Lucia’s mouth twitched. “There’s that. But—don’t take this the wrong way—isn’t that a bit like destroying a toy so no one else can play with it?”
“On the surface, perhaps, but I scavenged the materials for the toy, built the toy, and protected it for almost thirty years. Now, if you were the one taking over, I might be able to relinquish control, but the rest? I didn’t trust them for a reason.”
Guilt rose, but she quashed it, knowing Francesca wasn’t trying to make her feel bad. “What about Skye and Jules? They’re smart, and you trust them, too.”
“They’re very capable, but not quite ready yet. Skye is too impulsive, and Jules still cracks too easily under the pressure she’d face in such a role.” Francesca sighed. “I thought aboutthis, too, went over all the options. I don’t see any other solution.”
“What about repurposing the Collective?” Lucia put her spoon back down.
“In what way?”
She shared Skye’s idea, hinting at Francesca’s infamously long list of contacts. “If anyone could pull off such a transition, it’s you. You’ve always said the Collective was about more than just the score.”
“Flattery, Lucy. Oh my.” She canted her head. “Is this something you desire?”
Lucia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve got no concrete plans yet, besides focusing on my art. I probably won’t be averse to some collaborations, but I’d have to think over anything more permanent.”
“I see. Then why?”
“It would be a shame to waste all these resources, not to mention: where will all our people go? Some might join Varnelli, and others…who knows.”
Francesca grimaced. “I doubt many would, but it’s their prerogative.”
“I mean, it’s up to you. It just seems like a waste not to consider it.”
“I have to think about it.”
“That’s fair.”
“Do you want to see her?” Francesca asked after a beat.
Lucia’s brows creased. “Oh, theMadonna? She’s here?”
Francesca nodded. She practically glowed.
“Sure.”
Francesca rose and led Lucia through the hall, up the stairs, then to the farthest room on the other side of the villa.
Lucia had never been there before, and when the doors opened, she knew why—this was Francesca’s bedroom.
“I thought about putting her in storage, or even hiding her here somewhere, but that seemed…wrong. I’ve not seen her in so long, up close like this.” Francesca’s gaze lit up with reverence as she looked at the painting hanging above her four-poster bed.
“It’s beautiful. I’m glad she’s back with you.”
“Me, too.”
Lucia pondered Varnelli’s words:Leaving your heart as shattered as you’ve left mine. You left me, and so I took the only thing that ever meant something to you.
Now, taking in Francesca, she felt almost sorry for Varnelli.
She couldn’t imagine the pain that realization must have unearthed—that this painting had mattered more to Francesca than she ever did. At least it seemed that way, and if Lucia could see that, the sting must have been out of this world.
She wondered if Varnelli had been referring to a professional or personal partnership. The broken heart comment seemed to suggest the latter.
In all her years around Francesca, Lucia had never seen her romantically involved with anyone—though, of course, that meant nothing. She didn’t live in Francesca’s pocket.
Still, the story left her with nothing but questions, and all of them would remain unanswered. Lucia would rather bite off her tongue than ask Francesca about it.
