Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“He was also born out of wedlock,” he half-whispers as we finally come face-to-face with the Mona Lisa.
All my attention should be on the painting. It’s why I’m here, but Finn’s words make me realize something I hadn’t thought of. Not even once before this very moment. And that’s how we’ve gone at it like rabbits and never used protection.
“I’d guess him to be left-handed too.” Finn cocks his head to the side, staring at her.
“He was,” I get out. My mouth suddenly becomes very dry. “You could tell from looking at the painting?” I ask as my mind tries to take me down a million scenarios of my future.
“His strokes go from right to left. Right-handed people tend to go left to right, and their strokes are more relaxed.” Finn might not talk much, but he sure notices everything. He’s a fount of knowledge for many different topics.
“What do you think of it?”
“He must have truly cared for her.”
“Loved?”
“Loved?” he repeats like the word is foreign on his lips.
“Yes, that he loved her.”
“He felt something for her. It’s in the details. He wanted to catch them all.”
“Grams always said the devil is in the details.”
“Smart woman.” Finn puts his hand on my back, and we move along so others can get a look.
“Not gonna lie,” I whisper. “I thought the picture was going to be bigger.” Finn starts to smirk at my silly joke, but in a blink of an eye, his whole demeanor changes. I can feel his fingers flexing against my back.
I glance around to see if something is happening, but there is nothing. Finn pulls out his phone. He’s too tall for me to even get a peek at the screen.
“I’m sorry, but I’m needed—”
“In another country?” I start to panic. Wait, he hasn’t even done any work here. He’s spent most of his time holed up with me in the hotel. How could he already have to move on?
“No.” He kisses my cheek. “In another arrondissement.”
“Okay, go. I know you’re here for work.” The way his tongue pronounces the French word for neighborhoods makes me weak-kneed. “I should be taking some pictures and posting them myself. We can meet back at the hotel later.” He stands there staring at me but not saying a word. I don’t think he wants to leave me alone. “I’ll be fine. I’m not too bad at taking care of myself.” I laugh to try and lighten whatever this dark mood is that’s fallen over him. “Been doing it for a while in a lot of different countries.”
“Your cell number. I don’t have it.”
“Here, I’ll put it in for you,” I offer, holding my hand out to take his phone.
“Just tell it to me, I’ll remember it.”
“Okay,” I laugh again and ramble it off.
“Don’t go running off on me. I’ll find you.” I don’t think he's joking based on the serious expression he’s currently wearing. Then again, he’s always so serious. It’s one of the things I enjoy, oddly. When I get one of those smirks, it's a small victory. Though it would be nice if he could give me more. There is a wall between us. One might not think it if they saw us together, but there is something.
“I don’t run. Like ever. Maybe I’d make an exception if I was about to miss a flight.” I try to lighten his mood.
“Like I said, I’d find you.” Before I know what’s happening, he kisses me. I almost forget we’re in public for a moment. When our mouths finally part, I watch him go. He turns to glance back at me a few times before I lose sight of him.
A weird urge to follow him creeps into my mind, but I don’t do it. I will not be the crazy stalker girl, but I know something is off. I found the ice bucket thing strange, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done it.
Then another dose of reality beyond the one I’m already having over our lack of protection during sex hits me. What if he’s married! The secrecy, the avoidance of giving me details about his life, and the sneaking out of the room makes sense now. Was he leaving the room with the ice bucket to check in with his wife?
My chest grows tight. I do what I do best. I run. Metaphorically, at least. I have to get back to the hotel as quickly as possible. This is my chance. How terrible would it be if I went through his things? He would never know. Sure, I could outright ask him but wouldn’t a cheater lie? I need to see for myself.
The closer I get to the hotel, the more upset I become. When I get to our suite, I stand there debating if I should really do this. That it’s normally wrong to go through his things, but I’m lying to myself. The real reason I’m hesitant is because I’m scared of what I’ll find.