Clara took a slow sip of her champagne. “Just amused watching people count money for someone who’s selling counterfeit gods
The metaphor hung in the air like a challenge.
What is that supposed to mean? Daisy demanded, her smile vanishing.
Finley approached behind Clara, his tall frame casting a shadow that seemed to provide her additional confidence.
He fixed his gaze on the supposed Liora. His tone was professionally curious.
“You claim to be Liora?”
The woman straightened, clearly misreading his attention as interest rather than suspicion.
She extended a manicured hand with practiced elegance.
“Yes, I am. And you are…?”
“Finley Blackwood,” he replied simply, not taking her offered hand. “Owner of Blackwood Gallery in London. Exclusive representative for
Liora’s work in Europe.”
“But I don’t seem to have met you before,” said Finley carelessly.
The color drained from the woman’s face.
Daisy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Wait a minute. If you’re truly Liora’s exclusive agent, why have you never mentioned this before?”
Finley remained composed.
“You of all people should understand why, Daisy,” he replied, a subtle edge creeping into his voice.
“When has my involvement in the art world ever been welcomed in family conversations? Every time I mention my gallery, my father changes the subject to the family business.”
Daisy’s cheeks flushed with pink splotches, a telltale sign of her rising agitation.
“This is ridiculous,” she insisted, her voice pitching slightly higher.
“You’re clearly just saying all this because of what happened with Clara’s room. You’re upset that I moved your fiancée to accommodate an
173
21:43 Tue, Feb 3
Chapter 113
actual artist, so now you’re making up this absurd story.”
The fake Liora seemed to recover some of her confidence, nodding along with Daisy’s accusations.
I’ve never heard of Blackwood Gallery,” she added, her accent slipping slightly.
Finley’s expression remained neutral as he pulled out his phone. A few quick taps, and he turned the screen toward the gathering crowd.
“The London Arts Weekly feature on emerging galleries, published three months ago. There’s my photo, the gallery’s storefront, and-” he paused meaningfully, -an interview about my exclusive representation of Liora in Europe.”
The woman’s momentary confidence crumbled as she stared at the undeniable evidence.
“If you were actually Liora,” Finley continued calmly, “you would certainly recognize your exclusive European representative. Isn’t it?”
Daisy insisted, though her voice had lost its edge. “If you’re saying she’s not Liora, then who is?”
“The real Liora is actually here with us tonight,” Finley announced.
A ripple of gasps and murmurs spread through the gathering crowd. Heads swiveled, searching the room.
“Who?” someone called out. “Where?”
Finley gestured toward me with a nod. “Audrey Lane is Liora.”
All eyes turned to me. Caspar’s expression shifted from mild interest to intense focus, his gaze studying me.
“That’s absurd,” Daisy sputtered, but her protest sounded hollow even to her own ears.
“She’s just a children’s art teacher! Even if this woman I invited isn’t the real Liora, there’s no way she could be.”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin, suddenly tired of the entire spectacle.
“Honestly, Daisy, if I were you, I’d worry less about who I am and more about the fact that you’ve invited an impostor to your party.” I stood up, smoothing my dress.
“The Coles have considerable wealth, so perhaps you’re not concerned about being defrauded of a few hundred thousand dollars. But being known as the family who got conned by a fake artist? That’s the kind of gossip that sticks around for years.”
Daisy’s face flushed red.
“I’ve had my fill of both food and drama for the evening,” I said, placing my napkin beside my plate.
“Thank you for the meal, but I believe I’m done here.”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
