So this is all just happenstance?
Isn’t most of life?
Penelope leaned back against her couch and closed her eyes.
What on earth was she doing, and why did this thing pulsing between them still feel like a rapid that would sweep her away if she dipped more than her toes into it? And somehow, she still wanted to dive, even knowing the undertow could drag her down. Worse, why did she feel like jumping in? This might be the perfect storm to drown in.
Chapter 17
Twilight
The following day, Lucia had been staring at a blank canvas for half an hour, the charcoal flaking beneath her grip. She sighed. After the immersive zone she’d fallen into while painting Penelope, she’d thought (hoped) she’d found her rhythm again. But no.
Maybe the recent tumultuous events had dried up her spark, or the tension between her and Penelope was blocking her. She’d never had trouble painting through sorrow or anger before. This felt different.
Their text exchange lingered on her mind, how easy and effortless their interaction still was, despite the laden undercurrents between them.
Lucia hadn’t heard from Penelope today, even though she was supposed to let her know if she was in or out.
It still blew her mind that Penelope knew. She knew what Lucia did, and so far, she’d not run away screaming. Yet she couldn’t assume that was because of her.
But Penelope had texted Lucia—wanting to know about Skye—and the memory snapped her back to Francesca’s, Penelope’s stern voice ringing in her ears:
“Her name is Lucia!”
Lucia adjusted. She usually went with the flow and simply recalibrated her expectations, her perceptions. She’d never confronted Skye about their past or asked why there were still phases when they imploded, when Skye went back to goading her. She’d never even wondered what response Skye was afterbecause it never mattered. Most of the time, Lucia just ignored her.
That was how she walked through life: ignore whatever bothered her and eventually, it would go away, or she’d learn to ease the strain on her own.
The problem? That wasn’t working now. Not just since Penelope—this had started before—but Penelope’s very presence had ignited something.
And Lucia didn’t know where this would end, but the wired energy rushing through her, the sensation of being on the brink of something, like just before a sprint or a leap off a building, made her wonder how long she could keep it all bottled up.
Her phone beeped, pulling her out of her reverie.
Penelope was in.
~ ~ ~
Only a few days later, Lucia once more found herself at Francesca’s, this time in her study, still with Penelope next to her, along with Francesca, Skye, and Jules, all congregated around the table.
“Any questions?” Francesca asked.
“Why do we have to do all the heavy lifting? Why can’t Blackwell make sure the painting goes back to the lab?” Skye asked.
“Becauseshewon’t trigger anything that executes your little theft,” Penelope said.
“It’s safer if Jules causes the system failure. If they later find out it was a faulty reading, they’ll attribute it to a glitch,” Francesca said. “People are less likely to question tech—it has no motive. Penelope is much better placed to ensure the proper conservation protocols are followed, especially since the Meridian will likely rush to get theMadonnaback on display.”
“They will, yes. Though Montgomery is careful. I don’t expect too much pushback from her if I tell her to play it safe.”
“What picture will you suggest as an alternative?” Lucia asked. “We should decide now—something that will make the loss of theMadonnaeasier to swallow.”
“Bellini’sLament for the Evening Starand Varotti’sMadonna in Redare complementary, more than any other pairing,” Penelope said. “Montgomery will definitely want the Bellini up regardless.”
“What aboutThe Adoration of Saint Catherineby Isabetta Marini? It’s another Italian Renaissance piece, and I don’t think the Meridian has had it for too long. The tranquil scene, rich in detail and soft light, is thematically similar to theMadonnabut distinct enough to stand on its own.” Lucia suggested.
“True. It’s not the student and the master, though.”
