Penelope exhaled sharply, her vision blurring. She froze. “Wait, Barry, as in Whitfield?”
Her father’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. He’s an old buddy of mine from school. Why?”
“Nothing. His name popped up, but I was never able to place him fully, outside of his ties to…that woman.”
Richard nodded, turning his hands, palms up, inching closer toward Penelope. “I’m sorry, Pen. I know I let you down.”
Penelope paused, glancing at her father’s hands for what seemed like eons before she reached out and interlocked their fingers, allowing his warm and familiar touch to anchor her.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice broke.
“I know, Dad. I know.”
~ ~ ~
“Are you sure this looks all right?” Penelope asked, standing in front of the mirror, gazing down at her navy wrap dress.
“Yes. You look beautiful. I don’t understand why you’re so nervous. You’ve been to Francesca’s before and met all these people already.”
“As the curator of the Meridian joining forces with the Collective. That’s a far cry from showing up as your girlfriend. Francesca’s practically your mother!”
“Aww, and you want her to like you?”
“Watch it, Ms.Rossi, or you’re going stag.”
Lucia held up both hands. “No offense, Dr.Blackwell. I think it’s cute.”
“Let’s go. Waiting makes everything worse.”
“As you wish.”
They left Lucia’s house and drove to Francesca’s estate. Once there, Penelope carried a bottle of Barolo in her hands as they ascended the stairs and rang the doorbell.
Lucia squeezed her hand.
The door opened and Francesca stood there, dressed in black slacks and a flowing ivory blouse, smiling at them. “You made it! The others are already inside. Come on in.”
They followed her inside and after greeting everyone, they settled in the sunroom for aperitifs and small talk.
The room was flooded with warm, late-afternoon light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the estate’s tall magnolias and crepe myrtles, their shadows stretching long across the tiled floor.
Francesca poured Americanos and set out a small tray with olives, roasted almonds, and thin grissini wrapped in prosciutto.
After a while, Francesca cleared her throat.
“I wanted to thank you all for joining me tonight, and for all the hard work you’ve put into our little collective over the years. And Penelope, I wish we could have done more for you. Your assistance was greatly appreciated.”
Penelope nodded, her ears heating.
“What are you gonna do next?” Skye asked. “Lucia said you might retire, but I told her you’re not that old yet.”
“Charming,” Francesca drawled. “I’m undecided. Dismantling the Collective is more labor-intensive than I anticipated. Six weeks in and the work is still in its infancy.”
“Maybe that’s a sign,” Jules said. “Not to continue, just… I don’t know. Something else.”
“Did you all collaborate on this?” Francesca asked, mirth dancing in her eyes.
“On what?” Jules asked.
