Daphne held out her hand, and when April took it, standing and following her to the small parquet dance floor, where Ramona and Dylan were also dancing, she couldn’t keep her stomach from fluttering.
Daphne held her close, one arm around her waist, the other hand gripping April’s, pressing it to Daphne’s own heart. They didn’t talk. April felt as though they barely even breathed.
They just held each other and danced.
And later, when Ramona hugged April tight in the driveway and whispered in her ear how much she loved her, a limo ready to whisk Dylan and Ramona off to the airport en route to Paris, Daphne was by her side then too.
She was by her side as Ramona disappeared down the street with her new wife.
She was by her side on the drive back to Cloverwild.
And she was by her side as they walked into their shared cabin, slowly undressed each other, mouths meeting without a word, hands tangling in each other’s hair, and fell into bed one last time.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Daphne hurried downa London street, the September morning sun pouring vitamin D into her skin after a week of rain and gloom. Her heels clicked on the damp concrete, an almost jaunty rhythm as she crossed the road, the Devon looming above her like a cathedral.
The Devon was housed in a huge Victorian-era brick house, renovated to highlight contemporary art, with soaring ceilings, multistory windows, and stark white walls. Everything inside was bright and serene at the same time, from the blond wood floors to the arched interior walls for displays, a swirling maze through color and creation.
For the last month, Daphne had walked into this building every day. And every day, still, she paused in the foyer after pushing the ornate oak doors open, taking in the simple grandeur. Nicola had told her multiple times that she could come in through the employees’ side entrance. She’d even given Daphne a key card, as the grant Nicola had procured for Daphne to work on her final piece forEvolutionentitled her to a few perks as one of the Devon’s artists-in-residence.
But she loved this moment in her day.
The moment when she opened a beautiful door and stepped into her literal dream. A paradise rivaling any version of Eden she’d ever imagined, heaven for the lonely queer girl she’d been in Tennessee.
Even today, as she stepped inside, a million thoughts in her head about her own art, she still caught her breath, eyes wide as she took in the architecture and regular pieces that called the Devon home. She shook her head, laughing softly to herself as she picked up her pace, heading to the back of the museum where all the offices were located, as well as the studio where she’d been working.
“Good morning, Daphne,” Nicola said as Daphne entered the studio space.
“Oh, hi,” Daphne said as she slipped off her dark gray bomber jacket. Underneath, she wore a tattered Evenflow T-shirt she’d found in a thrift shop in Chelsea and paint-splattered jeans. “You’re here early.”
Nicola stood near the windows of the large studio space, where Daphne’s four completed pieces were currently set up on easels. Other works filled the room, but none of the artists were here yet. Even Nicola, who was dressed impeccably in a black pencil skirt and cobalt-blue silk blouse, didn’t usually come in until ten.
It was currently seven thirty, as Daphne still hadn’t shaken off the years of guilt-soaked early-rising training in the Love household.
“I am,” Nicola said simply. Her arms were folded, brows slightly lowered, and though Daphne wasn’t currently facing her pieces, she knew which one Nicola was scrutinizing.
Her fifth piece.
The final piece.
The one she hadn’t had time to complete in Clover Lake but knew had to be a part of this series. A conclusion, of sorts, thoughshe knew a person’s evolution never really reached its final destination. Still, she couldn’t end the series with meeting Elena Watson, and Nicola agreed. If she’d had the time, she could’ve painted five more pieces, and maybe one day she would. But for now, she needed one more to round out her story.
To end the journey—her own Fool’s Passage—on a hopeful, empowering note.
Her stomach fluttered a little, thinking of the Fool.
April’s Fool.
April.
She and April hadn’t spoken very much since Daphne left Cloverwild two days after Ramona and Dylan’s wedding. They’d texted here and there, and of course, Daphne knew April and Sasha were on a road trip together, but Daphne was determined to give April the space she needed.
And the space Daphne herself needed.
Even though, every time she thought of April, she wanted to text her. Cold-call her, just to hear her voice.
