Nosy

I saw him move away from my father as I entered the room drawn by the auctioneer about to start bidding. It was nearing nine at night, but the gallery was abuzz with the voices of those who had come to get a glimpse of our family and the artwork we acquired.

"Here we have a flemish piece-" I heard the voice drone on, my mind whisked away to another sort of gallery come museum.

Suits of Armour stood in glass cases in a full-sized home tucked in the middle of London, unassumingly holding the treasures knights and common men had lived and died for. An exquisitely engraved suit with delicate flemish filigree had been a delight to witness. How men of ages gone by had managed to hammer such metals into such configurations was a work of art unto itself.

A waiter to my right interrupted my reverie with an offer of a canapé, which I gladly took to push down the pang of hunger its delicate fragrance provoked.

As I scanned the area, I found Nis' eyes upon me again, his expression one of confusion as though he were working out a derivatives equation.

I turned to address my cousin, who filled my field of view and commanded my attention. His sole complaint was that he was forced to come to babysit an inquisitive relative who tended to ask awkward questions.

"I don't understand why she has to be here." I heard him whine for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"Because they don't want her to be anywhere else wreaking havoc."

He laughed, a genuine laugh that transformed his face from pinched to pondering. "She is quite a wrecking ball, isn't she?"

This time, I laughed. "Yes, and she's completely unaware of it."

The two of us struggled to contain ourselves as the night melted into the wee hours of the morning.

Pulled from the memory, I realized I had neglected to utilize an asset. The wrecking ball had a way of simultaneously setting people at ease and getting them to reveal truths and schemes without them being aware.

I quickly pulled my phone from my jacket and dialled the woman's number.

"Hello-" The voice of my dearest aunt answered, and I allowed her to work her magic on me.

I shared details, knowing the woman would question the inconsistencies and dissect the gossip she heard since that fateful night.

And there in her useless chatter, a clue so large I felt the wind sucked out of me; I had been fooled.

"So Daddy was hoping to arrange a marriage with another powerful family?" I questioned, my gut-wrenching in anxiety.

"Yes... Nip? Nic? N- something. The eldest one. Handsome, calculating. Reminds me of you." She chuckled.

"Son of a mother f- b-" White hot anger rose and engulfed me.

Nis Gyali wasn't one of my father's enemies or new men. He was a back pocket man, his ace in the hole. Which meant Daddy had played one last final hand before taking the great dirt nap, and I managed to sleep with the man my father pretended to hate so I would be interested.

I stalked around the shop, throwing items into boxes—the action of tidying to quell being found a fool. I kicked a box, wishing it was Nis' nuts. He had played me, and I'd let him. I couldn't let that slide.

____

The phone rang in the study of the Gyali residence.

"Gyali residence, Marta speaking."

"Nis, please. It's personal."

The woman considered the voice on the line, a popular chef in the inner city, and asked if Nis would take the call.

Nis' heart jumped. It was the same pizzeria they had ordered for the stakeout. Maybe Artemisia was calling.

"Nis, here."

He listened to the sobbing of the person on the other line—something about a fire, a business built for a lifetime and to pass down.

His desperation rising.

"I am sorry, but I'm still not sure what this has to do with me." He found himself saying.

"There was a message for you before they broke in and set it on fire."

Nis sat up in earnest, his chair creaking under the rapid movement.

"Lady Artemisia..."

"Is Artemisia alright?" He demanded.

"Sir, she's the one who sent the message."

Nis' blood ran cold as he listened.