Page 88 of Marry Me Not
“I’m not stressed because of the goddamn dress. It’s something else, all right?”
“What is it?” A line appeared between her brows.
My real motivation for being here tonight was firmly in the she-doesn’t-need-to-know territory. I’d gain nothing from sharing the information with her.
But what would I lose?
Fuck it.
“I was here to chase down a Santoro lead. It turned out to be another dead end.”
She frowned. “What kind of a lead?”
“Rena Santoro was supposed to be here tonight. She donated an item. But she never showed up.”
Curiosity sparked in Fabi’s eyes. “What did she donate? Do you know?”
“This vase.” I pointed behind her.
Her brows rose. “Oh? I thought it looked interesting.”
She pushed away from me and tutted at the vase. “I didn’t expect to see this type of ceramic here. This looks like it was made in—” She skimmed her index finger over the plaque beside it. “Grottaglie.”
“You know the place?”
“I’ve visited once. Solo trip, if you don’t count the bodyguards Rafe insisted I take. It’s a small town in southern Italy where they make lots of ceramics. This vase is interesting because the items they sell are usually relatively inexpensive. So the fact that the starting bid is twenty thousand dollars is unusual.”
A museum attendant who stood nearby overheard her. “You’re exactly right. This piece is special because of the workshop it comes from. Emilio Quaranta. It was only in operation for five years before a fire broke out that killed Quaranta and destroyed the factory. He’s known for producing some of the finest pieces in the town’s history.”
“So they’re rare. Well, that explains the price.” She walked around the vase, assessing it from every angle. “Beautiful. Do you have the provenance details available for this piece?”
The man looked down at his iPad. “The donor’s anonymous, but we do have some information in the notes here. They have one of the biggest collections of Quaranta’s pieces in the world.This piece was acquired by the donor from a local collector in Grottaglie about five years ago. The name of the collector isn’t specified.”
“Five years ago?” Fabiana muttered to herself. “Okay, thank you.”
“What?” I asked as she pulled me aside.
“Whoever sold this piece to the Santoros might be able to help you. Five years is a long time, but a sale like this would be remembered, especially if the donor is known in Grottaglie as a big buyer.”
“You think the people in this town might be able to help us find them?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but I think it’s possible.”
I stared at her, stunned. It was a lead. A name. A place.
“Cosimo? You okay?”
I was already pulling out my phone. “We’re done here tonight. I need to make a call. Meet me at the entrance in five.”
CHAPTER 30
FABIANA
My foot tappedout a nervous rhythm as I waited for Cosimo by the museum entrance.
The thought of spending the next thirty minutes trapped in the car with him made my body buzz all over. It was the same car I’d sat in only a few weeks ago when he’d hiked up my skirt and written three words on my bare skin with a pen.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to survive the ride, let alone the next five and a half months beside a man who was still insisting things were simple between us.
