Page 37 of The Art of Loving You

“Alright,” she said softly. “Good luck, Lucas.”

I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, my mind racing. Dad’s games, the gallery’s uncertain future, Gabrielle’s concerns—it was all spiraling fast. And I was the one left to pick up the pieces.

When I stepped into Lopez’s office, he looked up from his desk, his expression professional and businesslike. “Lucas,” he said. “You look like hell. What is going on with you?”

“Thanks,” I muttered, collapsing into the chair across from Lopez. “I’ve been trying to reach my father all morning—voicemail every time. Gabrielle’s panicking, the gallery’s security needs an update, and I have no idea what to tell her.”

Lopez tapped his pen against the desk. “Let’s cut to the chase. You want to know what’s happening with your father.”

“Exactly,” I said. “If he’s arrested, I need to know. If not, he needs to answer our calls.”

Lopez didn’t waste time. He picked up the phone and dialed from memory. “Frank Curtain’s office, please,” he said, glancing at me as he waited. After a brief exchange, his expression hardened.

“He’s been charged,” Lopez said. “They’re holding him for selling stolen art. Arraignment is in two days.”

I swallowed hard. I had expected it, but hearing it out loud made it real. “And me?”

“Nothing yet,” Lopez said. “They haven’t questioned you, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.”

I shifted, my mind already moving to the next problem. “The gallery—if my father actually cut me out of the trust, Gabrielle can’t handle it alone. If I’m still listed, I need to step in.”

“I’ll look into it,” Lopez said. “For now, act as if you’re in charge. Don’t make drastic changes until we confirm, but go ahead and help Gabrielle reset the codes.”

His pen tapped the desk. “Do you know anything about the stolen art, Lucas? Be honest.”

I hesitated, then admitted, “There were rumors. Between my father and grandfather. Nothing concrete, but… yeah, I think it’s true.”

Lopez’s face darkened. “Keep that to yourself for now. Don’t mention it to the DA or anyone at the gallery. We need to see how the prosecution plays this.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

I hesitated before adding, “There’s one more thing—my father broke my lease. I need a place to stay. You know anyone renting something cheap?”

Lopez studied me. “Cheap, huh?”

I shrugged. “Four walls and a roof. Anything else is a bonus.”

He chuckled and pulled a key from his desk. “I’ve got an apartment over my garage. Small but clean. Rent’s cheap—hell, we’ll call it a favor for now.” He tossed the key to me.

I caught it midair, surprised. “Thanks, Juan. I’ll pay you as soon as I get things sorted.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he said. “Just keep your head on straight. You’ve got enough to handle without worrying about where to sleep.”

I nodded, gripping the key tightly. “I owe you one.”

I left Lopez’s office with a key in my pocket and more on my mind than when I walked in. My father’s arrest wasn’t a shock, but hearing the charges—selling stolen art—made it real. The words echoed in my head, heavier with each repetition.

As I stepped onto the street, the morning sun felt too bright for my mood. People rushed past, caught up in their own lives, oblivious to the chaos unraveling in mine. Sliding into my car, I gripped the wheel and exhaled slowly.

Lopez’s warning played in my mind. Stay quiet. Let him handle it. Sound advice—but easier said than done.

The gallery was on shaky ground. Gabrielle was holding things together, but without clarity on my role, we were navigating blindly. And then there was Ella.

As I drove to the museum, my thoughts drifted to her, as they often did. She was steady and grounded—the kind of person who could handle chaos with grace. I wanted to tell her everything: about my father, the vault, and the trust. But Lopez was right. The more she knew, the more it would put her at risk.

Still, keeping secrets felt like a betrayal.

By the time I reached the museum, my mind was no clearer. But one thing was certain—I needed Ella. Even if I couldn’t tell her everything, being with her made the weight bearable.

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