“No,” he says. “I suppose you haven’t. Cash the check and I’ll know you accept my offer. Then we’ll celebrate.” He catches my hand on the counter, and I suck in a breath, shocked at the intimate connection, waiting for that tingling connection I feel with Kace, but it doesn’t come. He leans in to kiss my hand, lifting it toward his mouth, but I don’t miss the way he seems to pause to study the delicate silver ring of sunflowers on my finger. A full three seconds pass before his lips brush my knuckles and he releases me.
“See you soon,” he says, and he walks toward the door.
I’m vibrating with ten different thoughts and I follow him, and when he exits, I quickly lock up, and then lean on the door to study the ring. Sunflowers are a popular flower in Italy, which connects me to my birthplace, but that isn’t why I wear it. It was my mother’s ring, a gift from my father, passed down generations. Surely Alexander doesn’t know that. Or does he? Does he know who I am?
My gaze lands on the envelope with the retainer and I hurry back behind the counter, grab it, and lift the seal. I remove a check and stare at the figure: fifty-thousand dollars. It’s not the first large retainer I’ve been given, by far, so the figure doesn’t stun me, but I’ve never collected such a fee without a specific item in the spotlight. My gut is screaming that something is off, something is wrong. I glance down at my ring. Something hits too close to home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The VIP Auction night has finally arrived.
I arrive at Riptide by way of Uber in plenty of time for the preview of the violin, as instructed by my VIP package. Unfortunately, I’m also in another black dress, which isn’t ideal from an impression standpoint, but beggars can’t be choosers. This particular gown is fitted, knee length with a V-neck, spaghetti straps, and a dusting of glitter. My petite black purse is more a just-big-enough for the necessities. My heels are the same red-bottomed pair I wore to the last event. Nothing I have on except those heels are name brand, but a fancy dress to the common eye is a fancy dress. Of course, not many at this event likely have a common eye, but I can’t worry over such things, not tonight.
Exiting the car, I shiver with the night air while my nerves cling and clang, and not just from the windy chill of the night air blowing through my long dark hair. I’m terrified that Gio won’t show up. I’m on edge with the idea that Sofia will and that I’ll have to confront her, which is exactly what I’ll do. I’m also hyperaware of the fact that I’ll be seeing Kace tonight.
Leaving my Uber behind, I approach the Riptide entrance and do so in the midst of women in fancy gowns and men dressed in a mix of tuxedos and expensive suits.
A staff member, also in a tuxedo, opens the door for me and once I’m inside, I check my coat, and quickly smooth my hair to order. It’s not an updo like so many of the women are wearing tonight for a reason: I’ll take whatever shield I can get when I intentionally bid, and lose the bid, on the violin that I can’t afford to win.
I follow the lobby signs that direct me and a large portion of the ten or so visitors present along with me, to a winding staircase. A short climb later, I step into a room where a dozen dangling crystal chandeliers sparkle above shiny, gold standing tables. And of course, waiters weave in between guests, delivering finger foods and flutes of champagne.
To my right I spy Amber manning a preview booth and hurry that way. “Welcome,” she greets.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m excited to be here.”
“And expected. Crystal arranged for you to be the first to view the violin. Just exit the room again and go up the stairs to the right and you’ll be set.”
“Thank you so much, Amber.” I start to turn and hesitate. “Who’s doing the showing?”
“Mark.”
That name is like a thud. Lord help me, I think, and obviously, I grimace, because Amber laughs.
I cringe. “I made a face, right?”
“Big-time, but I get it. Mark is hard as steel.”
“Is he really as cold as he seems?”
“I used to think so, but after Crystal came into his life, I think he has a softer side. But don’t tell him I said that in case he doesn’t.”
I fake a zip of my pink-painted lips and we both laugh. Offering a tiny wave, and finding it crazy just how at home I’ve felt at Riptide, even despite Mark’s crankiness, I hurry away and exit to the hallway. Finding the stairs, I’m so eager to view the violin, hopeful that it might somehow, someway lead me to Gio, that I barely maintain a respectable pace up the stairs. Reaching the top, I’m halted by a red velvet rope and a tall, stoic man in a suit, with a buzz cut.
“Can I help you, miss?” he inquires.
“Aria! There you are.” Crystal is instantly at the barrier, looking heathy and lovely in a floor-length champagne silk gown with a V-neck, her blonde hair worn long and silky around her pale shoulders. “She’s approved, Jacob,” she says, motioning to the rope. “This is Aria Alard on your list.”
“Of course,” he says, quite formally, but he also quickly unhooks the rope and welcomes me forward.
I step into a foyer of sorts with another gorgeous chandelier directly above while Crystal makes sure Jacob and I are properly acquainted. “Jacob’s with Walker Security, but he’s also a friend. The man literally saved my life, which is a long story that requires drinks. He’s amazing. He’s good friends with Chris and Kace as well.”
Kace.
She keeps bringing up Kace. I keep thinking about him, too, which is why I focus on Jacob. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”
“Likewise,” he says, but he remains stoic, a hint of danger to him. I wonder how he saved Crystal’s life, but I sense something beneath her surface, a cautious edge that somehow defies her friendliness.
“Speaking of Kace, Jacob,” Crystal says, “where is he? He was supposed to be here with Aria for the first showing.”
Adrenaline surges through me. She’s clearly matchmaking and just the idea of him being here with me heats my skin.
“His flight hit some weather,” Jacob replies. “He just called in to inform me that he won’t make the preview, but he’s on his way.”
Disappointment that should be relief flits through me. My God, what is wrong with me? Crystal links her arm with mine. “Come. Let’s go see that violin.” She tugs me along and we head down a hallway.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she says. “Still a bit of lingering queasiness, but I’m finally walking, talking, and even chewing bubblegum.”
I’d nudge her on the topic of pregnancy, but I don’t know her well enough, I decide, and besides, we’re already in front of a giant silver vault door, with a fifty-something armed guard in uniform next to it. “I’m leaving you here with Louis,” Crystal informs me. “I have to head downstairs, but I’ll see you again soon. I hope it’s what you’re looking for. I’ve seen it. It’s stunning.”
She departs and Louis hits a buzzer next to the door and chit-chats not at all. A few seconds later, it opens and another guard steps aside to allow my entry. I walk forward and pause just inside a room lined with lockboxes. In the center of that room is Mark Compton, looking intimidating and perfect in a tuxedo, his square jaw set hard, and standing next to the violin that is encased in glass.
The door behind me seals.
I wait for an invitation to approach that doesn’t immediately follow.
Mark just stands there staring at me, dripping arrogance, power, and judgment, his handsome face schooled to steel. His gray eyes hard.
“Approach,” he commands.
I don’t need to be told twice.
My feet move forward in a slow, steady pace, but my heart is racing. The violin is in fact, beautiful, the exterior shiny and perfect, and the truth is that this is the first time I have been near a Stradivarius, or any violin for that matter since I was a child. Memories flood my mind of my father playing and crafting the Stradi, his creation, that could not duplicate o
ur ancestors’ work. I stop at the glass and glance up at Mark. “Can it be removed from the glass?”
He lifts a hand. “William.”
Instantly, a man I hadn’t even noticed until now, William it seems, steps forward, dressed in a protective cape and gloves. Mark inclines his chin at William and William opens the case. A few delicate touches later, and William gently settles the violin on a soft blue blanket. For several minutes, he shifts the instrument around for me, and I study the craftsmanship, which is quite impressive, but this type of inspection will not deliver the answers I seek.
I cast Mark a dubious look. “I’ll need a light to look inside the instrument for a proper assessment.”
His expression is unreadable, but he does respond. He pulls a flashlight from his pocket and hands it to me, but as I reach for it, he pulls it back. “Do not touch the instrument. William will do that for you. Understand?”
“Understood,” I confirm, which earns me a probing stare before he allows me to accept the flashlight.
For the next ten minutes, I have William angle the instrument for me in several directions as I look for the marking my father said would be inside any original Stradivarius instrument. Antonio Stradivari had included a label on each instrument and printed the first digit “1,” but the last three digits were in script. This checks out. An authentic label will be hand-written with 732, old Roman font, and the creator, Antonio’s age at the time. Many fakes include font not of the proper century but in this case, the font is accurate. What’s missing is what many simply don’t know to look for. In each instrument, he included a unique watermark to ensure duplicates could not be created. This one does not have that watermark.
I glance up at Mark. “It’s fake. A good fake, still worth millions, but it’s not an original.”
Mark’s jaw sets hard. “The instrument is authentic. We’ve had it authenticated.”
“Incorrectly,” I assure him confidently. This is my ancestry. This is my world, even if, for now, I’m forced to hide that fact. “Antonio Stradivari placed a unique watermark in each instrument.” I add, “This one does not have it.”
“That is not documented in any analysis of authenticity that I’ve seen.”
“But it’s accurate.”
“Based on your client’s visit to Italy?”
My jaw clenches. “Based on a relationship with the ancestral family.”
“Unless you can provide me with your client’s credentials, that’s not enough.”
“Okay.” I press my lips together. “I just—I don’t want you to get burned, but thank you for the showing.”
I turn and head for the door, where I push a button. The guard opens it and just as I am about to exit Mark says, “Ms. Alard.”
I twist around to face him. “Yes?”
“Are you bidding on the violin?”
He believes I’m trying to corner the market on the auction in some way, which bites but is understandable. He doesn’t know me. “My client seeks an original, so therefore, no I am not.” With that, I turn and exit, and I’m actually the one who is burned, not by Mark, but the absence of any answers. There was nothing in that vault to help me find my brother. I just have to hope he shows up to bid.
I rush down the stairs to search the crowd for Gio, entering the cocktail room to come face to face with Alexander. “There she is,” he greets, offering me a warm smile and giving me a once over. “Looking lovely yet again, Ms. Alard.”
He’s a charming man, he really is, and a man driven by some inner demons, I think, but in my ponderings about his offer, I do believe he reminds me a little too much of the past for comfort; of men I remember visiting my father before he disappeared. I smooth his lapel. “You look snazzy yourself, Alexander.”
“I’m glad you approve. You haven’t cashed the check I left you.”
“I haven’t. I’m—still thinking. I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”
“Why don’t we talk it out after the auction?” His eyes are warm, too warm.
“I’m meeting someone here tonight and forgive me, but I really need to find Crystal.” Which isn’t a lie. A friend warns a friend. Mark won’t listen, but I have to hope she will. “Have you seen her?”
“I haven’t.”
“Okay, thanks.” I turn away from him and quickly bury myself in the crowd, away from him, and hunting for Crystal. Hunting for Gio. Hunting for the mysterious Sofia. When I come up empty, and it’s almost time for the performance to begin, I decide to head back to the lobby and have the guard locate Crystal for me.
A few minutes later, I’m told she’s in a vault and unreachable. I send her a text: The violin is not authentic. I made my case to Mark but I feel as a friend I should warn you. I believe this passionately. I understand you have to move forward, but I would be remiss not to give you my thoughts.
She sends a text back: I told Mark we should have it reevaluated at our expense should the buyer wish. Thank you, Aria.
Relieved that I achieved some level of success in protecting them, I head back to the event and the minute I step back in the room, I know Kace is here. It’s insane, but I feel his energy. I swallow hard and just when I would dare a glass of champagne, the crowd parts to him standing in the midst of several attractive women and a man, all of whom appear enamored with him.
And why wouldn’t they be?
He’s Kace August, talented, good looking, and dressed to stand out and perform. He’s in black jeans, a thin soft-looking black leather jacket, and a black T-shirt with a white flag on it that he’s paired with black boots. His spiky longish dark hair is slightly rumpled, his jaw shadowed, and his brilliant blue eyes are suddenly locked on me, a punch of awareness between us that steals my breath.
He excuses himself from the group, dismissing them with finality, and then he’s closing the space between me and him and I can’t seem to walk away. I’ve barely caught my breath when he’s standing in front of me, towering over me, smelling like spice and man—seducing me without even saying a word. And then he does, he speaks. He says one word. My name. “Aria.” And on his lips it vibrates like a musical note that vibrates with a command, and yet purrs with seduction.
In this moment, the room fades, the clink of glasses and hum of voices disappears. There is just me and him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You’re here,” I whisper, despite that being quite obvious.
He reaches up and strokes a lock of hair behind my ear, his touch shivering through me. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“You confuse me, Kace.”
Chris Merit’s wife appears beside us. “They need you for a soundcheck in ten.” She glances at me and she’s incredibly pretty up close and personal, her eyes brown, her skin porcelain. Her smile is friendly. “Hi Aria,” she greets. “I’m Sara, Chris’s wife. We have a seat saved for you up front with me so when you’re ready, find me.”
“Nice to meet you, Sara. Thank you.”
“No thanks needed. Looking forward to chatting. See you soon,” she says, fading into the crowd. Kace catches my fingers at my side and I feel that connection in every part of me, inside and out.
“In case you didn’t figure it out, I got you a seat up front with me.” He kisses my knuckles and unlike the moment Alexander had done the same, I tingle all the way up my arm and across my chest. “Come with me.” It’s somehow a command and yet it’s a question he waits to have answered.
The photo of him with that blonde flits through my mind, a warning, but then I remind myself that we barely know each other. We have no commitment. I can’t even afford a commitment. But Gio isn’t here. I know this. He’s not going to be here, either. Suddenly, I want an escape, even need it for my sanity. I want to do something just because I want to do it. And what I want is to live in the moment for once. I want to live in the moment with this man. I want to watch him play. I wan
t to know him just a little bit. I wet my dry lips, his gaze following the movement, the idea of him kissing me flooding me with heat.
“Come with me,” he urges again when those blue eyes fix on mine, seeming to need my approval in a way I don’t understand. But I like it.
I give a nod.
His eyes warm with his approval, which I hunger for far too much and then he’s leading me through the crowd, murmuring greetings to fans, even sliding his arm around me at one point. We’re huddling together as we clear the crowd and head toward a doorway behind the open bar.
We end up at a door and step into a hallway I didn’t know existed. Kace rotates me and settles me against the wall and his powerful legs frame mine, one of his hands on the wall by my head. The other is at my waist, his touch scorching me. “Crystal told me you thought I was hot and cold.”
My lips part in shock. “You wrote me a song.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“And then you left.”
“I told you I had to leave.”
“You know it’s more than that. You touch me. You leave. You touch me again. You leave. You write me a song. You leave. I—I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“The auction meant we would end up here, tonight, bidding on the same item. That’s complicated and I damn sure didn’t want you to think that I was trying to influence your bid.”
The auction that I can’t afford to win. Guilt stabs at me and I grab his jacket, ready to confess. “Kace—”
“And I’m not good for you, Aria. I need you to know that right now. In fact, I’m ten shades of bad you should run from.”
It’s a warning defines every hot and cold moment with this man, and I should run. But I’m not running, not when he’s standing right here, and there’s this rough, edgy quality to him that calls to me in ways I cannot explain. “Then why are we standing here?”
His eyes, those potent blue eyes, lower to my mouth where they linger, and I know—I just know—that he is thinking about kissing me, and I can barely breathe with the eternal moments that tick between us.
A Reckless Note Page 9