An excellent restoration job allows a painting to present its best self. In her careful estimation, this was precisely what Professor Urbano’s team had done. The colors of the painting were brighter and more vibrant. The details of the figures and the other elements were much easier to see. Indeed, the skill of Sandro Botticelli was more visible now that the layers of darkened, discolored varnish had been removed. The Birth of Venus would now enjoy a second life.
Raven was proud.
She stood with her friends Patrick and Gina, leaning against her cane. The full skirt of her new blue silk dress swished whenever she moved. She’d spent a great deal of time on her appearance, even going to a hairstylist to have her long black hair done in an elaborate, elegant twist. She’d covered the bite mark still visible on the side of her neck with makeup, its presence hardly noticeable except upon very close scrutiny.
The Botticelli room was full. There were patrons and politicians, journalists and professors, and the staff of the Uffizi, all standing in appreciation of the beautiful painting.
And Ispettor Batelli, watching the proceedings from a spot a few feet in front of Primavera.
Raven ignored him.
“I can’t believe that asshole is here.” Patrick jerked his head in the direction of the policeman.
“It makes sense, no?” Gina shrugged. “Perhaps the thieves are here. Perhaps they will try to take the Birth of Venus.”
Raven glanced furtively in Batelli’s direction and found him staring at her. She turned her back on him to address her friends. “They’d need ten men to do it and possibly a crane. We had a terrible time moving the painting from the lab.”
“It’s a masterpiece.” Gina smiled at her as they applauded the conclusion of Professor Urbano’s speech.
Dottor Vitali ended the formal part of the evening by inviting everyone to enjoy the Botticelli room. The crowd moved forward, eager to have a closer look at the restoration, and Raven and her friends discreetly moved aside to allow the guests a better view.
Patrick gave a low whistle. “I saw the photographs from before the restoration. You guys did a fantastic job.”
“Thank you.” Raven bowed.
“I think this calls for wine. Ladies?” Patrick lifted his eyebrows. Raven and Gina nodded and he excused himself in order to find a waiter.
Raven’s gaze followed him as he moved to the far side of the room. For no reason in particular, her eyes flickered to the doorway that led to the corridor.
Standing in the hall, partially shadowed, was a young, handsome man dressed all in black.
His eyes locked with hers.
Raven fumbled an excuse to Gina and began to weave through the crowd. But there were a lot of people and she was not swift of movement. By the time she reached the door, he was gone.
Frustrated, she continued down the empty corridor, looking for him. The rest of the second floor of the Uffizi was cordoned off. She paused next to the velvet rope and sign that instructed guests to stay out.
Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her in between a pair of statues.
Before she could scream, she looked up into a familiar face. Her heart skipped a beat.
“You have to stop doing that!” She shook off his grasp. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
William smirked. “I can hear your heart. It’s perfectly sound.”
“I think vampyres are capable of recognizing a figure of speech.” She fanned a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath.
William grew solemn. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “You are beautiful.”
Raven’s face flamed. “Thank you.”
“The painting is lovely, but its beauty pales in comparison with yours.”
“Could you see it from the hall?”
He caressed the side of her face. “I slipped in earlier and peeked under the tarp. Your work is exceptional.”
Raven fidgeted with her purse. “I was part of a team. Why are you here?”
“I came to see you.” His eyes grew shuttered. “Am I not welcome?”
“Of course you’re welcome.” She moved so she could see past the statues toward the Botticelli room. “But there are cameras everywhere. And Ispettor Batelli is here.”
“I know. I saw him.” William’s mouth moved to her ear and he kissed its shell. “Let’s move to a place that is more private.”
He took her hand and led her to the octagonal Sala Tribuna, which was only three doors down from the Botticelli room. He led her inside the space, which was lined with paintings and sculptures. “There are no cameras in here.”
The room was dark, lit only by a series of small, high windows that filtered the starlight from outside. The sculptures seemed like ghosts to Raven’s eyes. William, on the other hand, navigated the space as if it were bathed in sunlight.
They stopped in the center of the room, before an octagonal table. Without a word, he tossed her purse and cane aside and lifted her by the waist, seating her on the edge.
“This isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to break it.” She gazed at the table doubtfully, wondering if it would hold her weight.
William placed his palm on the table and pressed, as if testing its sturdiness. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“I don’t want to damage anything.” She moved as if to stand.
“We won’t.”
He placed his hands on her knees, subtly lifting the skirt of her dress. His cool fingers slid under the silk to part her legs, then he was standing in between them, bringing his hips in contact with hers.