Chapter 2

The corridor behind the main gallery was dim, lit only by soft sconces that cast amber pools of light on the exposed brick walls. Arthur's hand was warm and firm in mine as he led me past the storage rooms and toward the east wing, where the more valuable pieces were displayed behind glass cases. The party still hummed in the main hall, a distant murmur of voices and clinking glasses, but here, in the quieter passages of the Mercer Gallery, we were invisible. "This is where I spent most of my childhood," I said, my voice low, echoing slightly off the stone floors. "Running through these halls while you negotiated deals." He glanced back at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You used to hide behind the large canvases in the impressionist room. Scared the cleaning staff half to death." "I was looking for you," I said softly. "I always wanted to be where you were." He stopped walking and turned to face me fully. We were standing in front of a door marked PRIVATE COLLECTION — RESTRICTED ACCESS. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it with practiced ease. "Then you should have just