Page 17 of The Art of Loving You

I grinned. “A surprise. My mother invited us to stay at her townhouse in Chelsea tonight. She can’t wait to see you again—and meet Bess.”

Ella’s eyes widened in surprise. “Elizabeth? Really? I haven’t seen her in years.”

“She’s looking forward to it,” I said. “She always liked you.”

Ella’s cheeks flushed faintly, but her smile widened. “I always liked her, too.”

This trip was shaping up to be everything I’d hoped it would be—a perfect blend of work, family, and a touch of magic. And judging by the way Ella looked at me just then, she felt it, too.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ella

Elizabeth’s brownstone loomed before us, its ivy-draped railings framing polished brickwork. The tall windows reflected the warm afternoon sun. Beside me, Lucas held Bess’s hand, her wide eyes darting to the brass knocker on the door.

“Is this your mom’s house?” Bess whispered in awe.

“It is. And that’s her gallery across the street,” Lucas said, pointing. “She’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

Before I could respond, the door opened. Elizabeth appeared, exuding warmth and grace in a tailored sweater and silk scarf.

“Lucas,” she greeted, hugging him a moment longer than necessary. “Glad you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lucas said lightly. His hand rested on Bess’s shoulder. “Mom, you remember Ella.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened as she pulled me into a hug. “Ella, dear, it’s been far too long.”

“It really has,” I replied, nostalgia settling in. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you, too.” She studied me warmly. “You look well—life must be keeping you busy.”

“Bess does a good job of that,” I said, glancing at my niece. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Elizabeth’s gaze shifted to Bess, her smile widening. “And this must be the lovely Bess I’ve heard so much about.”

Bess blinked up at her, shyness creeping in. “Hi.”

Elizabeth crouched, offering her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Bess. I hope you’ll feel at home here.”

After a pause, Bess slipped her small hand into Elizabeth’s. “Thank you,” she said softly, earning a proud look from Lucas.

Elizabeth straightened, eyes bright with affection. “Come inside, all of you. Let’s not let the chill get to us.”

Lucas placed a hand on my back as we entered the foyer, a reassuring gesture. I hadn’t seen Elizabeth in years, nor had I visited Grace Gallery—the gallery named after her middle name. I avoided mentioning her divorce from Alistair, but I was genuinely happy to see her again.

The brownstone’s interior was even more stunning than I’d imagined. Polished wood floors gleamed under soft lighting, and art adorned the walls, each piece telling a story curated with Elizabeth’s impeccable taste.

Bess’s gaze darted around, her mouth slightly open. “This house is so fancy,” she whispered to Lucas.

Elizabeth chuckled. “It’s lived in, dear, though I suppose it might seem big to someone your size.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said sincerely.

“Wait until you see the rest,” Elizabeth replied, gesturing toward a small elevator in the corner. “But first, let’s take a moment to catch up. Lucas, would you carry Ella and Bess’s coats upstairs?”

“Of course,” Lucas said, taking them and disappearing up the staircase. For a moment, it was just Elizabeth and me.

She turned to me, her expression soft. “Ella, it’s so good to see you again. It feels like forever.”

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