Page 4 of The Scarab's Game

“We are rather fortunate Dante found you, are we not?” said Massimo. “An art restorer materializes precisely when we’re in need of one.”

“Very fortunate.” Dante smiled as he sat beside me. He and his father dressed in similar casual, yet luxurious, clothes. Theirwealth was subtle but somehow obvious. “Nice has been good to us this year.”

I spread my napkin across my lap. “And you have tools available at your gallery?”

Massimo nodded. “New artwork arrives often, so our regular man established a small workshop.”

“And why isn’t he doing the work?” I was only an apprentice restorer, working for my favorite aunt after years in an unfulfilling project management job. I’d worked for her during summers as a student—and sometimes just to get out of the house—so I’d known how to clean and retouch paintings, repair damaged canvases, and craft one-of-a-kind frames long before she hired me. She’d always said I was a natural.

“He’s sick and currently in Geneva.” Dante leaned closer and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Although I suspect he’s hiding from his wife.”

Massimo’s assistant, a man whose name I kept forgetting, typed away on his phone. He sat across from Dante and had hardly looked up. “Signore?”

The two men began a hushed conversation in Italian.

Dante gave a subtle wave to a server with brilliant red hair and bright pink cheeks. He ordered red wine for the table, and she was off. Then he turned his focus to me. “The tools at the gallery are rudimentary.”

“That should be fine. It’s a simple sprucing up, right? The photos you provided didn’t show any damage.”

“We’ve only had it cleaned once, after Papa bought it seven years ago. We’d like it looking its best for the auction on Friday.”

If I were listing something in an auction, I would have prepped it much further in advance than a week. But their poor planning was my giant win. Three weeks ago, I’d discovered what a lying, cheating pig my most recent ex was. So I’d beggedmy Aunt Penny to send me to Nice, in her place, to hand-deliver a painting she’d conserved.

She was the only one I’d told about the pig. I’d almost called my bestie brigade over a dozen times to tell them, but I wasn’t ready for the pity looks. Let alone the ones that said I was the last one to figure out what a sleazebag he was.Again.“How long has your conservator been out of town?”

“He’s not a conservator, per se.” Dante placed his hand on the back of my chair, an oddly intimate move for a man I’d only met two days ago. “But he has training, plus a unique passion for art.”

“Unique passion?”

“Indeed, he?—”

“Jenn?” came a male voice behind me. One that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. “Jenn Thatcher?”

I turned as he came up beside me.

Emmett.

Freaking.

Reynolds.

Dressed in a black suit with a black shirt, the buttons undone at his neck. My heart forgot how to beat for half a second. When it started again, my brain also reminded my lungs to breathe.

“I thought that was you!” He held his arms wide, as though expecting me to jump up and hug him.

Iwantedto jump up and hug him. Smell the fresh cologne he’d been wearing for years, with its notes of cardamom and bergamot, plus a hint of vanilla. All I could manage was, “Funny running into you here.”

“No kidding.” He lowered his arms. “I heard you were in France but didn’t expect to run into you in Monaco.”

Me, either.

After delivering the painting for Aunt Penny, I’d had a few days to enjoy Nice. Dante and I crossed paths at the MarcChagall National Museum. He’d commented on one of the paintings—said it looked drab, which was uncharacteristic of Chagall’s usual brilliant color palette. I suggested it needed a cleaning, and the conversation somehow stumbled into my job as an art restorer.

Massimo’s gallery negotiated a short-term contract job with my aunt, and I’d gotten into Dante’s Velatti convertible for the quick drive to Monte Carlo. I’d had a few doubts, but Aunt Penny confirmed he was who he said he was, and he even set me up in a room at the Hôtel de Paris.

Now here I was.

“I’m in town for a contract.” I gestured to Massimo. “Massimo De Rosa, this is my friend Emmett?—”