Page 19 of The Art of Loving You

Dinner was a feast worthy of a fine restaurant. The small dining table was set with elegant simplicity: a crisp white tablecloth, sparkling crystal glasses, and candles casting a warm glow. The scents of roasted Cornish hens, fresh herbs, and buttery bread filled the air, making my stomach growl.

Elizabeth moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, plating coq au vin with a flourish. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said, setting the steaming dish in the center of the table. “This recipe has been a family favorite for years.”

Bess inhaled deeply, eyes widening. “It smells really good!”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that. But if you don’t like it, I have a backup plan—Lucas always preferred plain pasta as a child.”

Lucas groaned. “Mom, that was decades ago.”

Elizabeth winked. “Some things don’t change.”

As we ate, the conversation flowed easily. Elizabeth shared stories of her time in France, describing the Parisian streets and the pastries she loved as a child. Lucas added a few childhood tales of his own, much to her amusement.

“Do you remember the time you tried to bake croissants?” she asked mischievously.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. The kitchen was a disaster for days.”

Bess leaned forward. “Did you really try to make them yourself?”

“Once,” Lucas admitted. “Let’s just say it didn’t go as planned.”

Laughter filled the room, and for a moment, I let myself relax. Elizabeth’s wit and Lucas’s dry humor blended seamlessly.

After dessert—a light lemon tart Bess surprisingly loved—Elizabeth led us to the guest room, a cozy space with plush bedding. Bess climbed under the covers, clutching the clay sculpture she had made at the Met.

“Thank you, Aunt Ella,” she murmured sleepily. “This was so fun.”

I kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Elizabeth lingered at the door. “She’s special, Ella. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

Later that night, the house was quiet. Bess was sound asleep beside me, her breathing soft and even. I lay still, letting the silence settle around me, but my thoughts wouldn’t.

Just as I began to drift off, faint voices reached me. Lucas and Elizabeth. Their tones were low and serious, carrying through the stillness.

I hesitated, torn between respecting their privacy and the pull of curiosity, before tiptoeing closer to the partially open door.

“You’re playing with fire, Lucas,” Elizabeth said, concern in her voice. “Alistair won’t hesitate to protect the family secrets, no matter the cost.”

My breath caught. Family secrets?

“I know, Mother,” Lucas replied, his tone steady. “But I’ve got it under control.”

Elizabeth’s voice softened. “I adore Ella and Bess. They don’t deserve to get caught up in this. Alistair might not harm them, but he wouldn’t hesitate to use leverage to keep them out of the picture.”

A pause. I could picture Lucas, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll protect them. I promise.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Just be careful. You’re walking a dangerous line.”

Their voices faded as they moved further down the hall. I stayed frozen, replaying their words in my mind. Secrets. Leverage. Alistair. There was more to the Devereux family than I’d realized.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. Whatever they were involved in, it wasn’t my business. The art world had its share of drama, and I’d always managed to steer clear. But the idea of Bess—or myself—being pulled into it made my stomach twist.

Climbing back into bed, I wrapped the blankets around Bess and silently vowed to stay vigilant. While I appreciated Lucas’s help with the Chagall exhibit, I couldn’t let myself get too involved. Not when it felt like everything around him could collapse at any moment.

CHAPTER NINE

Lucas

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