“You can’t expect me to keep the news to myself. I’m never the first to get a good scoop.” She held up her hands. “Besides, Bridge was in the group chat.”
I sighed, but since it was too late to put the news back in the box, I answered the call.
Bridget’s face filled the screen. “You’re dating Josh Chen?” she asked without preamble. “What? How? Why?”
“Hello, Your Majesty. Good evening to you, too,” I said pointedly. “How are you doing?”
“Don’t how are you doing me.” Bridget pushed her green cloth headband higher up on her head. She must’ve turned in for the night, because her face was scrubbed free of makeup and I caught a glimpse of her silk pajama top at the bottom of the screen. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details. I always miss the good stuff over here in Europe.”
“Don’t you have royal duties to attend to or something?”
“It’s midnight, Jules, and my royal duties consist of wrangling ministers who insist on acting like grade schoolers. Please, let me have some fun.” A masculine rumble murmured something offscreen. Bridget turned her head to whisper something back before she faced me again. “Rhys says hi.”
She panned the camera so I could see Rhys, who waved at me from his spot next to her in bed. His gray eyes glowed with bemusement.
I let out another sigh, but I recounted the story again, starting with the clinic truce. When I finished, Bridget and Stella stared at me with open mouths.
“Wow. That’s…” Bridget shook her head. I’d propped my phone up against a glass so we could all see her. “Somehow you and Josh together make zero sense and all the sense in the world.”
“Does this mean you guys have stopped bickering?” Stella asked with a hopeful expression.
“Nope. We bicker more,” I said cheerfully. “It leads to great ha—” Hate sex. I cut off abruptly when Ava’s eyes widened with alarm. “You know.”
Stella wrinkled her nose. “I don’t, and I don’t want to know. I’ll never be able to look at Josh the same.”
“You will one day.” Stella didn’t date much, but it wasn’t for lack of interest from guys—she fielded suitors every day. Romance simply wasn’t a priority. “Enough about me. What about you?”
“What about me?” Wariness touched her features.
“You’re the last woman left standing.” Mischief lit up my face. “Who’s going to be the guy who sweeps you off your feet?”
“When you find him, let me know,” she said dryly. “In the meantime, I’m just trying to survive Anya.”
Anya was her boss and the editor-in-chief of D.C. Style magazine.
While Stella told us about her latest photoshoot, which apparently involved a hungover supermodel, a live python, and a gallon of baby oil, a familiar photo drew my attention to the TV hanging over the bar.
Shock stole my breath from my lungs. Brown hair, blue eyes, stubbled jaw, unsmiling face.
Max.
The volume was off, but the closed captions were on, so I could read what happened.
“…body was found in a hotel room in Baltimore. The victim, Max Renner, was stabbed multiple times and died at the scene. Renner was recently released from prison for grand larceny and is believed to be involved in an Ohio-based crime ring. Police suspect other members of the crime ring are responsible for his murder, and the FBI…”
Max was dead.
All those years, all that heartache, he was dead.
I guess his associates finally caught up with him.
Other than a trickle of relief, I felt…nothing. Not even vindication after what he did in the stairwell.
I’d truly put him in the past.
I dragged my attention back to my friends in time to see Stella’s face pale at something on her phone while Ava and Bridget chatted about Bridget’s upcoming diplomatic trip to Argentina.
A seed of concern sprouted in my chest. “Is everything okay?” Stella rarely looked that rattled.
“Yes.” She slid her phone into her bag and smiled, but it looked more forced than usual. “Something came up at work, but I’ll deal with it later.”
“You should find a job that treats you better,” I said gently. “You’re talented enough. You can even go full-time with your blog.”
Stella made a ton of money from brand sponsorships.
“Maybe one day.”
I took the hint from her subdued response and dropped the issue, though my concern remained. Stella kept all her feelings and troubles bottled up. It wasn’t healthy in the long run, but now wasn’t the time to get into it.
We rejoined Bridget and Ava’s conversation and eventually shifted topics to Ava’s promotion at work. It was past midnight in Eldorra, but Bridget stayed up with us to talk.
My chest glowed with warmth.
It felt like old times, when we would order pizza and talk into the early hours of the morning in our dorm room.
We weren’t eighteen anymore, but we were still us. Even if one of us lived on a different continent now, and we didn’t see each other as much as we used to at school, our friendship was a steady rock.
It was comforting to know that no matter how much some things changed, others will always stay the same.
JULES
“What’s the surprise?”I bounced on the balls of my feet, unable to contain my curiosity as we stepped into the elevator of a luxury Upper East Side apartment building. “Tell me, please. I’m dying here.”
Josh had surprised me with a trip to New York to catch the last showing of the Legally Blonde musical revival earlier that night, and he said he had another surprise for me before we left tomorrow. I’d tried to pry the secret from him during our entire cab ride here, but he’d refused to budge.
“Red, we will literally be there in a few minutes.” He pressed the button for the penthouse, and my curiosity ramped up another notch. “Haven’t you ever heard the term patience?”
“Patience?” I pretended to think. “Nope, never heard of it.”
I laughed when he swatted my ass in playful punishment.
I’d been floating on a high since Josh and I got back together. I caught myself humming at the oddest times, like when I was loading the dishwasher or waiting for the metro, and my cheeks ached from smiling so much. Even stress over my looming bar results couldn’t dampen the weightlessness in my chest.
Nothing turned a person into a bigger cheeseball than being in love, and I wasn’t even mad about it. There were worse things than being cheesy. Besides, cheese was a top tier food group.
When we arrived at the penthouse, a woman in a stunning white dress checked our names off a list and waved us in with a smile. “Welcome to the exhibition, Mr. Chen, Ms. Ambrose. The gallery is to your right.”
“Exhibition?” I took in the sleek, modern furniture and glass walls overlooking Central Park. The place looked like a private residence, not a museum.
“Private collector. He’s hosting a party displaying his newly acquired works.” Josh guided me to a long marble hall lit by a domed glass skylight. Dozens of paintings hung on the wall in gilded frames, and well-dressed guests circulated with champagne in hand.
I squeezed Josh’s hand again when his eyes lingered on a glass of the bubbly golden liquid.
“And how did you score an invite to this exhibition?” I asked suspiciously. Who could Josh possibly know in New York?
His smug grin rang a dozen alarms. “You’re looking at it.” He pulled me further down the hall until we reached one painting in particular.
My jaw unhinged. “You’re joking. How is this possible?”
It was the atrocious painting from Josh’s room, the one that brought me so much grief last month. Except now, instead of a Hazelburg bedroom, it hung in a multimillion-dollar apartment between a Monet and a de Kooning.
“I sold it. I didn’t want whoever is after the painting to come after me again, so I made the sale as high profile as possible. If they want to fuck with the new owner…” Josh shrugged. “It’s on them.”
“Jesus.” I admit, it was a genius move, though I still couldn’t fathom the idea anyone this rich would pay to have such an ugly painting in their house.
Max was gone, but I was curious about who was intimidating enough that it would deter whatever criminals he’d been running around with.
“Who’s the new owner?” I asked.
“I am.”
I turned at the rich, somewhat familiar voice, and my eyebrows flew up when I saw who it belonged to. I’d only met him once, but I’d recognize that glossy dark hair and beautiful olive skin anywhere.
Dante Russo smiled. “It’s nice to see you both again. I hope you’re enjoying the party.”
So I wasn’t the only one who remembered our encounter in Christian’s library.
“We are, thanks. Your gallery is beautiful,” I said graciously.
I made a mental note to Google Dante later. I’d heard his name somewhere before, but I couldn’t pinpoint it.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Appreciation for beauty is part of my family business. Luxury goods,” he said when my brow knit in confusion. “Fashion, jewelry, wines and spirits, beauty and cosmetics. All part of the Russo empire.” A self-deprecating note crept into his tone.
Of course.
It suddenly clicked. I read a recent magazine profile of The Russo Group, the world’s largest luxury goods conglomerate.
Dante was the CEO. According to the profile, he was also rumored to have one of the most ruthless security teams in the corporate world. There was an urban legend that his head of security once caught someone trying to sneak into his house while he was away for business. The unlucky thief ended up in a month-long coma with two broken kneecaps, a mangled face, and every rib shattered.
The thief had refused to name names, and there was no hard evidence tracing it back to Dante, but his reputation stuck.
No wonder Josh was so confident Max’s associates wouldn’t fuck with him.
We made more chitchat for a few minutes before I hesitated and said, “I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.”
Enzo Russo founded the Russo Group sixty-five years ago. He was a bona fide business legend, and his funeral had dominated the headlines a few weeks ago.
Dante didn’t seem distraught over his grandfather’s death, but it felt like the polite thing to say considering how recent the funeral was. Plus, I’d been there when he received the news in Christian’s library.
An iron blanket fell over his sculpted features. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Apologies for cutting our conversation short, but my fiancée has finally arrived.” He sounded less than thrilled. Was there anyone in this man’s life he did like? “Please, enjoy the rest of the party.” He nodded at us and strode off, his tall, muscled frame cutting a striking figure in the crowd. At the end of the hall, a beautiful Asian woman watched him approach with a half nervous, half defiant expression. His fiancée, I assumed.
“I would pay to see someone try to steal from him,” I said. “Good job.”
Josh smirked. “I try. How do you know him?” He sounded more curious than concerned.
“We met at Christian’s house when I asked for his help with Max.” I spotted a server bearing down on us with a tray of champagne and quickly shook my head.
“Right. Is it just me, or do all rich people know each other?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. They live in a small world.” I eyed the painting again. Unlike the others, it lacked a plaque engraved with its name, artist, and origins. “So, does this oh-so-precious piece have a name?”
“Apparently. Dante was already familiar with it when he bought it.” Josh took my hand again as we walked to the next painting. “It’s called Magda.”