Yes, there’s a definite advantage to this guy wanting me out of his house pronto.
“As soon as it arrives, I’ll take the painting,” I say. “Even if I think I could uncurse it without my kit.”
He leads me down a hall, and I let my thoughts drift. I’m relieved I didn’t call Marion out on Connolly’s marriage contract. I wasn’t completely non-confrontational, but I was as close as I could manage without letting her walk all over me, and Connolly would never expect that. I can legitimately tell him the entirety of the conversation without smoothing over my behavior.
The entirety of the conversation . . . That insurance letter . . .
Connolly, please tell me you didn’t slip me the payout after my claim was denied.
If he did, while his heart would have been in the right place, I can’t accept the money, and if I don’t accept the money, I don’t have a shop, which means I’ve lost my inheritance and—
I struggle for breath and force myself to focus on the positive: I met Marion Connolly and did nothing to make things worse for Connolly or myself. Except I also couldn’t do anything to make them better or—
Hey, let’s focus on the painting! A cursed painting behind door number two! It hurt a staff member, but not seriously. This would be one of the boys. Vengeful Boy or the unnamed older brother. It would help if I know what either curse did beyond making the subject seem to step out of the painting.
I also need to speak to my sisters. I’d be freaking out a lot more about that if they didn’t know about the Crying Girl painting incident last night. If whoever’s behind this sends them the fourth painting, they’ll know what to do about it. So will Jonathan. Still, I want to speak to them.
With all these thoughts zipping through my head, it takes a while for me to realize where I am. In the basement of an empty building. Alone with Connolly’s father. Walking down a creepy subterranean corridor.
I slow, and I’m about to say something when he opens a door. I hesitate, but it’s a little late for me to decide I’m uncomfortable with this. I should have asked for a guard escort. Or agreed to have Marion accompany us. Also, it’s not as if Cullan led me into the basement for no reason. It’s a cursed painting. They put it here to keep it as far away as possible.
Cullan disappears into the room. I approached the open doorway with care. My purse is back at Connolly’s house. My phone is with the security team. It’s just me, alone and defenseless.
I move into the doorway and see an empty room. “Where’s the painting?”
Cullan points at a closed door.
When I arch my brows, he sighs. “It’s a cursed painting. I’m not walking into the room with it, Ms. Bennett. That would be your job.”
Logical, but I still take a step back. “You know what, I don’t see much point in me checking out the painting. Just get me a blanket, and I take it out.”
He shrugs and takes out his phone as he joins me in the hall. Then he grabs me by the shoulder and shoves me into the room. I wheel, fists rising. Something hits me. Not a blow but a smack of existential dread, sending me reeling back, gasping, my heart hammering.
My feet tangle, and I land flat on my ass, pain jolting up my tailbone. When I try to scramble up, my feet twist, and I fall, my knees cracking against the concrete.
“Bad luck,” I whisper.
“I suppose, being around Aiden, you are far more accustomed to boosts of good. My son may see himself as tough and ruthless, but there’s a little too much of his mother in him. A moral compass that keeps him from achieving his full potential. Like his mother, he prefers to use good luck, and only in small doses. Too much good aimed at himself—or bad aimed at his rivals—is cheating. His mother’s influence again.”
I stay where I am, knowing if I rise, I’ll only fall again. “There’s no painting, is there?”
“Of course there is. Marion wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise. It’s past that door, which is where you’ll be, too, if you prefer not to help me resolve this issue with my son.”
Cullan takes out his phone. “I have your banking information, Ms. Bennett. I propose wiring you five-hundred-thousand dollars to tell my son you don’t wish to see him again.”
“I’m not seeing your son. Not like that.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Again, a touch too much of his mother’s honor. He likes you, which means he won’t do the convenient thing and get it out of his system with a week in Paris. But he does like you, which is very inconvenient.” He lifts his phone. “Half a million dollars.”
“I’m not a gold-digger.”
“If you were, you’d be a very poor one indeed. ‘Gold-digger’ is my wife’s theory because she needs to cast you as the villain. Fair play and all that. I don’t actually give a damn what you are, Ms. Bennett. I only care about what you are not: a suitable wife for my heir.”
My heir. Not my son.
He continues, “I have a dynasty to protect. My father passed it on to me, and his father to him. I will pass it on to Aiden, and while I’d like to see him develop more cut-throat instincts, I believe he will.”
“With the right wife.”
He considers and then shakes his head. “No, the wife herself doesn’t matter. What matters is that he can tick off that particular checkbox and focus on his ambitions. A wife to provide sons, run his household and help his business interests.”
“A wife who can do it all. Just what every woman wants.”
“Some women do. Just look at Marion. Yes, Connollys expect a lot from their wives, but there’s one thing we don’t expect: romantic sentimentality. That’s what I wish to protect Aiden from. Falling for some girl who’ll distract him from his work. Who’ll have him gallivanting into the countryside chasing antique washbasins.”
A roll of his blue eyes. “Aiden is already distracted, and he isn’t even sleeping with you yet. Do you know what he did last week? Set up a college scholarship for his cleaning lady’s son. And reached out to some group inquiring about internships for low-income students.”
Both these come as news to me. Of course, they would. He’d do it quietly. Because it’s the right thing to do. Not to impress me. Which impresses me all the more. He’s trying to be a better man . . . and it’s the last thing his father wants.
“Take the money, Ms. Bennett.”
“Or else?”
He sighs. “I’m not going to threaten you. I am strongly suggesting that you take the money and allow Aiden to continue in the life he’s always wanted. If you care about him, you’ll want that, too.”
“He’s twenty-eight years old. I think he can decide what he wants.”
“No, actually, he can’t. He isn’t his brother. He hasn’t been in the world, meeting girls like you. He has done what we’ve asked of him, and if there’s a downside, it is that he’s led a sheltered life. You are a bright and shiny novelty. Nothing more. I just need him to realize that before he veers too far from the plan.”
“Maybe you should let him veer from the plan. Remap it. You want him to marry a luck worker? Give him a couple more years. He’s still young. Let him see the wider world first.”