Faking It (d-2) (28 page)

“I know what I know,” Nadine said. “And I don’t think you should kiss Mr. Phipps again.”

“Hey, even grandmothers get to date.” Gwen went back into the office, annoyed.

Nadine followed her. “It’s such a shame Mr. Ford turned out to be a hit man.”

“Nadine, you do not know that Mr. Ford is a hit man.” Gwen felt exhausted, her headache back in full force. “I’m going to bed,” she said, heading for the hall door.

“Maybe he only killed people who had it coming,” Nadine said, from behind her. “Like John Cusack in
Grosse Pointe Blank
. Maybe if he showed up at their doors, they deserved it.”

“Good night, Nadine,” Gwen said, and opened the door and sucked in her breath.

Ford was standing there, broad as the doorway. “Sorry. How’d the preview go?”

“Oops.” Nadine faded back into the gallery.

“Pretty good,” Gwen said, working on keeping her breathing even.

“It looked good from the street,” he said. “When I left. Through the window.”

“Oh.” Gwen nodded. “Thank you.”

“The whole place looks good,” Ford said.

“Thank you,” Gwen said again, still nodding like an idiot.

“Good night,” Ford said.

“Good night,” Gwen said. He went up the stairs, and Gwen thought,
I’m going to pass out. Breathe, for heaven’s sake
. She was such a fool. Mason kissed her and nothing happened, and Ford turned up behind a door and she hyperventilated.

“Do you think he heard me?” Nadine said, coming back in a little breathless herself.

“I think he hears everything,” Gwen said. “I’m going to bed now. If you change your mind about Ethan, don’t have sex on the office couch.”

“Yeah, and I won’t put beans up my nose, either,” Nadine said, annoyed now, too.

Gwen waved her away and went upstairs to bed to not think for a while.

DOWNSTAIRS, TILDA kicked off her jeans and rolled naked against Davy, who’d lost his, too. “There’s more,” she said, feeling his heat as he touched her. She wanted to crawl into him, he felt so good.

“God, yes,” Davy said, pulling her tighter against him.

“I mean about me.” She closed her eyes, feeling her body slide on his, the bite of his hands on her hips, wanting all of him, hot inside her, as soon as possible. “More things to tell.”

“Keep talking.” Davy bent his head.

“My grandfather sold a Pissaro to the Metropolitan.” She gasped as he reached her breast and sucked hard, and she felt the pull everywhere. “It’s a contemporary.” She laced her fingers through his hair and arched against him to ease the prickle in her veins. “Oh, God. My great-grandfather painted it. It’s really good.”

Davy moved up to her neck, kissing her there. “My grandpa sold the Brooklyn Bridge for scrap iron,” he said in her ear. “Three times.” He bit her earlobe and she moaned. “To the same guy.”

Tilda ran her tongue along the beautiful line of his collarbone. “My great-grandpa scammed the Louvre,” she said, letting her hand stray south as he shivered. “We have a Goodnight in there.” She found him, hard against her, and stroked him until he caught her hand.

“Stop that,” he said, breathless, “or this’ll be over before the end of my rap sheet.”

“Your rap sheet’s that long?” She kissed him, stealing his mouth, scamming his tongue.

“No. Your hand’s that hot.” He slid his hand between her thighs. “I remember this. I’ve been here before.”

“Not like this.” Tilda shuddered as he touched her. “Don’t wait. Don’t-”

He slipped his finger inside her and she cried out.

“My great-grandpa conned a Vanderbilt out of a railroad,” he said in her ear. “
Christ
, Tilda.”

“I know. I know.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip and lost herself in the heat he was stroking into her. “Listen to me.” She drew her breath in rhythm with his hand, rocking against him. “Listen to me. Listen to me. My family… have been forgers… for-Oh, God,
fuck me”

He rolled between her legs, and she arched up to meet him, and he slid inside her solidly, making her cry out and clench around him, biting his shoulder while he held her down and rocked into her. The heat rolled over her and she shuddered with it, frantically catching his rhythm as he moved inside her. “Oh,
God
, that’s good. Don’t stop.
Don’t stop
.”

She moved with him, feeling the pressure build, rolling in his heat. “I’m a forger,” she whispered in his ear, and he held her tighter and pulsed deeper. “My family… has been bent… for four centuries.” He bit her neck and she shuddered under him. “We’ve been wrong… forever.”

He raised himself up over her, pressing harder and making her gasp, and then he smiled down at her, his eyes hot and his face flushed. “Matilda,” he said, moving against her. “My grandmother was a Gypsy. We stole nails at the Crucifixion.
Beat that
.”

She rolled her hips to bring him closer, putting him on his back, rising up to straddle him, feeling him deep inside her as his fingers bit into her again.

“I painted the Scarlets,” she said, rocking them both toward mindlessness, feeling him everywhere as her body flushed and swelled. “My mother painted Homers. My grandmother painted Cassatts. My great-grandmother-”

“Thank
God
there were a lot of you,” Davy said, gripping her tighter.

“My
great-grandmother
,” Tilda said again as her muscles tightened inside. She stopped, savoring the tension, knowing the screaming would start soon.
Oh, this is going to be good
, she thought, and looked down at Davy, strong and hot and holding on to her as if he was never going to let go.

“Don’t tell me Great-grandma was straight,” Davy said, his breath coming hard. “I was hoping for centuries here.”

She leaned down slowly, feeling her blood thicken in her veins, and she kissed him, long and deep. “My great-grandmother Matilda,” she whispered against his mouth as she began to move against him again, “sold a fake van Gogh… to Mussolini.”

“Good for her,” he whispered, watching her.

“It was a
bad
fake,” she said, the edge sharpening inside her.

He arched against her, and she choked as she felt him deep inside.

“It was a
terrible
fake.” She breathed in again, her skin damp with anticipation, her eyes on his. “
Anybody
could have told it was fake.”
There
, she thought as he moved,
there
. “He must have been
insane
.”

He moved against her, intent on her mouth. “Did she look like you?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes half-closed.
Almost, almost
. There.
There
.

He curled up against her, making her cry out as he wrapped his arms around her. “Was she naked when she sold it to him?”

“Yes,” Tilda said, choking on the heat. “
Yes
.”

“
I’d have bought it, too
.” He rolled to trap her underneath, and she felt herself against him, digging her nails into him and biting his shoulder as the spasm started, clutching at him as he held her down, trying to consume him, devour him, possess him, taking him for everything he had while he took her and she lost it all, over and over and over again.

When she could think again, she felt him shaking on top of her and realized he’d come, too, that part of the shaking was her, that he was holding on to her like death, and that she didn’t care about anything except having him again.

“
Christ
,” Davy said finally, still trying to breathe.

“I want to do that again,” Tilda said, around her own gasps.

“Yeah,” Davy said, gasping into her neck. “Me, too. Maybe next week.”

“That was
so good
,” Tilda said, stretching under him. “Oh, God, that was
really
good.”

“Have I mentioned,” Davy said, still trying to breathe, “how pleased I am… to meet your family? God, I hope there are thousands of them.” He kissed her hard. “You’re good at this, Scarlet.”

“Not lousy,” Tilda said.

“World class.” He dropped his head back into the hollow of her neck. “I think you left marks.”

Tilda held him tighter as her breathing slowed. “I think you did, too.”

“That’s so I can find the way back. Damn, you’re good.”

“Oh, stop.” Tilda tilted her hips so he rolled off her, and then followed him to keep his heat. “You’d think you’d never had sex before.” She licked into his ear, so besotted with his body that she wanted to start at the top and keep going.

“Not like this,” he said, and she lifted her head to look at him. “There was a real quality of insanity there, Scarlet.” He took a deep breath. “I usually don’t fear for my life during sex but…”

“Oh.” Tilda grinned at him, exhausted and exhilarated. “Thank you. That’s so sweet.”

He laughed and pulled her back to him, holding her close. “Maybe we could pace ourselves. There were so many things we could have done that we didn’t get to.”

“Really?” Tilda said, brightening at the thought. For the first time the unknown seemed interesting and inviting instead of dangerous. “Give me some examples. I’m suddenly feeling very open-minded.” When he didn’t say anything, she propped herself up on one arm and saw him frown. “What?”

“That was it, wasn’t it?” he said, and she tensed again. “That’s what’s been wrong all along. You’ve been scared this whole time, haven’t you? Of me finding out.” He waved his hand to take in the basement. “About this.”

“Yes,” Tilda said. “God, this is such a relief. But you can’t tell anybody. Not even Simon. Promise.”

“I promise,” he said. “Why?”

She thought of the Scarlets and the shame and the disaster of being found out, and the glow slipped away.

Davy held her tighter. “
Never mind
, forget I asked,
don’t look like that, Jesus
.”

He pulled her back down and kissed her hard, and she said, “
Just don’t tell
,” and he said, “Never,” and kissed her again and again until she relaxed beside him.

“It’s okay.” She pushed herself up again. “I’m okay.”

“You’re better than okay,” he said, following her up, not letting go. “You’re…”

“What?” she said, and realized he was looking past her, at the Scarlets lined up along the wall. “
What
?”

“They’re you,” he told her, still holding on to her as he stared at them. “All that color and light and anger and sex. They’re all you.”

She looked at the paintings, trying to see them the way he did, without guilt and pain, and they were beautiful, full of laughter and passion and joy.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, still looking at the paintings.

“Oh,” Tilda said and felt something give way inside.

He turned back to her and smiled into her eyes. “Scarlet,” he said, savoring her name as if he were tasting it. He bent close to her. “Matilda Scarlet Goodnight. Her work.” He kissed her gently.

I love you
, she thought and kissed him back, naked and unashamed.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Tilda met eve over muffins in the office.

“My God,” Eve said when Tilda smiled at her, practically bouncing on her heels. “What happened to you?”

“Me?” Tilda tried to tone down her beam. “Davy got the last Scarlet back. I’m free.”

“And what did he do after that?” Eve said.

Tilda got the juice out and poured. “Oh, we talked some. He figured out I’m Scarlet.”

“Really.” Eve’s smile faded. “Was he upset?”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” Tilda said. “It turned him on.”

“Everything about you turns Davy on,” Eve said. “This is not news.”

Tilda choked on her juice, surprised. “Davy? No.”

“Yes,” Eve said. “He’s blind with it, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, last night he figured it out,” Tilda said, grinning again in spite of herself.

“Really,” Eve said. “That good?”

“Really that good,” Tilda said, looking out the door to the gallery. It was still full of her furniture, but it was also bright and clean and full of light, and she thought,
I love this place. Thank you, Davy
.

“He wasn’t mad,” Eve said.

Tilda put her glass down. “Tell Simon you’re Louise.”

“No.” Eve got up and put her own glass in the sink so Tilda couldn’t see her face.

“It was a real turn-on for me, too, Eve,” Tilda said. “I didn’t have to be afraid anymore once he knew it all.”

“That’s when I’d start to be afraid,” Eve said.

“No,” Tilda said, leaning closer. “That’s when you’re free. When there’s one person you can tell anything to, and it won’t matter because he understands you.”

Eve took a step back and shook her head. “I think you may be overreacting here.”

“I don’t think so,” Tilda said. “I think-”

“That this is it?” Eve rolled her eyes. “You’ve known this guy two weeks and this is it? The real thing?”

“I don’t know about that,” Tilda said, a little taken aback by how cold Eve was. “I don’t know if it’s true love forever. He’s definitely not a fairy-tale prince. But I trust him. I know him.”

“No you don’t.” Eve turned away from her again. “You never know anybody. You just guess.”

“All right,” Tilda said, more worried than insulted. “Are you coming to the opening tonight?”

“I think Simon is expecting Louise,” Eve said, sounding a little tired. “She told him she was getting off early because she wanted to catch the last of the opening.”

“That doesn’t sound like Louise.”

“I want to catch the last of the opening,” Eve said.

“Well, give Louise the night off, then,” Tilda said. “Come as you are.”

Eve shook her head. “She’s got a really nice dress.”

She straightened a little. “You know, she’s got a dress that would be good for you, too.”

“Like I could get into Louise’s stuff,” Tilda said. “The only reason I can wear yours is that you buy everything two sizes too big.”

“This one’s loose,” Eve said. “Sort of drapey.”

“Drapey?”

“Well, it doesn’t have a back.”

Tilda thought of Clea Lewis. “What color?”

“Blue,” Eve said. “Midnight-blue like the Scarlet skies.”

“I’m in,” Tilda said and started to follow her out the door, only to stop when they met Gwennie, very pale, carrying the bank bag.

“What’s wrong?” Tilda said.

“The mortgage.” Gwen dropped the bank bag on the desk and sat down on the couch. “I tried to put the money from last night on the principal, and they wouldn’t let me.”

“Why not?” Tilda said. “Nobody could buy that mortgage, we’ve been making the payments.”

“It’s been paid off,” Gwen said, looking like death.

“Paid off?” Tilda said.

“Really?” Eve said, cautiously delighted. “Really, it’s gone?”

Gwen looked at her and shook her head.

“Who?” Tilda said.

“Mason,” Gwen said. “It has to be Mason. He’s the only person we know with six hundred thousand dollars and a yen to run an art gallery. It has to be him. And I think he wants to marry me.”

“Oh,” Eve said, sitting down beside her. “Well, we’ll just give the money back. Unless you like him.”

“He’s nice,” Gwen said.

“Nice.” Tilda sat on her other side. “Gwennie, you cannot marry for nice. Or for six hundred thousand dollars. Tell me you’re not thinking about doing this in some insane bid to save the plantation. Because it’s not necessary. We can give the money back. We’ll be out of debt in-”

“About forty years,” Gwen said. “But no, that’s not why I’m thinking about doing it. Mason is sweet.”

“Sweet is good,” Tilda said doubtfully. “I mean, definitely when I decide to settle down, I’m doing the muffin thing.” She thought about Davy. If she stretched the definition of “muffin”…

“That’s Mason,” Gwen said. “All muffin.”

“I’m just saying, maybe not
this
muffin.” Tilda took her hand. “He’s just a little… bland for you. He’s bran, you’re orange-pineapple.”

“Muffins are bland,” Gwen said. “If they’re not bland, they’re just doughnuts without holes.”

“Well, take him for a trial run first,” Eve said. “Even for six hundred thousand dollars, you shouldn’t have to be bored in bed.”

“Right,” Tilda said, looking at her sister in disbelief. “Good advice, Louise.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Gwen said, standing up. “Uh, how exactly do I ask him if he paid the mortgage?”

“He’ll tell you,” Eve said, still channeling Louise. “Guys love to tell you stuff like that.”

UPSTAIRS IN Simon’s apartment, Davy said, “What would you think if I paid off the mortgage on this place? Don’t tell Tilda.”

“I’d think you were insane,” Simon said. “Why would I tell Tilda?”

“You told Louise we worked for the Feds,” Davy said.

“It seemed like a good idea,” Simon said. “You’re not serious about that mortgage?”

“Pretty much. I gather you told Louise you were a Fed, but you didn’t tell her you were a thief?”

“Good God, no.” Simon sat on the edge of the table. “About that mortgage. I think we’ve been here long enough. What do you say we go back to Miami?”

Davy felt like punching him. “You know, the thief thing would have turned Louise on a lot more than the FBI.”

“She’d have told Eve,” Simon said. “It’s been two weeks. Time to go home.”

“She did tell Eve about the FBI,” Davy said. “Who told Tilda. Who told me last night, which is when I realized why she’s been avoiding me. She thought I was an agent. You screwed up my sex life.”

Simon got up and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. “I don’t see how.”

“I feel strongly,” Davy said, “that if somebody is going to lie to my girl, it should be me. That way none of us gets confused.”

“Your girl.” Simon shook his head. “We are definitely going back to Miami.”

“And leave Louise?” Davy turned to go.

“I’m ready to go,” Simon said. “You got your money back-”

Davy turned back. “Do
not
mention that to
anyone
!”

“Interesting,” Simon said. “I would think that would turn Tilda on even more than the FBI.”

“You don’t know Tilda,” Davy said. “I mean it.
Nobody
finds out.”

“You’re a lot easier to live with in Miami,” Simon said. “ Ohio makes you tense.”

“Not really,” Davy said, thinking about Tilda upstairs. “Have you ever met a woman you wanted to give everything to? Just turn over everything you had?”

“No,” Simon said. “Being of sound mind, of course not.”

“Me, either,” Davy said. “I’d have told you that Clea was the great love of my life, but I never felt the slightest urge to buy her a diamond.”

“Smart boy,” Simon said.

Davy sat down on the edge of the bed. “I looked at that money in my account last night and suddenly felt this overwhelming need to pay off Tilda’s mortgage.”

“So we should be leaving now,” Simon said, opening his suitcase. “A good time was had by all. Cheerio.”

“It was only six hundred thousand.” He shook his head. “And then later…” He looked at Simon. “Did you ever watch a woman in glasses strip to ‘I Can’t Stay Mad at You’? Dumb song, but Tilda can sing the hell out of it.”

“I’ll make the reservations.” Simon picked up the phone. “Would you like me to hold on to your checkbook for you?”

“No,” Davy said. “Look, I can afford it. It would be a generous thing to do. I still haven’t paid for the bed.”

“Do not give money to women,” Simon said as he dialed. “They either take it badly, or they take it and want more. You can’t win.”

“I could tell her it was an investment.”

“In a broken-down art gallery that is rapidly going to the dogs that even she doesn’t want anything to do with? No.” Simon spoke into the phone. “Hello, love, it’s me, your favorite client. How fast can you get Davy and me on a flight to Miami? Out of Columbus.”

“I have to go see my sister on Sunday,” Davy said.

“Out of Columbus on Sunday night,” Simon said into the phone.

“You know, a smart guy could make this place work,”

Davy said. “Put in a little capital, start the old razzle-dazzle-”

“Absolutely not,” Simon said to him, and then spoke into the phone again. “No, not you, darling, that sounds brilliant. Two tickets, one-way.”

“Simon, I already did it,” Davy said and Simon hung up.

“ Sandy ’s got us on the ten o’clock direct flight on Sunday,” he said briskly. “That’ll give you time to see Sophie, and me time to say good-bye to Louise. In fact, why don’t you go see Sophie now? Spend the weekend?”

“Because the opening is tonight,” Davy said. “Did you hear me? I transferred the money to the Goodnights’ loan last night. It’s done.”

Simon crossed his arms. “You did. And what did Tilda say?”

“I didn’t tell her,” Davy said. “It’s going to be hard to explain.”

Simon nodded. “Because many women, when given large sums of money, expect that the giver will stay around for a while.”

“Well, yeah.” Davy stood up. “Actually, I’m thinking about staying.”

“No you’re not,” Simon said with heavy patience. “You’re thinking about sex.”

“Go away,” Davy said, wanting to punch him because he was probably right. “It’s Friday. I have to call my sister.”

“Much better to go see her,” Simon said, “
now
,” but he left as Davy punched the numbers into his cell phone.

“Tucker residence,” Phin said, and Davy thought,
Oh, hell, not you
.

“Harvard, old buddy,” he said. “It’s me. Sophie around?”

“Nope,” Phin said. “Council meeting. She’s going to come home bitchy, though, so I’d try again tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Davy said. “Don’t tell her I called in case I can’t get back right away.”

“You in trouble?”

“Dempseys are never in trouble,” Davy said loftily. “We just have stretches of life that are more interesting than others.”

“How interesting is your life right now?”

Davy thought of Tilda, singing “You’ve got me where you want me” a cappella as she shimmied her bra off. “Very.”

“How bad is it?” Phin sounded as calm as ever. “You just in trouble with the law or is somebody trying to kill you?”

“That’s not the problem,” Davy said. “For once, I’m innocent and everybody loves me.” Clea’s face rose before him, not to mention Ford’s. “Well, almost everybody.” And then there was Michael. “Did Sophie ever tell you about our dad?”

“Yes,” Phin said and then a beat later said, “Oh, no.”

“Yeah,” Davy said. “I can handle it, he doesn’t know where you are, but it’s Dad, so he’ll find out eventually. And then he’ll boost the kids’ college funds and sell the town council land in Rorida and take Sophie for every dime she has.”

“The kids don’t have college funds. The rest would be bad.”

“I’m hoping he’ll get tired and wander off, but if he heads your way, lock the door. And don’t tell Sophie or she’ll feel like she has to invite him in.”

“Right,” Phin said.

“Oh, and in case you find out anyway,” Davy said, “the kids now have college funds.” He hung up and gave one last thought to Temptation. It didn’t matter how safe it was there, if he had to go back, he’d con somebody just from the boredom. The thought of what his father could do there was worse.

Plus, Scarlet wasn’t there.

“Worthless place,” he said and went to see what Tilda was doing.

WHEN TILDA came downstairs that night, she found Davy in the middle of the gallery, surveying the place with a frown. “What now?” she said from the office doorway.

“I can’t tell if it’s too crowded or not,” he said. “You want it to look like there’s a lot here without it looking like we’ll never unload all of it, and I don’t know enough about galleries to…” His voice trailed off as he looked at her. “Whoa.”

Tilda smoothed her skirt down and fought back a smile. “Exactly the right word, thank you.” She turned around so he could get the full effect of the dress’s backlessness. “Do you like it?” When he didn’t say anything, she turned back. “Hello?”

He nodded.

“Is it too much?”

He shook his head.

“Speak.”

“Could I see you upstairs?” he said finally.

She smiled and crossed the room to him, and he reached for her before she was close. She slid into his arms and felt the world settle around them.

“You’re beautiful, Scarlet,” he whispered in her ear, and she knew she should say, “Me?” and be modest, but she just nestled closer and said, “Yes, I am.” He laughed and kissed the top of her head, and then Gwen came in and he let go.

She could still feel his arms around her while Gwen marveled at the dress. Louise stopped in on her way to the Double Take and took her glasses off -“
Not
with that dress, Tilda,”- and Ethan said, “‘That’s not a dress, that’s an Audrey Hepburn movie,’” and Nadine smacked him on the back of the head before he could tell her it was a movie quote. Even Steve seemed respectful, although that may just have been because he was wearing his brocade vest again. “He was in the
Dispatch
,” Nadine said, showing Tilda the picture of Steve on the back of the Accent section, looking weirdly intellectual in his bow tie, like a furry Woody Allen. “What do you think?”