“Before you ask, I wasn’t neglected as a child,” he said. “Not in the way you think. My parents weren’t abusive. Like I said, they were the quintessential American family, except…”
I waited, not wanting to push him.
“I told you my father was a software engineer. What I didn’t tell you was what he moonlighted as.” Christian leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever heard of the art thief, The Ghost?”
My eyes widened with surprise at the seemingly sudden shift in topic, but I nodded.
I’d learned about him in my art crime and law class at Thayer. The Ghost, so named because he’d stolen dozens of priceless artworks without leaving a trace of evidence behind, was one of the most notorious art thieves of the late twentieth century. He’d operated for almost a decade before the police finally caught him and shot him when he tried to flee.
The details of his death were murky, and the stolen artworks were never recovered.
I told you my father was a software engineer. What I didn’t tell you was what he moonlighted as.
Christian’s words replayed in my head, and my breath caught in my throat.
“Your father. He was…”
“Yes.”
The quiet word landed with the force of a nuclear bomb.
Oh my God.
The Ghost’s identity had never been publicly revealed, not even after his death. No one knew why, but rumors abounded. Some said he had a powerful family who paid off the authorities, others said his real persona was so ordinary that the authorities were embarrassed they hadn’t caught him before.
In the space of five seconds, Christian had just answered one of the biggest mysteries in the art world.
I was still wrapping my head around this explosive new piece of information when Christian continued.
“Ironically, he wasn’t the big art lover in the family. My mother was. He claimed he stole the paintings as proof of his love for her. His willingness to risk everything just to make her happy. You’d think she would try to talk him out of it, but she encouraged it. Sometimes, she even joined him. She loved the thrill and the idea that he would go to such extremes for her. They tried to hide what they were doing from me when I was younger, but I eventually caught on. There were too many coincidences between my father’s mysterious business trips and the dates the stolen art were reported on the news. When I confronted my father about it, he confessed.”
Christian gave me a hard smile. “Even as a child, I wasn’t the type to share the dirty details of my life with anyone. He knew he could trust me not to share his secret.”
My chest clenched at the thought of a young Christian being burdened with such a big secret.
Maybe his parents hadn’t been physically abusive, but it sounded like they hadn’t cared about his emotional or mental well-being at all.
“When I was thirteen, he went on another heist. Instead of a museum, he tried to rob some wealthy businessman’s house. The businessman had famously acquired a big art piece at auction, and my mom was desperate to have it. My father almost got away with it, but he tripped an alarm and got caught on his way out. He refused to surrender, and the police shot him when he tried to steal a gun off an officer and make another run for it. He died on the spot.”
“My mom lost it when she heard the news. Two days after my father died, she decided she couldn’t live without him and put a bullet in her own head. I’d been at school. My aunt came, called me into the principal’s office, and told me.” Another, more bitter smile cut across Christian’s face. “It’s like a fucked-up suburban version of Romeo and Juliet. Romantic, isn’t it?”
A deep, painful ache unfurled behind my ribs.
I couldn’t imagine what it was like to grow up in the family he’d grown up in, or to lose both parents at such a young age. I didn’t have the best relationship with mine, but at least they were alive.
“My mother would rather die than live without my father, but she was perfectly fine leaving her only son behind.” Christian’s caustic laugh singed my lungs. “A mother’s love is the greatest love of all, right? That’s bullshit.”
The ache spread burned behind my eyes.
I tentatively reached for his hand and curled mine over it.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. I didn’t know what else to say.
I wished there were magic words I could utter that would make him feel better. But nothing could change the past, and people had to deal with their trauma in their own time.
Christian had been holding onto his for decades. It would take more than a few nice words to heal it.
The best thing I could do was be there for him when he was finally ready to confront it.
“I’ve never told anyone that before.” The haunted expression lingered in his eyes for a moment longer before it disappeared.
“Now that I’ve ruined a beautiful Italian afternoon with my poor little sob story, we should go.” Christian rose, his face an impassive mask once again. “We have lunch reservations in half an hour.”
“You didn’t ruin it.” I squeezed his hand. “I care more about you than any fancy meal or museum outing.”
Christian’s jaw flexed. His gaze held mine for a brief, burning moment before he turned away.
“We should go,” he repeated, his voice rough with emotion.
I let the moment pass. I sensed he’d reached his limit for personal introspection today.
We paid and left the cafe, but when we neared the main street, he paused. “Stella.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for listening.”
The ache returned in full force. “Thank you for telling me.”
Christian thought he’d ruined our afternoon when, in fact, he’d made it. Not because I enjoyed hearing the heartbreaking details of his childhood, but because he’d finally let me in.
No more hiding behind his walls.
Despite all the luxury hotels we’d stayed at, the gourmet meals we’d eaten, and the extravagant activities we’d done, that was the best part of our trip so far.
As dreamy as our vacation was, I loved it not because I was in Italy but because I was in Italy with him.
And that made all the difference in the world.
39
CHRISTIAN/STELLA
CHRISTIAN
Italy was a strange dichotomy of calm and chaos. I spent my days visiting local landmarks and shopping with Stella and my nights monitoring the situation in D.C. after she fell asleep.
I’d called in a favor and asked Alex to keep an eye on things for me while I was gone. He didn’t have any unusual updates for me, but I remained on edge. My gut told me something was brewing on the horizon and that I damn well wouldn’t like what it was.
Until I had a clearer picture of what I was up against, however, there was nothing I could do.
I pushed thoughts of D.C. out of my mind as Stella and I walked down a winding street in Positano. It was nearing sunset, and pastels painted the sky in a soft palette of pinks, purples, and oranges.
We were in week three of our Italy trip, and we’d left the cities behind for the seaside charm of the Amalfi Coast. We’d wound our way through Salerno and Ravello and arrived in Positano yesterday. Next was Sorrento, followed by our last stop in Capri.