Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
For the first time in weeks, I feel like I’ve taken a small step towards understanding my mum’s choices. And by doing so, maybe, just maybe, I’ve taken a few steps towards inner peace.
Chapter
Nineteen
JO
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlgmH5q9uNk
-voyage, voyage-
The door to the vault opens so suddenly, that I nearly drop the delicate brush in my hand.
“What the hell?” I exclaim.
“Jo!” Axel practically shouts, ignoring my startled exclamation, His voice cuts through the calm. He’s out of breath, his eyes sharp and focused. “I’ve got information.”
I put down my tools, my anger forgotten, and excitement swirls inside of me.
“Information? About what?” I ask, although it has to be about the painting.
He strides over towards my workstation, closing the distance between us faster than I can react. His dark hair is mussed slightly at the sides, and the black t-shirt he is wearing, his signature look when he’s not in his office wear, clings to him in a way that makes my stomach do a quick flip. I shake the longing away.
“The painting?” I ask cautiously.
He nods. “Bingo. The painting. The real one. I found out who has it, or at least who sold it last year. There’s a dealer. He’s shady, well-connected, but not someone you’d stumble across in polite circles. He’s the one who facilitated the sale of the painting to an anonymous buyer. If anyone knows for sure who stole it, it’s him.”
“Where is he?” I ask, my pulse quickening.
“Paris.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Paris? As in France?”
“Yes. I’m on my way to the airport. I just wanted to stop by and update you.”
“You’re going to fly to Paris? Right now?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes locking on mine. “I’ll go and sort this out.”
“OK. Give me a chance to change and pack. I’m coming too.”
He frowns. “That won’t be necessary.”
I take a step closer to him, my hands on my hips. “Axel, I’m not sitting here twiddling my thumbs while you play detective in another country. I’m coming with you.”
There’s a pause, that slow, calculating look of his, and I know he’s weighing the argument. Finally, he exhales and shrugs.
“Fine,” he says. “Half an hour. We leave in half an hour. Get packed. If you’re not in the foyer in exactly half an hour, I am going without you.”
I practically fly from the vault through the mansion and up the stairs, my mind racing with excitement and nerves. A change of clothes and a frantic shove of essentials and enough clothes for two or three days into a weekend bag later, I’m ready. Axel is already waiting in the foyer when I dash down the stairs with one minute to spare, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You actually did it,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not about to let you have all the fun. And besides … I need to see Paris.”
He lifts an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his green eyes. “I was right. You’re stubborn; you know that?”
The flight passes in a blur. This is now my second time flying on a private jet, and I am still far from used to it. We spend the flight on a combination of planning our approach to the dealer, having occasional discussions about who the dealer might have sold the painting to, although that’s more out of curiosity than anything, and silent moments where our shoulders brush, and I have to bite back a shiver. Axel pretends not to notice, but I know he too can feel the pull between us intensifying with every glance.
When we arrive at the airstrip, the hotel is only a quick taxi ride away. It is only as we stand outside of the hotel that Axel hesitates slightly.
“I deliberately chose a slightly seedy hotel so we appear a little shady. Unfortunately, my PA only booked one room,” he admits. “As you know, the original plan was for me to come alone. Unfortunately, when my PA called back to see if she could get a second room, she was informed that they were fully booked. So… we either share the room, or we find you a room in a different hotel.”
For a moment, anger flickers inside of me. Why the hell didn’t he tell me this sooner? But then an idea comes to me. Everything happens for a reason. The anger fades away as heat spreads through me. I don’t want to have a room in a different hotel. Play it cool, Jo, I warn myself in my head.
“Well,” I say. “It’s not a big deal. We can share without it being a major thing. After all, we’re not here on a holiday. We’re on a mission to catch a thief.”
A flicker of relief, maybe even admiration, crosses his face. “Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t overreact.”
Inside, though, a small irritation lingers. I don’t like the way he just assumed I would react badly to the news. Still, though, my anger is tempered by a strange, growing sense of closeness. He trusted me enough to let me come, and that counts for something. I decide not to start this trip off on the wrong foot by being all butt-hurt and proving Axel’s point.