Page 23 of The Art of Loving You

I glanced at him, my lips curving into a small smile. “It’s everything. Seeing this piece in person, knowing it’s part of the exhibit—it’s surreal.”

“You should be proud,” he said. “This exhibit is incredible. Because of you.”

I watched Lucas and the team carefully free the painting from its layers. “It’s not just me. This took a team, a lot of coordination, and… some generous connections.”

“Connections,” he echoed, smirking. “Happy to help.”

I chuckled softly. “It’s more than that. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible.”

He moved closer, his cologne faint but distracting. “You’ve carried this from the start, Ella.”

The team lifted the painting, revealing its brilliant colors under the overhead lights. Each detail was more vivid than I’d imagined.

“It’s… breathtaking,” I murmured.

“It is,” Lucas agreed, but his eyes were on me, not the painting.

I felt the weight of his gaze and turned toward him. “You’ve been so supportive through all this, but you don’t have to?—”

“I want to,” he interrupted gently. “I’m not trying to change your world, Ella. I just want to be part of it.”

His sincerity disarmed me, but Elizabeth’s caution echoed in my mind. I stepped back, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Lucas. But we should let the team finish setting the painting on its easel. The exhibit depends on everything being perfect.”

Something flickered in his expression—disappointment, maybe—but he managed to smile. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”

I nodded, turning back to the painting as he excused himself. The moment felt heavier than it should have, the unspoken words between us lingering like a shadow.

The storage room was silent again, save for the team’s quiet movements. I stayed long enough to oversee the final placement of the painting, but my focus wavered. By the time I made it back to my office, the adrenaline of the moment had faded, leaving behind a hollow ache.

I shut the door behind me, leaning against it as if it were the only thing holding me upright. The weight of the day—and everything unsaid between Lucas and me—pressed down on my chest.

My gaze landed on the photo on my desk. Bess’s joyful smile seemed to leap out at me, her hand clutching Lucas’s with the kind of innocent trust only a child could give. Lucas had slipped into our lives so easily, so naturally, that it terrified me.

I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue, willing the tears to stay put. I didn’t doubt Lucas’s intentions—he’d been nothing but kind, genuine, and steady. But his world, with its wealth and complexities, felt like a threat to the stability I’d fought so hard to build for Bess.

A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. For one fleeting second, I thought Lucas might have come back. My heart leaped before logic returned, and I realized it was probably Marie.

I let out a shaky breath, straightened my hair, and put on a practiced mask of composure.

“Not now,” I called softly, hoping whoever it was would take the hint.

Silence followed, and I let myself sag back against the door. The tears I’d held at bay finally spilled over, a mix of exhaustion, fear, and longing. I swiped at them angrily, frustrated by my own vulnerability.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, the words breaking in the air. But deep down, I wasn’t sure if I meant letting Lucas in—or keeping him out.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lucas

The air in my car felt heavy as I left the museum, and Ella’s polite smile burned into my memory. She hadn’t needed to say it outright—her walls were as solid as ever. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in the carefully measured tone of her voice. She didn’t trust me, at least not fully, and it was killing me.

Anger didn’t fill me as I drove; it was something far worse. A hollow ache pressed against my ribs, a quiet frustration I couldn’t shake. I wanted her to trust me, to believe that I could be someone she and Bess could count on, but how could I expect that when I hadn’t even begun to face my own truths?

Instead of heading to the gallery, where my father’s presence would undoubtedly add fuel to the fire burning in my mind, I turned toward home. The thought of sitting through another one of his lectures about loyalty or responsibility was unbearable. Tonight, I needed quiet.

The elevator doors opened to my penthouse, and I stepped into the familiar luxury that no longer felt like mine. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the expanse of the ocean just beyond the beach, the waves rolling in steady rhythms under the fading light. Normally, this view was my escape, my sanctuary. But tonight, it felt hollow—a gilded cage that reflected everything wrong with my life.

I tossed my keys onto the entryway table and headed straight to my bedroom. Stripping out of my suit, I put on shorts and a plain T-shirt, grabbed my earbuds, and headed back downstairs. The walls of the penthouse felt like they were closing in, and I needed air.

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