the door opens, but no one enters.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hear Gio demand, his tone low, and gruff. This isn’t a moment of jest at all. The door shuts again with him on the other side. I stand up waiting for it to open, not sure who he could possibly be talking to. A client? Someone he outbid on a collectible? A friend that isn’t such a good friend that I don’t know? Seconds tick into minutes, and I begin to worry, which morphs into pacing. I’m just about to head for the door and go outside to check on him when Gio walks in, his dark hair windblown, cheeks pinched with the mix of August heat and I suspect anger. He’s in black jeans and a black jacket, neither of which I recognize.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Who was what?” he counters, playing dumb, and I don’t miss the thick shadow on his jaw that tells me he hasn’t shaved since he left.
I fold my arms in front of me. “I heard you snap at someone.”
“Someone who is no one you want to know,” he says, immediately changing the subject. “Why are hovering in the lobby at this time of night?”
“Why are you incapable of answering your phone or text messages?”
“I lost my phone. I ordered a new one that should be in here in the morning.”
“You didn’t think about finding a way to contact me?” I challenge. “I was worried.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He closes the space between me and him, halting in front of me, the sticky-sweet scent of perfume clinging to him and the air around him.
“You smell like you dropped your phone in someone’s bedroom.”
His lips quirk. “You would do well to do the same. It might make you relax at least marginally.” He reaches in his pocket, to produce an envelope he hands me. I glance down to gape at a wad of cash and then back up at him. “What is this?”
“I wasn’t just off fucking around. I made a large sale for the business. And on that note, I’m going to bed.” He leans down and kisses my temple. “Night, sis.” He steps around me and I thumb through the cash.
Rotating I call out, “What did you sell? There’s at least fifty thousand in cash here.”
He pauses at the railing and turns to look at me. “Seventy-five. It was a high-priced piece of art. The client wanted the deal off the books.”
“Was the art stolen?”
“What the fuck, Aria? You know me. Do you think I’d steal something?”
“I know you wouldn’t steal, but did someone else?”
“I didn’t ask why the client wanted to deal in cash, but we’re depositing the money and claiming it on our store ledgers. I’ll log the deal on the books in the morning.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is an answer. Be happy. That’s a sweet payday we needed. I have a good feeling about the future.” He heads up the stairs.
I stare after him, nervous about all of this—his disappearing act, the cash, and his behavior in general, but still, he’s home. He’s safe. And I love Gio, which is why I call out, “I’m happy because you’re home.”
He leans over the railing and gives me one of his big ol’ Gio charming grins. “Me, too, sis. Me, too.” He winks and disappears from sight.
I stare after him again.
Art.
That description stands out to me.
Our father used to call a magnificent instrument “art.”
Please, Gio, whatever you’re up to, and I know you’re up to something, be careful.
I blink awake and sit up to the sound of Kace’s violin coloring the morning hour with his beautiful musical notes. His music is art. His skill is art. His composition this morning of Paganini’s “Caprice No. 24,” is a brilliant work of art. It’s also one the most difficult pieces to play in existence and he owns it. And for that reason alone, any other time I’d revel in this breathtaking way to wake up, but not now. I’m still too in the past, too in my memory of some kind of art Gio sold for seventy-five thousand dollars. He never told me what he sold. I pushed and he dodged. My lashes lower and I slide back into that memory. He smelled like perfume. The same perfume I’d smelled in the store the other night.
I throw off the blanket, and hurry into the bathroom, zipping through a short morning routine of necessities which include brushing my teeth and