The week passed in a blur, Lucia dodging Francesca and all things Collective, claiming she was busy “working on Penelope.” Technically true; she’d finished Penelope’s portrait in the meantime. God, she was hopeless.
She entered her home, sank onto the couch, and stared at the third email about the Santini piece. She had to accept or reject the invitation. The safer—Francesca’s bet—was to decline. But Lucia was tired of this life.
Doesn’t mean you should blow it all up and land in prison.
“Good point,” she mumbled, drafting a quick reply and declining the invitation. There would be other, less self-destructive exits.
Her phone rang; she nearly dropped it. Seeing Francesca’s name, she wished she had. Lucia answered anyway. “Hey, what’s up?”
“What’s up? What’s going on with you? No updates, no messages. Then you’re a no-show at last night’s meeting! Are you all right?”
Lucia cringed. She’d meant to go but lost track of time in her studio.
“Sorry. I’m fine, just distracted. Had a lot of ideas and got a bit…lost.”
“Hmm.” Francesca’s tone was deceptively casual. “So? Any news aside from the confirmation about theMadonna?”
“Not really.”
“I thought you’d gotten closer to Blackwell?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip.”
Francesca heaved a sigh. “Our stand-in for Deveraux can’t attend the preview, might not even make it to the ball. He’s got a previous engagement he can’t escape.”
Lucia groaned.
“You’ll go instead. Give his regards. Say he’s an eccentric recluse or had an emergency.”
“Since he’s already confirmed attendance, the recluse story won’t fly.”
“Then go with the emergency.”
“What if Skye goes instead?”
Francesca snorted. “Right. That’ll be the day. He is your client, Lucy.”
“Fine. Anything else new?”
Francesca hesitated, then sniffed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. That awful woman just—taunting me. Flaunting her new acquisition ofThe Apostle’s Wake, as if we all don’t know that Belgrave Trust is a front for stolen art.”
Lucia hesitated. “But that’s what we do, too?”
“That’s not the point! Motives matter.”
“OK, sorry?”
“I don’t know why I bother. Did you send the report to Jules, at least?”
“Shoot, no. I forgot.”
“Lucia! You need to get a grip. This isn’t the time to slack. Five weeks until the ball, and Jules thinks we might have a security issue. She needs your notes.”
“I’ll send them today.”
