, I couldn’t hold back my laughter.
She quickly realized I was teasing and rolled her eyes, breaking out into giggles.
“Come on, miette,” I urged when we’d calmed. “I need to grab something from the house, then we’ll take a walk.”
We followed a stone walkway around to the back of the house. Then we headed up the steps onto a large deck that overlooked the rest of my land. Three sets of French doors led into an open living area, but all the way on the left was a standard door. I punched in the code to the security system, and when it disarmed, we entered a mudroom with an arched opening leading to the giant kitchen.
“Wait here,” I instructed before stalking into the kitchen. I grabbed a tote I’d left on the counter this morning and another from the refrigerator, then returned to the small room where Kerrigan was waiting. A few jackets hung on hooks, and I draped them over one arm.
“In case it gets a little colder than expected,” I explained.
I took her hand in mine and led her back outside. Then we skirted around the pool and crossed the lawn to the large, octagonal building situated near the tree line that divided my land from my neighbor’s.
“That is so cool!” Kerrigan exclaimed, beaming a smile my way.
“I’m glad you like it. This is the most special place in the world to me, and I wanted to share it with you because you’re just as precious to me.”
A pretty blush bloomed on her cheeks, and she smiled almost shyly up at me. “I think you’re amazing, too.”
“Merci, ma petite miette.”
I kissed the tip of her nose, then led her to the door where I set down the bags so I could enter the code to disarm the alarm, then push it open.
Kerrigan walked in, and her gaze immediately rose to the ceiling. She gasped at the bright sunshine streaming through the glass roof, illuminating the studio. “This is incredible, Aston! Absolutely gorgeous.”
“I like a lot of natural light when I paint,” I said as I walked up to stand beside her. “But it’s smart glass, so while I always have UV protection, I can also frost it or use a darker, even stronger UV protective tint.”
She continued to stare up in awe for a minute, then her brow furrowed, and she turned her head to look at me. Her gaze was shuttered, making me frown. I loved how expressive her eyes were. She didn’t hide her thoughts or feelings and was open and honest about who she was.
A ribbon of guilt slithered through my veins, taking me off guard. I had a damn good reason for deceiving Kerrigan and no reason to feel guilt or doubt about what I’d done. Yet I couldn’t shake off that little sliver.
“You paint?” she asked, distracting me from my thoughts.
“When I have time. Which isn’t often, unfortunately.”
I gestured for her to continue farther into the room, then set the tote bags on the counter. When I pivoted back around, she stood in front of a row of shelves, inspecting the bottles and boxes.
Putain, I mentally swore when I realized what I’d done.
Although I had hidden away all the paintings, old canvases and linen scrolls, wooden frames, beeswax, etc., I’d forgotten about some of the other paints, chemicals, and tools that could easily be attributed to forging antique paintings.
“Led white,” she murmured. “Vermillion, ochre, ultramarine. Those are unusual for modern painters.” She paused at a set of jars, then glanced over at me. “Do you make hand ground pigments?”
I shrugged breezily, strolling over to an easel a few feet to her left. “Something is enchanting about mixing paint. It’s almost soothing, a way for me to use my hands while giving my mind a rest.”
Kerrigan hummed but didn’t reply to my explanation. She continued her perusal. “Dammar varnish. Potassium permanganate. Diluted nitric acid.”
I removed the cover from the easel as I murmured, “I’ve done restoration projects in the past. I loved it, but I barely have time to pick up a brush these days.”