Playing the Billionaire's Game - Pippa Roscoe Page 0,57

the Senegalese artist who Sebastian had chosen to commission for his Caribbean island hotel. Because something Sia had seen in the two large canvases—a brush stroke, a colour combination—something even then had risen a flag to her visual senses and now she couldn’t help but wonder...could Astou have been the forger? What had Sebastian called it? A recent commission.

She reached for her phone and pulled up the search engine. Ndiaye’s website was the first hit and she flicked across the images of her abstract paintings, but further below were a collection of classically styled paintings, portraits and still lifes—certainly showing promise and a strong sense of the classical techniques that would have come in handy when trying to forge a Durrántez. Clicking through to her bio, Sia’s heart plummeted as she discovered that Ndiaye grew up in Senegal but went to live in France after her mother, who had been a high-profile trader, had been forced to declare bankruptcy. Right around the time Eduardo’s business deal had fallen through.

A wave of anger began to build, as if a way out from shore yet but coming closer and closer the more her suspicions grew. And she almost didn’t want to look further because if she was right, if what she thought was true, it might break her.

Bracing herself, she pulled up a new tab and searched for the name Sabbatino. Headlines screamed back at her, laying bare the various secret assignations of the Italian brothers, one particularly insalubrious article saw a woman proclaiming to have spent the night with both of them. Ignoring the attention-grabbing reports, she instead clicked on the few images.

Pictures of the two handsome Italian brothers grinning at the camera, suave, sophisticated, charming and doing absolutely nothing for Sia until she caught sight of one particular image. She clicked on the thumbnail and used two fingers to enlarge the image on her screen. There they were, arms slung around each other as they stood in front of their yacht. A yacht they were currently sailing around the Caribbean.

A pit yawned open in her stomach and she pushed the phone away before she could see any more. Before she could hurt any more. It wasn’t the proof that she needed. It was nothing she could take back to Bonnaire’s. But that didn’t matter any more.

She’d always known that he’d stolen the painting but at the very least thought she’d had his respect, his promise not to lie to her. He might have been a thief but she’d thought him truthful. Honourable. She’d been such a fool.

Sebastian had told her that his life was an open book and perhaps she couldn’t say that he’d lied.

Because everything he’d done had been done in front of her, even from the first moment. Aliah in Victoriana—the thief imprisoned by her father and paid with, what, her freedom? Ndiaye’s paintings in the Caribbean—the forger whose mother’s career was ruined, and paid off with a massive commission. And the Sabbatino brothers? Who knew what they’d got or what even their connection was to the defunct oil deal. Did it matter any more?

She was devastated by the wave of hurt as it drew closer and closer, threatening to overwhelm her. Not because of a plan that had been put in place before she’d ever laid eyes on Sebastian Rohan de Luen, but the fact that he could do it under her watchful gaze and think he’d get away with it. Was he really that cruel? Had everything been a lie? All of it? Or was it just the painting?

The last time she had questioned his actions she had hidden in the fantasy. But she couldn’t do it again. This time she couldn’t ignore what was staring her in the face.

Sebastian returned to the house just as the sun was beginning to set, feeling much better than he had for a long time. He and Maria had spoken almost all day. He was surprised to find how strong she was. Hurt, yes, and for that he would most definitely make Montcour pay. But her determination to forge a future that would protect her and her child had made him proud for her.

For the first time he had seen her as more than his little sister. He had seen her as an adult, a woman. A mother. It was incredible.

He took the steps to the house two at a time, excited and happy to be returning to Sia. He’d told Maria about her, of course. Not everything, and