THE CURATOR’S DILEMMA: PART TWO
874 Words
Theodore Cross led me upstairs to his private office on the third floor.
I had been in here before, but never at night, never when the museum was empty and dark.
The room was enormous, filled with antique furniture and priceless artifacts. His desk was a massive mahogany piece that must have weighed a ton.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the leather chair in front of it.
I sat.
But he didn't.
Instead, he walked to the window and looked out over the moonlit sculpture garden below.
"You know your father's greatest weakness?" he asked without turning around.
"His pride?" I echoed out subconsciously.
Cross laughed. "That's part of it. But the real weakness is his certainty. He's absolutely sure he's right about everything. And he has no idea that the people he trusts most have been lying to him for years."
"Are you talking about yourself?"
He turned towards me.
In the dim light, his face looked carved from stone, handsome and unreadable.
"I'm talking about a great many people. The forger.
I still felt loss, how had I miss all this.
The board members. The donors." He walked toward me slowly. "And you, Maya. You've been lying to him too. How many nights have you spent in the conservation lab? How many secrets have you kept?"
"Keeping a secret isn't the same as lying." I debated it with him.
"Tell yourself that." He stopped in front of me, looking down with that predatory gaze. "But w both know what vou reallv want. You want to be seen. You want to be important. You want someone to look at you and see something more than your father's daughter."
I looked up at him. "And do you?"
He reached down and took my chin in his hand, tilting my face up further. "From the moment you walked into my office ten years ago, asking about pigment degradation, l saw exactly what you were. Brilliant. Reckless. Desperate for someone to tell you the truth."
He deliberately dragged his words slowly.
"Then tell me the truth." I forced out.
I didn't want to admit to myself that his words were turning me on.
"The truth is, you're going to help me catch this forger. And I'm going to make sure you're prepared for what that means." His thumb stroked my jaw. "You're going to do exactly what I say. When I say it. And you're going to trust me completely."
The rational part of my brain screamed at me to run. But the other part-the part that had been starved for attention my entire life-whispered back: Stay, see where this goes.
"'ll do it," I said. "But I have conditions."
Cross's eyebrows rose. "Conditions?" He looked a bit surprised but I didn't care.
"I want full access to the archives. Everything you've collected about this forger. No secrets."
"Fine." He agreed.
That was actually easier than I expected.
"And I want to know why you chose me. You could have used anyone. One of the interns, a security guard, anyone else."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled me to my feet, his hands on my shoulders, his body close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him.
"Because you're the only person in this building who's as lonely as I am," he said. "Because you understand the difference between looking at a painting and truly seeing it. And because, whether you admit it or not, you've been waiting for someone to take control."
I felt the words like a physical blow. He was right, he was exactly right.
"Stand against the desk," he ordered.
I did. My back pressed against the mahogany, the wood cool through my thin blouse.
He moved in front of me, bracketing my body with his arms, his face inches from mine.
"Your father would be furious if he knew where you were right now."
"Let him be." I hummed, though my voice came out a bit low and lost.
Cross's smile was sharp with approval. "There it is.
That defiance." His mouth brushed my ear. "How long have you wanted to rebel, Maya? How long have you wanted to be someone other than the perfect daughter?"
"Too long," I whispered sheepishly. He cheeks were already burning red.
"Then this is your chance. But understand: once we start, there's no going back. I won't let you pretend this didn't happen. I won't let you play the victim. You're choosing this."
"I'm choosing this." I said firmly.
I had once pictured a day like this with him but little did I know it would happen.
He kissed me then, hard and demanding. It wasn't gentle or kind. It was the kiss of a man who'd been waiting for permission to take what he wanted.
His hands gripped my hips, pulling me against him, and I felt exactly how much he wanted me.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"Tonight, you start by learning how to keep secrets," he said. "Tomorrow, you start learning how to catch criminals. And somewhere in between..."
He traced his fingers down the front of my blouse, stopping at the top button. "You learn what it means to belong to someone."
- Writer
