by Kay Marie
“What’d you say?” she asked, greedy for more. “What other languages do you speak?”
“Italiano,” he said, shifting his accent a bit. “Español. Um pouco de portugues. Comes in handy when you’re trying to blend in. I never quite got a handle on German though. I guess Romance languages were more my thing.”
Warmth pooled deep in her stomach, spreading down her legs in the most delicious way as he said Romance languages. “Tell me more.”
So he did.
He told her how the lights sparkled on the Seine at night, the way the city seemed to pause when the bells of Notre Dame rang, about the artists he’d met during an afternoon spent atop the steps of Montmartre. Then they moved away from Paris to the lily-pad-covered ponds of Giverny and the cathedral of Rouen, where Thad had spent an entire day sitting in a café watching the light dance across the façade. His voice sank to a whisper, laced with admiration and awe as he described walking in the steps of a master, naming Monet a god among men. Addy had never studied art before, but listening to Thad speak about his short dappled strokes and the thick layers of saturated paint, the way he used light as an object in and of itself, she wanted nothing more than to run to a museum. The passion in Thad’s voice bled into the air around them, sinking deep into her skin, making it tingle with all sorts of want.
For the rest of the afternoon, he took her on an artist’s tour of Europe, from the rolling countryside in the South of France where Van Gogh discovered his genius and eventually went mad, to the busy streets of Madrid where nestled in a private room in the Reina Sofia hangs one of the most influential paintings of all time, Guernica. Thad described the size and scope of the Sistine Chapel, the system of scaffolds Michelangelo employed to reach the ceiling, how he completed everything standing up—Can you even imagine the stiff neck?—and eventually went on to write a sonnet describing the less-than-ideal conditions. The Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, he said, gave a new definition to the word gilt. Every window, every column, every doorframe was accented with gold leaf. There was even a room where every inch of the walls was gilded, and walking inside was like stepping into the center of the sun.
Addy pestered him with questions, but he didn’t get annoyed. He was a true artist, painting pictures with his words, vivid images that came to life inside her mind. Every so often, when he remembered, he’d take a break from the art to tell her about the food—the macarons in a pastry shop on the famous Champs-Élysées, the best gelato he’d ever tasted from a small hillside town in Tuscany, Hungarian chimney cakes that were dipped in sugar and sometimes filled with swirls of ice cream, and of course, many croissants—though Thad swore the best he tasted were in Austria and not France. A wistful expression crossed his face on more than one occasion, there and gone in a flash, making Addy wonder what he wasn’t telling her, memories too personal to share. But she didn’t press. For now, living vicariously was enough—was exactly the escape she needed.
They didn’t stop talking until the moon replaced the sun and the stars began to twinkle across the crystal-clear sky. Even then, the conversation only paused because Addy fell asleep somewhere in the middle of Arkansas. She woke to the gentle shake of a hand on her shoulder.
“Come on,” Thad murmured. “Time for bed.”
“Huh?” She turned over, blinking slowly. His warm smile was the first thing to come into focus, then the hum of southern crickets, the subtle smell of burning logs, and the branches arching overhead. “Where are we?”
“I pulled over into a campground for the night,” he explained, a twinkle in his eyes. “I, uh…borrowed a tent from the owners of this car. I saw it in their garage and thought it might come in handy. Alas, no sleeping bags, but it’s better than nothing.”
If she weren’t so groggy, she might have had something to say about that. As it was, she simply followed as he led her from the car, keeping his palm to the small of her back to guide her. Addy crawled into the small tent set up a few feet from the back of the car. The ground was soft, pillowy from a thick patch of grass, but cool through the thin nylon despite the summer heat. She was so tired, she didn’t care. She bundled one of the extra shirts they’d bought into a pillow and curled up into a ball.
“I’ll be in the car, if you need me.”
That woke her up. Addy turned to find Thad leaning half-in and half-out of the tent. “You’re not staying?”
He licked his lips, finding her eyes through the darkness. “I just assumed you’d want to be alone.”
“I—” She paused, not sure what should come next. He was right—she should want to be alone. And yet, she couldn’t think of anything worse than spending the night in this cramped little tent all by herself. Vivid imaginations worked both ways, and in an unfamiliar place surrounded by unfamiliar sounds, she feared the worst. “But, um, won’t you sleep better in here? You drove so much today, and tomorrow will be the same. You need to rest too. You need it more than me.”
As far as excuses went, it was weak.
But it did the trick.
“Makes sense,” Thad muttered.
He rolled forward, landing smoothly by her side with all the grace of a jungle cat, movements fluid and fast.
Addy swallowed. “Good night, Thaddeus Ryder.”
She didn’t know why she used his full name—blame it on the sleep deprivation—but she liked the way it sounded rolling through her lips, almost regal. The only other time she’d said it had been as a shriek, but this time, she savored the elegant rhythm.
He chuckled softly. “Good night, Addison Abbot.”
They both fell silent, but they didn’t sleep. At least, Addy didn’t. The sound of their breathing filled the space, loud in a way that only happened in taut silence. Every time she inhaled, it sounded like roaring thunder. Addy counted in for three, then out for three, but the more she focused on her breath, the odder it began to sound. Strained, then too natural. Blaring, then too soft. Shuddering, then too smooth. The fabric walls closed in. The space seemed smaller and smaller with each passing second, tighter and tighter with each stilted breath. The cold seeped through the ground. Addy hugged her arms around her waist and pulled her knees into her chest. She shifted uncomfortably, accidentally brushing her bum against his hip for one burning moment, then inhaled sharply, far too noticeable. So, she stopped breathing, but that was obvious too. The man by her side was quiet, perfectly at ease. Addy fought for the same composure, but her muscles only grew tenser, shivering from the cold and the strain. Her clicking teeth resembled a roaring jackhammer in the silence.
Just when she thought Thad had to be asleep, oblivious to the turmoil taking place inside her mind, an arm swooped around her waist and pulled her solidly against a warm chest. “I can’t sleep with your teeth chattering like that.”
He said it like an apology, but she didn’t mind.
She didn’t mind at all.
Addy wriggled closer, until her spine was flush with his abdomen and the heat from his body seared like her own personal furnace. He shifted his legs so they bent along the same line as hers, then dug his chin into the nape of her neck. This short hair is coming in handy, she thought, relishing in the way his breath blew across her skin like a soft caress, shooting a delicious tingle down her spine. For a moment, with his arms wrapped around her and their bodies surrounded by the sounds of nature, the real world felt very far away.
“Thad?” she whispered, testing if he was asleep.
“Yes?” he drawled.
“You said before that maybe this would be easier for me if we pretended it was something else?” He nodded against her shoulder. For a brief moment in the dark, Addy found her confidence, her voice. In a few days, all of this would be over and he’d be gone, so she didn’t want to waste time being afraid. She just wanted to be here, on this crazy adventure, with him. “Do you think, when we wake up tomorrow, we could pretend we’re just two people on a road trip? Not Bonnie and Clyde, but Addy and Thad? No talk about what happened? No talk about what mi
ght? Just two people who needed to get away.”
“I’d like that, Addison.” His voice was far away and sleepy. A long yawn interrupted his thoughts as the arm around her waist grew heavier and heavier. Addy’s eyes grew heavy too, slipping closed now that she felt safe and warm and cared for in a way she’d never been before. “I’d like that very much.”
- 15 -
Thad
Muffled voices woke Thad early the next morning. He’d always been a light sleeper, which wasn’t a bad trait to possess in his line of work. But on this particular morning, he wanted nothing more than to cut out the rumble of engines firing to life, the crunch of tires spinning over gravel, the clank of pots and pans, the crackle of morning fires. He wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep. He wanted to hold on to this woman and this moment for a little while longer.
The world, however, had other plans.
Thad blinked, adjusting his eyes to the soft bluish light shining through the nylon. He and Addison had shifted positions sometime in the night. The last things he remembered before sleep took hold were his arm around her waist, her spine molded to his stomach, and her hair falling over his cheek. But now he was stretched on his back with one hand behind his head, and Addison was curled against his side. Her head rested on his chest, and her arm draped over his stomach. One similarity remained—they held each other close. In the warm morning air, he couldn’t pretend it was for body heat anymore. But she looked so serene, like an angel from a Renaissance painting with her blushing cheeks and ivory skin, her plush pink lips and her halo of curls, that he didn’t have the heart to wake her.
Have I ever looked so at peace?
So virtuous?
He didn’t think so, not even as a child. There’d always been darkness hidden beneath all the good, a duality he’d been aware of, consciously or subconsciously, that never allowed for innocence. Talking to Addison about his travels had brought that sensation to the surface—every memory he’d told her had a layer behind it he’d been unable to share, for her own safety, for his shame.
Thad had been six the first time he’d been to France. It was the last vacation he’d gone on with his mother, as a family. While he and Jo had been busy playing hide-and-seek in the gardens of Versailles, overseen by their mothers, their fathers had been in Giverny, breaking into Monet’s former studio to steal paint pigments and an old canvas for a forgery that would pass forensic investigation. Two years later, when they’d returned to Paris, it was so his father and Robert could slip into a private collection, replace the real Monet with Robert’s masterful replica, and bring the multi-million-dollar painting home. The last time he’d been in Jo and Robert’s private island compound, the Monet was on display in the underground vault, though by now, the FBI had undoubtedly begun working on returning it to its rightful owner.
And that was just one painting of many.
One story.
When Thad began showing talent as an artist, Robert had taken him under his wing, presenting him with a very specific sort of education. Their family vacations became lessons in art history, and at home, he learned how to put those lessons to practice. How to replicate the brushstrokes of fifty different artists. How to grind paint pigments from scratch in the vein of the old masters. How to adjust a varnish to add age to a painting. How to achieve the correct crackling for the time period and location of the work. How to fake a certificate of authenticity. Of course, even the most skilled forger couldn’t always outwit modern science. X-rays. Infrared scanning. Radiocarbon dating. The forensic technology grew more and more precise with time. But the smartest con, as Robert had taught him, made sure it never got to that level. Pick the mark wisely. Don’t forge a known work, scan the historical records to find one labeled as missing. Don’t try a bait and switch at the Louvre, do it at the smaller museum with lesser security or during a transfer. Don’t attempt to rival a master, choose the artist without instant name recognition but worth enough money to hang in a gallery.
To Thad, it had always been a game. To Robert, it had been a way to bond with a boy who was almost like a son, a way to pass a bit of himself on to the next generation. But to Thad’s father, it had been business—a fact he would come to understand after the man was dead, when the Russians held a gun to his head and demanded his services. They’d only known about his skills with a brush because his father had shared them, stealing the forgeries Thad and Robert had made for fun and using them for his own gains. That was when Thad’s worldly travels had taken a decidedly darker turn.
Addison stirred in his arms and he blinked the memories away, returning to the present, the way he’d promised he would. Did she even understand what a gift those softly spoken words in the dead of night had been? No talk about what happened, she’d said. No talk about what might. Just two people. As if erasing his past could be so easy. But he could pretend. In fact, it would be a relief to pretend, for a few days at least.
“Good morning,” Thad whispered.
Addison froze, going rigid beside him. The only thing moving was the heart pounding in her chest. The beat had been steady a moment before, but now her pulse raced beneath his fingers. Thad tried to stifle the smile widening his lips, but he couldn’t. Her predictability was adorable—but maybe that was what made her unpredictable moments so damn sexy. That kiss yesterday? Downright irresistible, and he’d never seen it coming.
“We should probably get on the road,” he continued casually, waiting for her to process waking up in his arms. The more normal he acted, the more normal she’d respond. “Long day of driving ahead. We might as well get started.”
“Yeah,” Addison mumbled and shifted her head, peeking cautiously up at him through her eyelashes. Thad grinned back. She bolted upright so fast he was a little worried she might injure herself, a jack that sprang out of its box only to land with a crash against the floor. Her cheeks were already turning red.
She needs some alone time, he realized quickly. Thad rolled to his feet, light on his toes, and started unzipping the tent. “I’ll get the car running. Take your time.”
Ten minutes later, they were easing out of the campground.
“Where’d you get the coffee?” Addison asked, gratitude in her tone as she lifted a steaming paper cup to her lips.
“Well, you see that older couple over by that RV?” Thad nudged his chin to the left, waving goodbye as he drove by said pair. The smiling duo waved back, holding up their thermoses in farewell. “I explained to them how we’re on our honeymoon, doing a month-long cross-country road trip, and they said it brought back memories of their youth. I’ve got a small stack of pancakes wrapped in tinfoil in the back too, if you’re hungry.”
She snorted. “Always working an angle.”
“You’ve got to strike while the iron is hot.” He paused to toss a wink in her direction. “Wifey.”
Addison rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the way the edges of her lips twitched with humor. “Let me get this straight. Yesterday, we were on our way to elope. Today, we’re on our honeymoon. What’ll it be tomorrow? So I have time to prepare myself.”
“Babymoon?”
She choked on her coffee. Thad pressed his lips together to keep the laughter from spilling out as her eyes bulged. He was, however, unsuccessful, and she jammed a fist into his shoulder to retaliate. “Watch out, or by this time tomorrow, we’ll be divorced.”
He held his palm over his chest, wounded. “And here I thought we were just two people.”
Addison paused and turned toward him, turquoise eyes so bright and so clear he could see all the way to the sandy floor. “Two people?”
“Two people…” Thad agreed with a nod, shedding the teasing tone, replacing it with something sober. He wanted her to know he remembered everything from their conversation the night before, and he wanted the escape too. But being vulnerable wasn’t part of his nature, so hardly a moment later he blinked and looked away. Reaching for the maps on the dashboard, he finished the thought with, “�
�who don’t know where they’re going. If I’m the driver, you’re the navigator. I think we take I-40 almost all the way there, but I have no idea what to do once we get to Arizona.”
“Do you have a pencil?”
He pulled a sharpie from the dashboard and handed it to her.
Addison stared at it with a frown. “Something that erases?”
“Confidence breeds success,” Thad retorted—an adage that his father had lived by. He himself was more of a fake-it-’til-you-make-it sort of man. Though, in a way, they were two sides of the same twisted coin.
Addison rolled her eyes. “Fine. Do you have an address?”
“Yes.”
She paused, waiting, then finally turned to him. “Are you going to give it to me?”
“No.”
She wrinkled her nose in frustration, a move he found rather endearing. “Are you going to attempt to be helpful at all?”
“Um…” Thad blew a slow exhale through his lips, considering. “Scottsdale is all I can tell you for now. We’ll fine-tune when we get closer.”
As he followed signs back to the highway, Addison sank her nose into the maps, bending over at the waist so her nose nearly touched the papers. The sharpie moved slowly but surely over the roads, tracing lines millimeter by careful millimeter, so painstakingly precise he couldn’t help but be amused. She was both a dreamer and a perfectionist—an odd combination to be sure. Though he had the feeling a dreamer was who she was, and the perfectionism was for self-preservation, a way to handle the fear and doubts and anxiety that came along with having big dreams. Wanting more out of life was inherently terrifying. Maybe that was why Thad had learned to settle for less—a small shack on the beach, all alone with his paints. When the hope was small, so was the disappointment if it never came true.
“Oh!” Addison suddenly exclaimed, then fell silent.