I did, keeping our chairs far apart. “What is that?” It looked like a series of faded mathematical equations and circular drawings.
“This,” he said, “is Copernicus’s understanding of our solar system. This illustration is seminal in the scientific community because it was the first to posit the theory of a heliocentric universe. The sun in the middle, all the planets orbiting.”
I watched his finger trace the orbiting circles—Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, Neptune.
“The first edition of this book was printed using a handpress in 1543 in Nuremberg. It was extremely controversial. Ptolemy’s theory was the prevailing one, that the earth was the center. The Copernicus was so controversial it was placed on the Index of Forbidden Books and pulled from circulation.”
“I usually know more about the person who stole the book than the book itself,” I confessed. “But I can see why this book would be desired by a private collector.”
“And only twenty copies are in private hands, according to the last census. Victoria would be one of a very chosen few.”
Henry’s fingers continued to trace the planetary orbits with precise accuracy; I was entranced by the circular motion. In the darkened office, there was a surreal intimacy, like we were the ones floating, not the planets.
“This is what you did before you came to Codex? When you worked with Bernard?” I asked.
The look on his face made me immediately regret mentioning that name. But he shook it off. “My job was to understand a rare manuscript at the deepest level—the texture of the pages, the smell, the way the spine curved or broke or fell apart. I’d catalog its owners, its journey from wherever it was discovered, buried in some attic somewhere. I mean…” He sat back, locked his eyes on mine. “This book that we’re chasing is 476 years old. It was individually handpressed by a printer in Nuremberg whose name we’ll never know. Touched, caressed, disdained, discarded—then cherished and applauded. All of that emotion exists within its pages, like a vibration.”
I’d never thought of the book we recovered like that—they were objects to me, meant to be returned to their rightful home. The stolen books were items that balanced the scales of justice, but there was no emotion to them.
“It’s good that Abe hired you,” I admitted. “Codex needed someone like you. You’re the right fit.”
“I’m really happy to be here,” he replied.
I rapped my knuckles against the tabletop.
“We should practice again. For tomorrow,” I said.
“Ah, yes. Our debut as the Thornhills. Holy matrimony.” He scooped up stray pages and paper and stacked them neatly, leaving the table clean. I admired his mouth—the full, smooth shape of it. Remembered it at my ear and the sensations it had evoked, low in my belly. Even with guards coming. Even with my own gun, cocked and ready—in so many ways, Henry could have had me.
“I’ll be Victoria, okay?” I said.
He leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The tip of his shoe brushed against mine. “Hit me,” he said.
“How long did the two of you even date? I’m sure your families weren’t happy about the elopement.”
“They weren’t,” he said. “Which is why we’re having a reception in a few months.”
“How lovely,” I crooned.
“And Delilah and I have been together for five years. To be honest, I think we waited too long.”
“What did she wear on your wedding day? She couldn’t possibly have found something respectable that quickly.”
Henry peered down at our feet, a centimeter apart. I nudged him.
“White dress from a thrift store. Red shoes.”
“Nice detail,” I said, surprised. “Colorful but doesn’t sound too much like a lie.”
“Plus, you like the color red. The real you,” he clarified. He tapped our shoes together again—my heels were scarlet.
“You noticed that?” I asked.
“Details are my job.”
I crossed my legs, separating our feet.
“Did she have a veil? Flowers?” I arranged my face in mock horror at the travesty of a wedding with no flowers.
Henry’s eyes crinkled at the sides. “Yes,” he said. I could see him thinking. “She, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I found a small bouquet at a farmer’s market next to the library, and two of the librarians made a veil for her on the spot. I can still remember lifting the gauzy fabric and seeing her face. How gorgeous my almost-wife looked.”
“Nice save,” I said. “You two live in Society Hill?”
“Luxury rowhome. Working elevator. Three-car garage.”
My brow lifted. “Fancy.”
“My wife is very rich.” He smirked. “Haven’t you heard?”
“And the cross streets?”
Henry blanked. “Um…Spruce and…12th.”
“You don’t know where your own home is, Mr. Thornhill?” I placed my chin in my hand.
“Spruce and 12th,” he committed.
“What’s the street address? I’ll send a driver.”
“1234 Spruce Street.”
I narrowed my eyes—but hid my smile behind my hand. “1234 Spruce Street?”
“I don’t make the rules, Victoria. That’s my address.” His mouth curved up.
“Don’t get cocky.”
“I’m more terrified than cocky,” he admitted. He scrubbed a hand down his face, and I saw exhaustion etched into the lines around his mouth. “But every morning on my run this week I pretended to be Henry Thornhill. Consultant, unscrupulous collector, newlywed husband.”
“Good,” I said. “It has to fit you like…like the clothing you’re wearing now.”
“Have you ever done a high-profile undercover like this?” he asked.
I shook my head. Assessed my partner in the dark. “I’m a little worried too.”
“A little?”
I shrugged. “Just a little. I know Krav Maga and carry a gun. When you can punch or shoot your way out of any situation, it helps.”
“And where’s your weapon now?” he asked. It might have been the late hour, but there was a distinct grate in his voice that hadn’t been there before.
“I’m unarmed.” I held up my arms, showed him my empty hands. “Does that make you feel safer?”
“Less safe actually,” he said. “I like knowing you can save us.”
My cheeks warmed.
“Do you feel like Mrs. Thornhill?” he asked.
“I have pictured us arguing over who’s doing the grocery shopping this week, yes,” I said.
His eyes sparkled. “We’re re-doing the master bedroom and choosing paint colors is a nightmare.”
“We’re always redoing our master bedroom,” I said with mock exasperation.
“Victoria thinks we’re madly in love but really…the spark is gone,” he sighed.
I bit my lip. Smiled. “We had a good run. I guess you could always be having an affair.”
“Cheat on you?” he asked.
I had been joking—enjoying a sneaky game in this private moment. “What? You don’t think Henry Thornhill is capable?”