I stood up and opened my door, knowing I’d find a steaming cup of coffee and a basket of something sweet. This time, it was a tray of muffins. The scent of banana bread and blueberries wafted in the air, and my mouth watered as I grabbed the tray and coffee, ushering them to my new drafting table. I was grateful my sister had kept up her daily tradition. I set everything aside and called her.

“Heya,” I said when she answered.

“Hey! What are you up to? I was meaning to call you yesterday to check on you.” She sounded like she was out and about in the big city. A bit breathless.

I ran my hand over the table, mentally going through the pros and cons of salvaging my assemblage statue.

Pro: It was a magnificent piece. It was going to help me put a mark in this industry. There was something iconic and different about it.

Con: Putting this piece out in the open meant admitting to feeling things I swore I wouldn’t feel, to a man I swore I’d never even acknowledge.

“How’s London?” I asked.

Listening to Poppy’s voice soothed me. I didn’t know how I could break her heart by telling her about Papa and Arabella, but I knew I had to.

“Lovely, albeit gray. And Carlisle?”

“Same.” I chuckled, picking invisible lint from my PJs. “Listen, I know you’re busy; I just wanted to say thank you for all the chocolate and pastries. Aside from the type two diabetes I’m bound to have by the end of these six months, it’s a sweet gesture, and it reminds me someone cares, that somebody is thinking about me every day.”

Silence stretched on the other side of the line.

Should I have said something sooner? Probably. It’d been months since she started doing it. I hadn’t wanted to embarrass her by talking about it. This was obviously a mistake. A gesture better left unspoken.

“Look, I—” I started, at the same time she began speaking.

“It isn’t me.” Her words came out in a rush.

“What?” I paused.

“It isn’t me who’s been sending you the sweets.”

“But I thanked you on my birthday. You didn’t seem confused.”

“Yes, I wasn’t. I sent you a teddy bear, and I was planning to give you your real gift later that evening. But I never sent you any sweets, Lenny. It’s just now that the penny dropped. You’ve been getting many gifts you thought were from me, but I can’t take credit for them. Can you guess who it might be?”

Could I?

It wasn’t Pope or Papa. They were both too busy with their lives, and anyway, it wasn’t their style. Uncle Harry and I were close, but not that close. This took commitment. Obsession. This took discipline and care. I didn’t know many people who were capable of those things, who would keep this a secret and not mention it.

I knew one person like that, actually.

But it made no sense at all. This dated back to our time in Todos Santos. Impossible. But then…

“As for your birthday gift, my sweet…” The memory of his voice coated every part of my body. It had been a hint.

“Lenny?” Poppy probed. “Who could it be?”

Something pricked my thumb just then, dangling from the edge of the drafting table. I frowned, sucking on the blood and leaning forward to get a better look.

A crown of thorns. Elaborate, thick, and completely perfect in every way. For my ruined sculpture. Jesus, he must’ve worked all night to make it happen. Did he even sleep?

“I have to go.” My voice quaked with emotion. “I’m sorry, Poppy. I really must. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay…you’re not angry, are you?” she asked.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I was going to give her some bad news, but I didn’t even have it in me to do that anymore.

“No, Poppy. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, actually.”

I ran the length of the corridor, down to the cellar. I had to tell Vaughn I knew, ask him why he’d done that. It was ten in the morning, and everyone was in class. The clinks of my boots thudded in the empty hallway. I got to the first door of the two leading to Vaughn’s cellar and raised my fist to knock, but I heard a familiar voice coming from inside.

“…will never forgive you. I know my niece, and she is good. Pure. Her artistic nature is not to be mistaken for insanity, as in your case.”

If I had to guess, I’d say my uncle and Vaughn were standing on the stairway leading to the second door of the cellar. It made sense. Vaughn wouldn’t let anyone see his statue.

“She’ll have no way of knowing,” Vaughn replied.

“I’ll make sure she does. Not a difficult task, I assure you, with or without my laptop. I can go to her right now.”

“I don’t care,” Vaughn said after a beat of silence.

What were they talking about? I could feel that things were tense between them yesterday, but I’d been too occupied to poke.

“Yes, you do,” Uncle Harry said through a smile I could hear. His voice was low. Mocking. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Vaughn Spencer. In love. And with a timid English rose, no less.”

My heart rioted in my chest. They were talking about me. Uncle Harry regarded me dismissively, like I wasn’t worthy of Vaughn’s affection—very unlike the Uncle Harry I knew, who’d taken me to galleries and carried me on his shoulders when I was younger.

Vaughn let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not in love with your niece.”

“You just happened to kiss her publicly?”

I could practically hear the shrug in Vaughn’s voice. “I see a lot of girls, publicly or not.”

“You let them suck your cock casually. Yesterday you were afraid I’d hurt her.” Yet another taunt left Harry’s lips. “Don’t pretend like we haven’t been keeping tabs on each other over the years. I know exactly what you do, and who you do it with. No. Lenny’s different. Plus, you aren’t the only one fond of snooping around—got a bit of quality time with your nightstand drawer while you were playing French lover. Over twelve thousand quid in chocolate and brownies in the last few months? Are you trying to kill the girl?” He let out a humorless laugh.

My stomach twisted. Everything inside me screamed to pound on the door and demand answers.

At the same time, I knew both of them, and I had no doubt I couldn’t pry secrets out of them with theatrics.

“Stay away from your niece. I mean it.”

“I don’t take orders from you. I mean that, too.”

“Screw you, Harry.”

“Almost did, lad. Almost did. It’s not too late, by the way. I like your fire.”

“When I fuck you,” Vaughn growled, low and untamed, his voice seeping bone deep, “it’s not your ass I’m going to break. It’s your spine.”

A loud thud filled the stairway. Harry whimpered in pain, and it sounded like his body had collapsed against the stone stairs.

I closed my eyes, drawing a shaky breath as the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place, each of them clicking and locking against one another with chilly finality.

The stolen internship. The threats. The hatred. The taunts. The secret Vaughn thought we shared.

Turns out, we had very different ideas of what had happened in that darkroom.