taken young lovers and given away her biggest treasure. His father had quietly drunk himself to death. Did everyone in the world feel broken? Feel like they were desperate for love they feared they’d never find?
He looked at the jagged tear across the priceless masterpiece. Ross followed his gaze.
“Er...yes. The aunt tried to repair the cut with a needle and thread, out of respect for her nephew’s memory.” His lawyer flinched. “You see the result.”
It took Leonidas a moment to even find his voice. “Yes.”
“She nearly had a heart attack when Aria Johnson told her she’d been keeping a Picasso in her gardening shed for the last twenty years.”
“How much does she want for it?”
“The art blogger told her she’d be a fool to take less than ten million. That seemed a reasonable price to me, since she could potentially have gotten even more at auction. So as soon as it was authenticated, I paid her.”
“You’re saying the painting’s mine?”
“Yes, Mr. Niarxos.”
Leonidas took another step toward the painting. With his parents now dead, there was no longer anyone to scream at him for trying to touch it. Reaching up, he gently stroked the roughly stitched edge where he’d once hacked into it.
“We will of course send it to be properly restored—”
“No. I’ll keep it as it is.” Drawing back his hand, Leonidas looked at the treasure he’d chased all his life. Love with Birds. Looking at the gray and beige boxy swirls, he waited for joy and love to fill his heart.
Nothing happened.
“I thought you might wish to arrange something with Liontari’s PR department,” the lawyer said behind him. “Let them do outreach on social media. This will make a nice end to the soap opera story currently making the rounds about your, er, origins. If there’s one thing the public likes more than a scandal, it’s a happy ending.”
Barely listening, Leonidas narrowed his eyes, tilting his head right and left to get a better angle as he looked at the painting, waiting for happiness and triumph to fill his heart.
All his life, he’d chased fame and fortune, luxury and beauty. He’d chased this masterpiece most of all.
Why didn’t he feel like he’d thought he would feel? This was the possession that was supposed to make him feel whole. This painting was supposed to be love itself.
But Leonidas felt nothing.
Looking at it, he saw neither love nor birds. He saw meaningless swirls and boxes of gray and beige paint.
He felt cheated. Betrayed. His hands tightened at his sides. This painting meant nothing.
“Sir?” His lawyer sounded concerned. “Is there a problem?”
Leonidas looked away. “Thank you for arranging the acquisition.” The sharp light from the skyscrapers of the merciless city burned his eyelids. His throat was tight. “You will, of course, receive your finder’s fee and commission.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ross said happily. When Leonidas didn’t move, he said in a different tone, “Uh...is there something else you wish to discuss, Mr. Niarxos?”
This was the moment to ask for his divorce to be set in motion. Leonidas had already been dragging his feet for too long. Just last week, when he’d stopped by his old house, hoping for a glimpse of his family, Mrs. Berry had told him Daisy had rented a cottage in California, three thousand miles away.
“Rented...a cottage?” he’d asked, bewildered. “I gave her this house!”
“She didn’t want it without you,” his housekeeper said quietly. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry.”
He’d felt oddly vulnerable. “I’m the one who ended it.”
“I know.” The white-haired woman had given him a sad smile. “You hated for her to love you. How could she, when you can’t love yourself?”
Hearing those awful, true words, Leonidas had fled.
He could never go back to that house or see Mrs. Berry again. Never, ever. He’d pay her off, put the house on the market—
“Ah. I was afraid of this,” the lawyer said with a sudden sigh. Turning, he sat down behind his huge desk, and indicated the opposite chair. “Don’t worry, Mr. Niarxos. We can soon get you free.”
Still standing, Leonidas frowned at him. “Free?”
Edgar Ross said gently, “It’s all over town you’ve been living in a suite at the Four Seasons. But don’t worry.” He shook his head. “We have your prenup. Divorce won’t be hard, as long as Mrs. Niarxos doesn’t intend to fight it.”
No, he thought dully. Daisy had already fought as hard as she could for their marriage. She would not fight anymore. Not now he’d made it clear there was no hope.
He’d lost her.