ARABELLA

CHAPTER3

ARABELLA

EVA'S POV

"Arabella," Xander said softly. "Is that your real name?"

You have seconds to come up with something. I flashed a small, casual smile. "What my ... Mother used to call me before she died."

A partial truth.

"That's sad." Xander reached out to lightly touch my upper arm, warmth radiating from his body. "My mother passed away when I was 10. In an auto accident. Sometimes I think about it now..."

I raised my eyes to look into his, and for a brief moment I saw a glimmer of actual shared loss and something within me broke. "You knew about that?"

"Yeah." He shook his head, and his hand remained on my arm. "Sorry. That wasn't supposed to turn into a therapy session. We were supposed to be having a fun time."

"Death has a funny way of catching us all off guard... even years later."

"Yeah." He still had his hand on my arm. "Yeah. It does."

For a moment we just stood there as two total strangers who understood the impact of loss. And I hated how good it felt.

"Well then," Xander stated, finally smiling. "So that would mean you owe me dinner. After all, I do have the signature."

"I'll consider it."

"Eva." The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. "Let's have dinner. Not as business associates. Not as part of some calculated strategy. Just... two people who enjoy art. Who enjoys loss. And who can appreciate a bottle of fine champagne being knocked over."

I should say no. I should play tough to get. I should stick to the plan.

But instead I said, "Friday. 8 PM. But I picked the restaurant."

He smiled at me brightly. "Deal."

"And Xander?" I took a step closer to him so I could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. "Do not assume I will make things easy for you."

"I would be very disappointed if you did."

The gallery door opened again.We both turned to see a woman walk in—chestnut hair, hazel eyes, bohemian dress with an artistic flair. She was pretty in a soft, gentle way that was the complete opposite of my sharp edges.

"Xander!" She beamed as soon as she spotted him. I noted the slight hesitation in her smile when she realized I was there too. "I didn't know you would be here."

"Mia." His voice was bright, and very friendly, clearly non-romantic. "Why are you here today?"

"Gallery shopping." She made her way over to us, eyeing us both with a mild curiosity. "I had read good things about Sterling Gallery."

"Mia, this is Eva Sterling, the owner. Eva, this is Mia Hart—she is a Curator for The Modern, and one of my oldest friends."

She offered me a firm handshake, and a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Her handshake was firm, and she gave me an appraising look. "I've heard so many stories from Xander about your gallery."

"Really?" I shot a questioning glance at Xander. "We talked for the first time last night."

"He called me at midnight," Mia replied; and beneath the sweetness of her voice I sensed something sharp. "He sounded extremely excited about meeting a mysterious gallery owner that issued him a scavenger hunt."

Midnight. He called her at midnight to discuss it with me. I took note of that. Clearly, they were close. Extremely close.

"I hope I was excited enough for you," I said lightheartedly.

"Oh, I am sure you were." Mia's smile did not quite touch her eyes. She turned to Xander. "So, did you win the challenge?"

"Yes, we are going to have dinner on Friday."

For a moment, something flashed across Mia's face (it could have been pain—it disappeared quickly), then she continued. "That sounds great. I don't want to interrupt anymore. Your gallery is beautiful, Eva. I will come back another time when I have more time to spend here."

"Please do."

With a little wave, Mia departed, leaving behind her stiffened shoulders and artificially bright smile.

"She seems nice," I said carefully.

"She is. Mia's..." Xander paused, choosing his words. "She's family. I have known her since we were kids. Her parents are family friends."

Family friends. With the Blackwoods. I filed that away too.

"Well, I should let you get back to work," Xander said. "But I'll see you Friday?"

"Friday."

For a brief second, I expected him to kiss me, but instead, he simply tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. The gentle motion feels so much more threatening than his lips on mine.

"Eva. Thank you. For the painting class, for giving me something to look forward to."

And as quickly as he arrives, he leaves again. I stand there, alone in my gallery, feeling the sensation of his touch against my skin, and racing through all of the possibilities.

Sophie emerges from the back room where she had been quietly waiting until things settled down. "Wow. That was intense."

"It wasn't anything," I say with a dismissive tone.

"Oh no. And I am the Queen of England," Sophie replies sarcastically as she hands me my phone. "You have three missed calls from Madame Selene. It's urgent."

I glance at the phone, then out the window toward the street where I see Mia Hart standing outside the gallery, gazing at the building with an unreadable emotion on her face.

Something doesn't feel right. I don't know what it is.

I call Madame Selene back. "Arabella," she says coldly the minute I answer the phone. "We have a problem."

I can feel my heart tighten. "What type of problem?"

"Victor Blackwood hired a private investigator to dig up information about your past," she explains.

I can feel my world spinning. "How long before he finds it?"

"No more than a week or maybe two," she says. "Your fake history will hold up fine, however, if he digs deep enough... "

She pauses briefly. "Are you really going to go through with this? Is there another way to seek revenge?"

I look at the watercolor of the crescent moon, think of Celine holding onto my hand, my parents screaming, 15 years of anger, sadness, and planning.

"I'm sure."

"Then you need to move faster. Make him fall harder, faster.Once you're indispensable to him, his father's investigation won't matter."

"Understood."

I hung up and stood there in my gallery, surrounded by beautiful art and ugly truths, and wondered what the hell I'd gotten myself into.

My phone buzzed. A text from Xander: "Already counting down to Friday. -X"

And despite everything—the lies, the revenge plan, the danger—I found myself smiling.

Then I noticed another text, from an unknown number: "Stay away from him. He deserves better than whatever game you're playing. -A friend"

My blood ran cold.

Someone was watching me. Someone knew this was a game.

But who?