Chapters (35)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Discover More
- Author’s Note
- Questions for Readers
- Further Reading
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Acclaim for Kelly Bowen and The Paris Apartment
He hadn’t expected that. “Which one?”
“All of them.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that either.
“You come very highly recommended. And I’m reasonably sure you’re not a serial killer.”
“Thank you, I think.”
“I have a confession.”
“A confession?”
She set the little landscape back down. “I didn’t really ask you here to look at your grandfather’s painting. Not entirely.”
The irony of that confession nearly made him laugh out loud.
“I did search for your name at the beginning,” Lia continued, looking back up. “Because, strangely enough, this particular landscape was kept in a safety deposit box I knew nothing about until after my grandmère’s death. And I have no idea why. No offense meant to your grandfather,” she added hastily.
“None taken.”
“In her will, she specifically directed that this painting go to me.”
“I see.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“Searching out your family seemed like a good first step in my search for answers. I have so many questions, and I thought maybe one of you could help me fill in some blanks. But then when I saw what you did for a living, it seemed like fate, and I thought that maybe—” She stopped. “There are others. I’m trying to identify them and catalogue them but I—” She took a deep breath. “I’m not making sense. Let me start over. I know enough to know what I don’t know.” She stole his words. “I have a number of paintings that need to be appraised. I was hoping that I might be able to hire you to do so.”
Gabriel tried to temper the elation that bubbled up. He was positively desperate to take a better look at the nude—would have looked at that canvas for free—but the idea of being paid to do so was almost too good to believe. “Why not take these paintings to an appraiser in Paris?” he asked reasonably, trying to understand exactly what was going on here. “Not,” he added, “that I’m not happy to be here.”
“I can’t really take them anywhere. Not easily.”
“I don’t understand.”
She gave him a funny look. “I think I just need to show you.”
“All right.”
“Follow me.” Lia led him into the apartment.