Page 48 of Us in Ruins
Van inched in behind her, so close that she could feel his chest against her back, and Enzo shut the door behind them with a latching click.
“Welcome to La Galleria Bianchi,” Enzo said, coming around to face them. His gaze settled on Margot, warming her up like she’d been placed inside a microwave. “I could give you a guided tour.”
“No, thanks,” Van bristled. He moved to leave, but Enzo stopped him with a hand against Van’s chest. Margot could practically sense Van’s blood pressure rising.
“Only twenty euros,” Enzo said. A smarmy smile glazed his mouth. “Each.”
Margot hedged, “How much is it without the tour?”
“Still twenty.”
“For this?” Van asked. He swiped his finger across the top of a display case, and it came back coated gray.
Enzo shrugged, but its meaning was clear: either pay or get out.
Margot reached into her pockets. Her leftover tip money budget didn’t account for mediocre museum extortion. But if the shard was here, they didn’t have another choice. She pathetically smoothed out the wrinkled ball of bills before handing them to Enzo, a detail that made Van’s lip twitch.
“Grazie, bella.” Enzo finally stepped aside.
They’d barely made it past the first stall—a few dirt-coated coins bearing a weather-worn version of Julius Caesar’s face—when Van grumbled, “Grazie, bella. Who does he think he is?”
“An employee doing his job, perhaps?” Margot eyed an impossibly preserved fresco tucked back behind a stack of crates. A little red tag had been tacked next to it. Squinting, she asked, “Does that say eighteen million euros?”
Van paced forward. “That’s not what we’re here for.”
“Sorry to break it to you,” Margot said under her breath, “but if what we’re here for is eighteen freaking million euros, then we’re out of luck.”
Van didn’t slow. Margot could barely take in their surroundings—the rusted blades of iron swords, the tattered edges of forgotten scrolls. “If what we’re looking for is still here, we won’t be buying it.”
“What do you mean we won’t be—oh, my god, you want to steal it.” Margot lowered her voice, trying not to draw the eyes of vendors. Her heart ran rampant in her chest, thumping around in all the wrong places. “We can’t. We’ll never get away with it.”
Van halted so suddenly, Margot breezed several steps past him, lost in her swirling thoughts. She had to backtrack to where he stood, feet planted like old-growth oaks on the checkered tile. At first glance, he was totally expressionless. But Margot had learned to read the topographical lines of his face.
The way his forehead creased and his eyes narrowed. Focused and determined.
The way his lips flattened. Thoughtful, careful.
The way the freckles along his cheekbones perched upward with the tilt of his head.
Margot swallowed thickly. The realization settled in her stomach like fool’s gold at the bottom of a river.
If they found the shard, they had to steal it.
It wasn’t negotiable. What other choice did they have? Margot’s flight was mere hours from now. Soon, she’d be shoes-off in the security line, boarding an all-night flight back to Georgia. The thought of her dad’s frustrated scowl was as striking as a guardian arrow through the heart: You’re just like your mom sometimes.
Her mom, who lived in a constant state of romanticizing her life, always searching for the next big thing. Her mom, who gave up on things when they got hard. Her mom, who left them.
Margot had always known it was true. That she and her mom shared more than a few traits. The same brunette curls that streaked with honey gold in the summer sun. The same wrinkles in their nose when they laughed too hard, all scrunched up. The same big smile, all gums and teeth, the same deep well of tears that seemed to never dry up, and the same slingshot between them like there was no middle ground. Highest high or lowest low and no in-between.
“Okay,” she heard herself say to Van. “Teach me how.”
Van stepped closer. The toes of his boots met her sneakers. A new look painted his features, one Margot didn’t recognize, his eyes as sharp as emerald. “You want to learn how to pick pockets?”
Margot straightened her spine, shoulders pressing down as she craned her neck toward him. Defiant energy coursed over her skin, electric. “You don’t think I can do it? I can totally do it.”
“I’ll admit I have a reservation or two.”
Margot torqued an eyebrow.