“Considering we’ll pull this off close to the ball, like the day before, beggars can’t be choosers, no?” Lucia shrugged. “They’ll grasp at anything that fits.”
“That works. And with Skye dropping the copy off close to the ball, the janitor’s closet should stay undisturbed until we need it,” Francesca said.
“Are we still stealing Blackwell’s badge to open the closet?” Skye asked.
“You’re what?” Penelope asked.
Lucia pinched the bridge of her nose. “We aren’t, and thatwasn’tthe plan.” She shifted.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Penelope said.
“She’s not lying.” Francesca sighed. “We were brainstorming ways to access the supply closet, and Jules suggested a scan of your badge, but Lucy wasn’t keen on that and never followed up.”
Lucia’s gaze dropped to her hands.
“That still leaves us with no access to the closet,” Skye said.
“Uh, I said I could get it done without her pass, too.” Jules closed her laptop. “Your security system is embarrassing. Don’t tell them until after we get theMadonna.”
Penelope snorted. “Good to know.”
Lucia rotated her right shoulder. How odd that sometimes you only noticed the tension you carried the moment it receded. She had worried Penelope would jump up and rush out of the room—either because Francesca suggested something Penelope refused to do or because Skye was being…well, Skye.
After some more back and forth, Lucia asked Penelope to follow her. Francesca’s villa contained a gorgeous library that led to a balcony with the most spectacular view. She’d asked Francesca if she could show Penelope.
Francesca had rolled her eyes but agreed.
“Wow. That’s impressive.” Penelope looked around the room—her gaze wandering from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves all around to the ornate leather reading chairs and side tables. “Very elegant and old-world style, too.”
“That’s Francesca for you.”
“Believe it or not, this would also fit Valentina.”
Lucia’s eyebrows shot up. “Varnelli? You’ve been to her place?”
Heat crept into Penelope’s cheeks, yet she didn’t look away. “Yes.”
Lucia stared at her, but Penelope didn’t elaborate.
“Right, so, while this room is great, I actually wanna show you something else.” She led Penelope out onto the balcony, one of those European-style stone ones with a solid, baroque balustrade and marble flooring.
“Look over there,” Lucia said, pleased she managed to time it right. While the view from the balcony was always stunning, the pre-twilight hues made it even better.
“Oh,” Penelope breathed, stepping up to the railing and gazing toward the horizon.
People never expected this from Atlanta—and Lucia liked that it still surprised them.
Here in Francesca’s backyard, it seemed like you’d stepped into the woods. Towering sweetgum and oak trees, their crowns still filled with a spectacle of orange and yellow leaves that almost glittered in the remaining sun rays. The sky appeared to touch the ground—clear blue with a few white puffs of clouds adding texture. Sunlight filtered through the branches, breaking the yard into bands of gold and shade.
“You mentioned a love of paintings that played with lights and shadows. I thought you might appreciate this, too.” Lucia shrugged.
“It’s stunning,” Penelope said after a moment of stillness, her voice soft and low, barely carrying over the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects.
“It is.” Lucia took in Penelope’s profile, and she ached to reach out, to pull her close and recreate their moment in her studio.
But they were over, before they’d ever begun. Something heavy settled in her stomach.
A quiet sigh left Lucia, drawing Penelope’s gaze.
