“What?” Skye lowered her glass. “No. I just… I want to make sure you know what you’re doing, and that you’re not rushing in because of some hot and heavy arrangement.”
Lucia snorted. “I’m fine. It isn’t sudden, not from the inside. I’ve been thinking about quitting for the last…five years or so.”
“Five years? What the fuck? Why? And why did it take you so long to make a move?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m loyal, and I didn’t… I don’t want to disappoint Francesca, not after all she’s done for me.”
Skye nodded. “I get that. That’s still so long. Were you miserable the entire time?”
“No. Just sometimes. It comes and goes.” Lucia sighed. “There were days when I felt like jumping out of my skin. Like I needed to leave now—yesterday. But then things calmed down, and it wasn’t so bad anymore.”
“And now it’s mostly bad?”
“No. It’s OK, actually. I just reached the point where I’ve realized I don’t have to integrate and flatten out being miserable. I don’t have to live a life that, at its core, makes me unhappy.”
“So, what’s the plan? What do you think will make you happy?”
“I mean, I’ll continue with my art. Focus on my own stuff. See where this thing with Penelope leads.”
“And that will be enough?”
“It might. But it’ll be what I chose, and for the first time, it feels like I have the right to do that. To choose something just because I want it.”
Skye smiled, and Lucia couldn’t help but feel touched. Their relationship continued to be volatile, and maybe that would never change, but Skye genuinely cared, even if she hid it beneath a ton of spikes.
Chapter 33
Quicksand
Penelope sat rigidly behind her desk, all stillness except for the nearly soundless tapping of her heel against the floor as she tried to force her mind back to work. Normally, routine grounded her—archiving, curating, logging details no one else noticed. Today, though, every sound in the Meridian seemed too loud: the soft hum of the air vents, the faint shuffle of shoes echoing down the marble corridor. Just being here reminded her of Lucia. And everything else.
She was not a patient person; well, she was, and she wasn’t. As long as she played an active role in whatever was going on, as long as her actions had weight and consequences, she could wait forever.
But stuck on the sidelines? Uninformed, powerless, deliberately excluded? It made her feel helpless, and she resented it with every fiber of her being. To be fair, she had excluded herself this time, but that did not make it sting any less.
She should probably check in with Montgomery, especially after the memo she’d received last night:Heads-up regarding an upcoming external review.
The kind of language that screamed quiet panic under professional varnish—a crisp line of dread beneath the formal phrasing. As if she needed another reason to crawl up the walls.
Penelope tugged at her collar. Her blouse clung to her skin, heat pressing against her spine. Since when was it so warm in her office? She hadn’t even turned on her little space heater.
The memo had cited inconsistencies in a recent inventory check. No details. Just “inconsistencies.” But Penelope hada sinking suspicion theMadonnawasn’t entirely out of the spotlight yet.
Was this how her father had felt when the walls started shifting and the knock finally came? Was she now tracing his footsteps all the way to the edge?
She’d also started to wonder: Had he rejected her investigation to prevent her from discovering his complicity, or had his goal been to protect her? To protect her career from harm? The fact that she even had to ask these questions sat like lead in her stomach.
Penelope still vividly recalled the way he’d looked at her on the day of the verdict—sorrow painted across his face. But now, the way his head had lowered seemed less like grief and more like shame. Perhaps she was rewriting history based on new information. But wasn’t that how understanding worked?
The phone rang.
“Yes.”
“Could you come to my office?”
And here it was. “Of course, Dr.Montgomery.”
She hung up and closed her eyes.
