Page 27 of The Art of Loving You

I shook my head, blinking back tears I hadn’t realized were forming. “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “Let’s just go.”

Marie didn’t push, and I was grateful for it. We left the park in silence, but my mind was anything but quiet. The grand jury, the investigation, the scrutiny—it all loomed like a dark storm cloud on the horizon.

And Lucas. He hadn’t lied to me, not exactly, but he also hadn’t told me the full truth. I couldn’t help but wonder—how much did he know? How much had he kept from me? And what would happen when the storm finally hit?

When we returned to the museum, the air between Marie and me was thick with unspoken tension. She parked in her usual spot, cut the engine, and glanced at me with an expression that was equal parts concern and curiosity. I didn’t give her the chance to say anything.

“I need to get back to work,” I said, grabbing my bag and stepping out of the car before she could argue.

“I understand,” Marie whispered, touching my hand.

Soon, I found myself in the east wing, where we were finalizing the layout for the Chagall exhibit. The vibrant colors of the artwork seemed almost mocking now, a stark contrast to the heavy cloud of uncertainty hanging over me. I picked up a clipboard and stared at it, pretending to read, though the words blurred together.

“Ella?” Marie’s voice broke through my daze. I turned to see her standing a few feet away, holding a stack of promotional materials for the exhibit. “Are you okay?”

I forced a small smile. “I’m fine,” I said, the lie slipping out too easily. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Marie hesitated, clearly debating whether to press me further. After a moment, she nodded. “If you need to talk…”

“I know,” I said quickly, cutting her off. “Thank you.”

She lingered briefly before heading back to the front office, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I set the clipboard down and ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. The weight of everything Marshall had told me pressed down harder now that I was back in the world of normalcy, where grand juries and stolen art felt like something out of a crime novel—not my life.

But it was my life. And somehow, I had to figure out how to navigate it without losing myself—or Bess—in the process.

The museum quieted as the day wore on, the staff slowly trickling out until I was one of the last ones left. The silence should have been calming, but it only amplified the storm brewing in my mind.

I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen. My thumb hovered over Lucas’s contact, the urge to call him overwhelming. I wanted answers. I wanted to know how much he knew about the investigation, about his father’s dealings. But then I realized any discussion with him might jeopardize Marshall, who was nice enough to warn me.

My hand dropped to my side, the phone still clutched tightly. I couldn’t call him. Not yet. Not until I had some semblanceof clarity about what I wanted—what I needed—or the investigation blew up in the media.

The sound of a door closing in the distance broke the silence, pulling me back to the present. I slipped my phone back into my bag and turned toward the exit. It was time to go home to figure out how to move forward.

As I locked the museum doors behind me, the day loomed heavy on my mind. The revelations from Marshall weren’t going to disappear overnight, and neither were the questions they raised. But for now, I could only take it one step at a time.

And hope the storm brewing on the horizon didn’t swallow me whole.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lucas

The evening sky faded into warm pastels, casting shadows across the condo’s parking lot. The distant hum of traffic blended with the soft rustle of palm trees, a peace I couldn’t feel as I stared at the stack of boxes in my trunk.

I hefted the last one inside, careful not to crush the canvas bag containing my favorite pieces of art. Two suitcases, a few boxes of clothes, and a handful of things I couldn’t leave behind—that was all I had now.

The condo upstairs was nearly empty, stripped of anything that had made it feel like home. My lease, or rather, the lease my trust had covered, was no longer mine. I slammed the trunk shut and leaned against the car, staring at the darkening horizon.

My father’s words still rang in my head.

You’ve made your choice, Lucas. You think playing house with a woman like her will give you stability? It won’t. You’ve been reckless, and this is the price you pay.

Reckless. That’s what he’d called me as if cutting me off was some kind of lesson. And Ella—he’d just dismissed her as an inconvenience to his plans for me.

The memory churned in my gut, a mix of anger and regret. But beneath it all was something sharper.

Shame.

Not because I’d stood up to him—but because I hadn’t done it sooner. For too long, I’d let his money dictate my life. Maybe this was my chance to prove I didn’t need him.

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