Page 89 of This is a Kissing Book

This is Linc’s world and watching him navigate it with the easy smiles, casual greetings, and the way people gravitate toward him, I realize how carefully he’s been managing himself around me. How much effort it must take to make me feel comfortable when this level of opulence is his baseline normal.

Before my phone is put in a locker since there is no photography allowed, I send Oly a quick text, telling her to send help if I’m not at our next brunch date … or if I fall in love.

32

LINC

The Whitmore estate is suitably opulent, but it’s modest compared to my father’s property outside Chicago—he built what he referred to as my mother’s dream house, though she was happiest when we spent summer weekends at the lake cabin. Haven’t been there in years.

As we walk through the hallway lined with antiques, I catch Jules taking it all in.

This is my world. Has always been my world. But watching her makes me see it through fresh eyes—how overwhelming it must be, how measured and scripted every interaction is, how much effort people put into appearing effortless.

After schmoozing—as my father says, though he isn’t here—we locate our target painting. It’s displayed prominently in the preview gallery. Even from across the room, I can tell it’s the companion piece we’ve been searching for.

The brushwork matches the stippling we saw in Echo & Answer. The color palette consists of soft pastels against dark undertones. The piece dovetails with the other—where Lincoln was reaching forward in the first painting, a small figure inside a glass structure reaches back toward him in this one.

“Linc,” Jules breathes, gripping my arm. “Do you see it?”

In the background—no, not the background, the focal point—is an elaborate glass conservatory. The structure is unlike anything from the battle scene in the first painting. It’s geometric with octagonal panels made of intricate iron framework that creates a distinctive star-burst pattern and yet, there’s fluidity to it, like flowing water, like a pleasant breeze, even though it appears to be constructed of glass. It somehow conveys a softly flowing gentleness.

“I’ve seen architectural drawings of this exact design,” Jules says quietly.

“Where?”

“I can’t remember …”

“But you’ve seen the building in real life?”

“One like it …” She shakes her head as if probing her memory.

I study the painting more carefully. Inside the glass structure, a small figure sits at a writing desk—unmistakably feminine, unmistakably Mary Todd Lincoln.

“If you were to ask me to interpret, I’d say the glass construction was a place where they could be away from political pressure and the ravages of battle.”

“A place where he might hide personal correspondence he didn’t want in his official papers?” Jules asks, practically vibrating with excitement.

I nod slowly, thoughtfully. “The first painting shows Lincoln at war—his public life. This painting shows Mary in a glass sanctuary—their private life. Together, maybe this is what my mother suggested about the artist showing us where to look for the letters.”

“The paintings complement each other … and most notably, it’s signed by C. Marchand.” Jules points out. “Two pieces of a whole.”

A shrill voice cuts through the muted, genial chatter in the viewing room. “Linc-y baby!”

I freeze. Only one person has ever called me that ridiculous nickname, and I’ve been hoping never to hear it again, yet somehow Iva keeps appearing like yesterday’s bad news.

“None other than Iva and Aiken.” I keep my tone neutral as they approach.

Iva has toned down her usual dramatic style for the elegant setting, but she’s still cloying eyes, angular figure, and attention-demanding allure. Aiken lurks behind her like a stick figure scribble made by a child.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Iva purrs, her gaze sliding over Jules dismissively before returning to me and batting her eyelashes suggestively. “Are you planning to add some special pieces to your collection?”

Every interaction with her is like navigating a minefield. Literally. The woman blew up my life last year.

I glance at Jules. “I have everything I need. We just happened to be in the area.”

Aiken grins and pulls Iva closer. “I never leave home without my plus-one.”

Iva’s smile turns razor sharp as she looks Jules up and down like she’s appraising a piece of chain hotel art. “So you’re dating again, Linc-y?” She directs the question entirely to me, as if Jules isn’t standing right here.