I could have pretended that I knew all about Charles the Tenth. Oh, that guy? But Sergei was so instantly disarming, I didn’t think he’d judge me for my ignorance. “How old?”

“From around eighteen thirty.” He opened the doors and panned the cavernous inside with his cell phone light. “Was there anything inside?”

“Vintage fashion. All mine.”

“I will work through the pain. Because I am a professional.” He tilted his head as if calculating. “The wardrobe alone is worth anywhere between ten and fifteen thousand dollars, if I can find the right buyer. Would that be acceptable?”

For a single piece of furniture? I let go of the tension I’d been holding in my shoulders all morning. “That would be great.”

“Ah.” He was moving on already, heading for the carousel. “You have a beauty here. An Allan Herschell.” His nostrils trembled like a hound on the scent. “See the horses? Nobody carved like Daniel Muller.” He snapped pictures. “Thirty feet in diameter. Twenty-two individual horses, two chariots. From the early nineteen twenties.”

“Is that good?”

“Excellent.”

“Where do you think it came from?”

“I’ll have to research that. Maybe Coney Island?” Sergei looked into my eyes as intently as if he wanted to hypnotize me. “The question is, are you going to let me have this beauty?”

“That’s the idea.”

“I love you. I mean it,” he said the words with sincere passion. “This is the best day of my life.”

He was utterly without artifice or affectation. He was funny. And he was going to help me empty out the house. “I like you too.”

“Life is so unfair.” His lips twisted. “Bram made me swear I wouldn’t hit on you. Would you marry me, skipping the preliminary steps?” He pressed a hand to his heart. “I do have my Aiden. But he’ll love you too. He won’t be able to help himself. We’ll move to Utah. I’ll marry you both. You’ll be sister wives.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Polyamory. Google it.”

Violet would have loved him.

He swiveled back to the carved horses. “All I’m saying is, think about it.” He carefully tested the boards, then stepped up. “Condition is excellent. Obviously restored, but that won’t affect the price. Touch-ups are expected for a piece that’s a century old.”

He aimed his phone light at the nooks and crannies. “Come here.”

I climbed the carousel and followed his awed gaze. The light illuminated a date. “Nineteen eighteen?”

“This,” he said with reverence, “is what we call a jackpot in the business.”

“I can’t take the suspense. Just tell me.”

“Mid six figures. I’m going to call a few serious collectors to see if I can encourage some healthy bidding.”