Read Online The Art of Stealing Hearts by Stella London - Free Book Online

through.”
    “I
heard the other bidder talking about how he just wanted the art for
its investment value,” I
admit. “He
didn’t
care about the work itself. It seemed wrong to let him take it.”
    “Andrew
Tate?” I
nod. St. Clair grimaces. “I’m
usually not one to speak ill of anyone, but that guy is an asshole.”
    I
laugh. “I
called him Asshole Andrew in my head all night.”
    Charles
laughs. “I’ve
said it to his face many times. He always tries to beat me out at the
auctions. I got to see the Rubens collection in Paris a few years
ago,” he
adds. “Actually,
it was an entire Baroque exhibit. You would have loved it.”
    “Don’t
make me swoon,” I
say and he laughs again, the genuine laugh that’s
full of the kind of joy that’s
so sweet and innocent it makes you laugh too. “I
would love to go to Paris.”
    “You
haven’t
been?”
    I
shake my head. “I
haven’t
been anywhere. I was planning to study abroad in college, but...that
didn’t
work out. I’ve
never left the country.” I
stop, wondering if that makes me sound unsophisticated, but St. Clair
is still looking interested.
    “Where
would you go if you had the chance?”
    “Where
wouldn’t
I?” I
laugh. “Italy,
Spain, Greece…just
think of the art. Renaissance paintings and classical sculpture…”
    “A
true romantic,” he
says, and the lights dim suddenly, casting the room in deeper blue
shadows.
    I
squint at him. “Did
you plan that?”
    He
smiles, dimples appearing in his sculpted cheeks. “You’ll
never know.”
    “A
man of mystery,” I
say, hoping that won’t
be true for too long. This is fun, getting to talk and joke about art
with someone else who cares as much as I do. Now that I’m
relaxing, I realize I haven’t
laughed this much in years.
    “What
happened to your plans?” he
asks, sipping his drink. “You
said you were set to travel. What changed? If you don’t
mind me asking,” he
adds.
    I
pause, deliberating. “My
mom got sick,” I
finally tell him. “I
dropped out of college and came home to take care of her.”
    “That’s
an incredible sacrifice,” he
says, reaching across the table to take my hand. The weight of it is
comforting, even as the touch sends electricity racing across my
skin.
    I
shrug, uncomfortable. “It
wasn’t
a choice. You would have done the same for your parents.”
    St.
Clair gives a wry smile. “Perhaps.
You must love her very much.”
    My
heart aches. “She
didn’t
make it,” I
admit quietly. “She
passed last year.”
    Charles
is silent for a moment as he squeezes my hand. “I
am so sorry. I lost my brother when I was sixteen,”
he says
gently. “I
know it sounds trite, but I understand how hard it can be, going
through something like this. If you ever need to talk…”
He looks at
me with openness, like we share something, just the two of us. “I’m
here for you if you want me to be. I mean it.”
    It’s
suddenly too much. Revealing so much of myself to him, feeling like
he sees me, understands me, after I’ve
been all alone for so long. It’s
overwhelming.
    “I’m
sorry, will you excuse me for a minute?”
I bolt up
from my seat.
    “Is
everything all right?” he
asks, standing as I stand like a perfect gentleman.
    “I’m
fine, I just need to visit the ladies’
room. Be
right back.” I
walk away like I’m
not having a panic attack inside. What am I doing here? Who do I
think I am, out at a fancy restaurant in designer clothes with a
gorgeous, smart man – not
to mention, worth billions?
    But
it’s
not about the money, it’s
about him. He’s
kind, and perceptive, and actually cares about what I think. That’s
about as rare as a unicorn in this city. There has to be a catch.
It’s
not insecurity, it’s
just plain common sense that makes me wonder what he sees in me.
    In
the bathroom I run cold water and splash a little on my cheeks and on
my neck to calm down. I take a deep breath and see myself in the
mirror, eyes still rimmed with kohl