Her phone beeped as she was washing her hands. She dried them, rushed back, and grabbed it.
Sorry. Work called. I’d love to see your art studio. Text me the details. Gotta go.
“Yes!” Lucia dropped onto the bed. “Oh, no.” She buried her face in the pillow.
This was a bad idea, and yet… God, she wanted it.
She wanted this connection with Penelope, even though she was still lying to her. How could this amount to anything other than betrayal—not just of Penelope’s trust, but of Francesca’s?
Chapter 12
Cracks
On Saturday afternoon, Penelope pulled up in front of the address Lucia had texted her.
Rarely were two impulses satisfied with one and the same act: shewantedto see Lucia’s art because itwasLucia’s art, but sheneededto see Lucia’s art to confirm she was the forger behind the Bellini and Alessi pieces.
Why? Leverage.
Valentina was her goal, and if Lucia belonged to her world, she could lend a hand. Alternatively, if she refused, Penelope could still report her, though the notion left her with a bitter aftertaste.
Unless she unearthed real evidence, it would be moot anyway.
She sighed and turned off her car engine. As plans went, she’d definitely had better ones, though she wasn’t sure she’d indulged in worse. The sound of her car door closing rang unnaturally loud in the air.
At first, she just stood there, staring at the small cottage ahead.
A soft breeze rustled the leaves in the surrounding magnolia trees—the silence broken by the shouts of children riding their bikes out of the open garage door two houses down.
Taking a deep breath, Penelope locked her car and headed toward the cottage: a lovely old construction with pale-blue shutters, ivy creeping along one side, and a brick path lined with lavender and thyme.
Lucia’s job, one way or another, must pay well for her to afford a residential cottage as an art studio.
She touched the shimmering silver windchime before ringing the doorbell.
Heavy footfalls approached. The door opened.
“Hi. I’m so glad you made it.”
Penelope clutched her purse strap and managed a tight smile. “Hi.”
“Come on in.” Lucia gestured for Penelope to follow her, which she did, only to stop and gape at the sight greeting her.
The cottage had been gutted.
What must have once been a standard setup with a living room, dining room, and kitchen was now a single open space. Huge windows lined the back and one side, while wide skylights flooded the room with natural light.
Easels with canvases, more stacked against the walls, and assortments of paints, charcoal sticks, jars of brushes, and rags smeared with color filled the space.
In short, it was every painter’s dream.
“This place is amazing.”
Lucia smiled, standing straighter. “Thanks. I’m often tempted to live here. There’s actually a small bedroom in the back with a half bath and a kitchenette. So, I’m afraid I’ve spent some nights here.”
“Understandable.” Penelope’s gaze traveled to several completed paintings stacked against the wall in the back. “May I?” She pointed in their direction.
“Yes, of course.”
