Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
He was right. “No one said anything, so I don’t think they noticed it’s me. Even I didn’t notice, but now that they’re here, it’s going to be hard to hide them.”
“Very well.” He lifted his hands, and I nearly jumped him, moving at what was barely human speed to grab his wrist above his head.
“What are you about to do?” I tried not to scream.
“Destroy them of course,” he said as if it were obvious.
“You will not! How could you even think of it?”
“But they pose an uncertain risk to you.”
There he went again, saying romantic lines in complete earnest and making me feel a bit off-balance.
He hadn’t even been here for a day.
“The only risk that will come to me is from fighting you for daring to destroy these,” I muttered, letting go of his hand. “This is your work. How could you destroy it as if it were nothing?”
“You—”
“Regardless of whatever risks it could bring me, aren’t you attached to them?” An artist’s work was like a child, the fact that he could nonchalantly rip them to shreds, even if it were for me, was odd.
“How can I be attached to what I do not remember?” he reminded me. “I’m sure I would not have painted it if it was not important to me, but again, I do not know the connection, and in the meantime, you may be affected by this.”
I was already affected by it. But before I could tell him, I heard voices coming from the top of the stairs. And not just any voices but that of Dr. Lovell and Simone.
“Help me,” I said to him, glancing around the lab at the paintings, and I grabbed one of the white sheets. As he brought the paintings together, taking the other end, we draped and covered them quickly.
“Druella, I’m back. How far have you gotten?” Dr. Lovell questioned as he came into the lab, his arms filled with papers, and his bag was slipping off his shoulder. But he didn’t care. His eyes were on the paintings like he was making sure they were still there. I didn’t think he even noticed Theseus.
“Who is this? How did he get down here?” Simone snapped, now zeroing in on him. Her hazel eyes narrowed, and her arms crossed over her chest as she stared at me like she was the Queen of Africa. Her brown hair stopped at her shoulders. Like me, she usually kept it up, but now that she didn’t need to work in the lab she wasn’t. Nor did she have on our normal lab coat but a fitted pink dress and red bottom tan-colored heels. “You know the rules, Druella. It is strictly forbidden for you to bring any friends here. I’m your boss now, too; I can’t let this slide—”
“I beg your pardon, Ms. Ward,” Theseus said, and I wondered how he knew her name but then realized her id badge was hanging around her neck. “I’m Christian de Apollo. My family owns this collection. Apparently, some private work was sent by accident, and I was sent to pick it up.”
But Dr. Lovell and Simone stared at him. Dr. Lovell seemed to just realize Theseus was in his lab without permission. While Simone looked miffed, it was like a robot trying to reprogram themselves to blend in. Her whole demeanor changed, and she unfolded her arms, coming down the stairs.
“Mr. de Apollo,” she said carefully with a softer tone and smile on her face. “Forgive me. I was not aware you were so close by. We’ve been trying to get information on the artwork for hours now, isn’t that right, Druella?”
I smiled back. “I personally haven’t, but I heard you were searching, yes.”
Her jaw clenched ever so slightly, but she focused on Theseus…or Christian. “Mr. de Apollo, forgive me, but I was under the impression that this work was sent by a man named Theseus? There was a note with it.”
“My brother,” he lied.
“Would you happen to have any identification or something I could use to verify your information?” she asked, still in a trained, polite manner, and at that moment, I panicked, turning to look at him; but he was beyond calm and nodded, reaching into his pocket for a…sticky note!
“Here you are,” he said, handing it to her. “As you can see, this is all the identification you will need.”
Was he insane? It wasn’t identification. It was a sticky note, the sticky note I had given him with the directions on how to use my phone. I took a step forward but caught his warning glance.
Helpless, I watched as Simone stared at the yellow square in her hand, and then Dr. Lovell, too, and he nodded like he was reading a sixteenth-century, neo-classical art dissertation and not my morning scribble.