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“I think that is the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Ali murmured, chin wobbling as she looked at Charlotte through misted eyes.

Before she could say more, Leah was at her window, opening the car door for her and ushering her out with a flurry of excitement and last-minute instructions, leaving Charlotte alone in the car, her expression full of resignation and quiet devastation.

Ali wanted to run back. To kiss her. To tell her every cruel thought she carried about herself was wrong. To press reassurance into her skin until it drowned out the doubts Charlotte carved into herself.

But Leah was all movement and logistics and gallery talk, and she asked which pieces were not for sale.

“There are two I’ll never part with,” Ali said automatically.

She knew them by heart, every color and brush stroke she added with her own hand. The very first painting of Charlotte, Adoration and Yearning, and the last one she completed this week, Rhapsody.

“There is nothing I can say to persuade you to part with Rhapsody?” Leah’s tone was lighter than Ali ever heard before. “I’d love to add it to my personal collection.”

“Afraid not,” Ali stated, puffing out her chest and squaring her shoulders.

“Name your price, Miss McCarthy.”

“Ask me again in fifteen years.”

Her gaze drifted toward the entrance, searching for Charlotte. No amount of time or money would ever convince her to part with those two pieces.

42

CHARLOTTE

Charlotte Davenport, try as she might, was still a long way from perfect.

She was well aware of her flaws. One of the things she prided herself on about Compose was the software was nearly flawless. Coding was a language all its own and she hired developers who understood languages. But life wasn’t so straightforward as debugging some simple mistranslation. Flaws were never fixed swiftly.

She couldn’t run diagnostics on her own heart. She couldn’t debug grief or fear or the way doubt resurfaced like a virus she thought already purged.

Her phone buzzed. She answered without thought, not needing to look to know who it was.

“Hi there, Twinnie,” Lizzie chirped from the other end of the line.

“How’s the honeymoon?” Charlotte asked, leaning back against the headrest.

“Well, Sasha soldiered through the hiking for a few days, but we’re heading for the beach instead.”

“Oh?” Charlotte sat up. “Which one?”

“Dunno yet.” Faint conversation buzzed in the background. “We made a pit stop in Boston though. Had to come to Ali’s show. Didn’t wanna miss my chance to call dibs on a painting with our tits on display,” Lizzie chuckled, dark and mischievous. “And I am not disappointed.”

Charlotte craned her neck and spotted a familiar figure through the gallery window.

Lizzie grinned as she waved at her.

“Quit sulking and get in here before I convince Auntie Leah to sell me two scandalous portraits. They would look so good in the foyer.”

Charlotte’s lips pursed together before muttering. “I’m not sulking.”

“Then what do you call doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

Charlotte exhaled and broke their eye contact. “I’m just trying to compartmentalize so I can go in there and smile and support her through the night, all while knowing her apartment is empty and she didn’t tell me she was moving or that she accepted the residency.”

“Okay… but what did our therapist say about compartmentalizing?” Lizzie teased, her tone entirely baiting.

But Charlotte felt entirely too heavy to be riled in such a way. “I don’t think she wants to be with me.”