“Good, good. I spoke with my client, and he’s willing to loan the Meridian the Bellini—that is, if you’re still interested.”
“Yes, most definitely. Although we’ve only started the authentication. Our processes have changed with our new director.”
“Right. That’s actually another reason I’m calling. I was wondering if I might be able to observe part of the process. Just as a learning experience. It’s not often I get to see that side of things.” Lucia shifted the phone to her other hand, suddenly too aware of her breathing.
Blackwell laughed. “I suppose that can be arranged. You’d have to sign in and follow our protocols, of course.”
“No problem. When should I stop by?”
“Well, I’m sure I’m not the only busy person. I take lunch every day at half past noon. So, you could drop by right after any day this coming week. Maybe at one?”
Lucia fumbled the pencil, nearly dropping it. “You only have half an hour for lunch?”
“You sound so scandalized.”
“Yes! That’s not long enough! It’ll give you indigestion.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
Lucia sighed. “Don’t mind me. I likely spend too much time around Italians. Or one Italian.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I see.”
She pressed the pencil tip to the page and finally let her hand move—light, distracted lines forming without thought.
Lucia hesitated. “But maybe we could find some time to grab a cup of coffee?”
The following pause sped up Lucia’s heartbeat. Her palm started sweating, and she wiped it on her thigh.
“I’d like that.”
Lucia exhaled too fast and bit the inside of her cheek as warmth flushed up her neck. She really hadn’t expected that answer.
She imagined seeing Blackwell smile, and when she hung up, she had to shake her head. What was she even doing? Getting closer to Blackwell meant being friendly, not flirting.
This was ridiculous. She had no time for distractions, least of all one that made her hands tingle and stood in the way of her mission. Still, trust was easier to build when someone liked you. Or thought they did. But Lucia wasn’t sure she liked the idea of using Blackwell that way.
She glanced down and froze. The face she’d been sketching was unmistakable.
“Seriously?” she huffed, crumpling the page and tossing it in the trash.
The last thing she needed was her own obsession.
Chapter 4
Clouded Vision
Wednesday morning, Penelope received a notification that a visitor was waiting for her at the information center. On her way, she’d chastised herself for hoping it might be Lucia—it had been a mistake not to name a specific date. Now she had to contend with an anticipation she could neither justify nor want any part of.
When she drew closer and saw it was indeed Lucia, dressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, her hair pulled back in a low knot, Penelope bit back a smile and greeted her with professional cordiality, ignoring the rapid thrum in her chest. Useless.
There was something casual yet composed about Lucia—unassuming, but impossible to overlook.
After the requisite paperwork, she led Lucia through the museum’s quieter corridors, past the curatorial offices and storage vaults.
