Page 26 of The Art of Loving You

Her urgency chipped at my reluctance. Marie wouldn’t be acting like this if it wasn’t serious. Still, I hated being blindsided. “Fine,” I said. “Let me grab my purse.”

“Thank you,” Maria said softly. “And I promise, this isn’t about some fundraiser. It’s bigger than that.”

I rolled my eyes out of habit, but the weight in her tone left no room for humor. When I returned, Marie was already by the exit, keys in hand.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I slid into the passenger seat and fastened my seatbelt.

Marie pulled out of the lot, her gaze fixed ahead. “It’s a surprise,” she said cryptically. “But it’s quiet. No one will bother us there.”

Her vagueness made the knot in my stomach tighten. Marie wasn’t one to play coy. Whatever Marshall had to say, it was something she wasn’t comfortable discussing at work. As she navigated through town, the air between us felt heavy with unspoken tension. I stayed quiet, my curiosity and apprehension battling for dominance.

When we pulled into a quiet park, my nerves were frayed. Marshall’s sedan was already there, parked a few spots away.

Marie turned to me. “He’s waiting.”

“Right,” I murmured, taking a deep breath.

Marshall greeted me with an apologetic look, his eyes scanning the park. “Let’s get something to eat first,” he said, motioning to the food truck. “Then we’ll talk.”

I followed him, ordering a sandwich I knew I wouldn’t eat. As we sat at a picnic table, Marshall folded his hands and leaned forward. “I’m sorry to drag you out here, but I couldn’t talk at the museum—or anywhere in town.”

“Just tell me,” I said, pulse hammering.

He hesitated before lowering his voice. “The district attorney is convening a grand jury. They’re investigating Alistair Devereux—Lucas’s father—for trafficking stolen art. It’ll be public soon.”

I didn’t flinch. I’d suspected something was buried in the Devereux family, but hearing it confirmed jolted me. My father’s warning and the whispers between Lucas and his mother made sense now.

Marshall studied me, expecting a shocked look. Instead, I asked, “The evidence?”

“It’s strong,” he admitted. “They don’t convene a grand jury unless they’re confident. From what I’ve seen, it’s damning.”

A heavy silence settled between us. My mind raced with questions. What did this mean for Lucas? For me?

“And Lucas?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Marshall hesitated, making my pulse quicken. “His name hasn’t come up—yet. But his connection to his father will raise questions. Investigators are thorough. If they dig deep enough, they’ll look at everyone tied to the Devereux name.”

His gaze met mine, steady. “That includes you.”

The air left my lungs in one sharp exhale. “Me?”

“You’re close to Lucas. That means scrutiny, whether you’re involved or not.”

The word twisted in my mind. Marshall was talking about collateral damage, the fallout that didn’t care who was guilty. And then there was Bess.

“You’re essentially Bess’s mother now,” Marshall said gently. “You have to think about what this means for her. If this investigation escalates…”

He didn’t need to finish. The implication was clear. Bess had already lost so much—I’d fought to give her stability. I couldn’t let anything threaten that.

“I knew there were complications,” I said carefully. “Lucas has always said he and his father are nothing alike. But I didn’t realize…” I trailed off. I didn’t realize how deep it ran. Or how dangerous it was.

Marshall nodded. “I’m not here to tell you what to do. But you deserve to make informed decisions.”

The sandwich before me sat untouched, and the smell of grilled bread and cheese was now nauseating. I pushed it aside and looked up at Marshall. “Thank you for telling me,” I said, though the words felt hollow under the weight of everything else.

He gave me a slight, solemn nod and stood. “If it gets out that I warned you, I could lose my job. Don’t mention this conversation to anyone until the news becomes public.”

He kissed Maria on the cheek before walking away; the tension in my chest remained as I swallowed hard. Marie approachedhesitantly, her brows knitted with concern. “Ella?” she asked softly.

---