Page 44 of The Art of Loving You

I love you, Ella.

His words echoed in my head, blending with the sounds of traffic as I navigated my way back to the museum. I barely managed to nod in response before he disappeared inside the FBI’s SUV. The reality of it all settled like a weight in my chest: Lucas was going to jail.

I needed to pull myself together. Bess was waiting for me. And the last thing I wanted was to let her see me unravel.

I picked up my phone from the passenger seat and pressed Maria’s contact. She answered on the second ring. Before I could say anything, she cried, “Ella, I just heard from Marshall. Are you okay?”

I took a shaky breath. “Not really,” I admitted. “They arrested him, Maria. The FBI just—just took him. Right in front of me.”

“Oh, Ella,” Maria’s voice softened. “Marshall called as soon as he heard. He said it happened fast.”

“It did,” I said, swallowing hard. “I’m on my way back to the museum to get Bess. I was wondering—can you drive my car back to the house? I don’t think I should leave Lucas’s Jaguar in the museum parking lot. Too many reporters.”

“Of course,” she said immediately. “Marshall is coming to get me soon. I’ll bring your car home, and we can talk once I get there. Maybe my husband will have more details by then.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, my throat tight with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll get through this, Ella,” she promised. “Just take care of Bess.”

I ended the call just as I pulled up to the museum. True to my suspicion, a small group of reporters loitered near the entrance, their cameras ready. I exhaled slowly, steeling myself before stepping out of the car. Bess was my priority now.

As I slipped inside the museum’s side entrance, I scanned the room for Maria, but she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I spotted Bess standing near a group of children, her laughter ringing out as she clutched a paintbrush. Relief flooded through me. She was happy. She had no idea what had just happened.

“Aunt Ella!” she called, her face lighting up when she saw me. She waved excitedly before running over, stopping short when she saw the car keys in my hand. “Hey, why do you have Lucas’s car?”

I forced a smile, crouching to her level. “He had a family emergency come up, sweetheart. He asked me to keep his car safe for him.”

Bess’s brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Okay. But can we still go to the aquarium this weekend?”

I hesitated for only a second before squeezing her hand. “We’ll see, okay? Let’s get home first.”

Maria found me as I gathered Bess’s things. “Marshall is waiting outside,” she said quietly. “I’ll take your car now. Meet me at your house in a bit?”

I nodded, my gratitude unspoken but understood. “Thank you, Maria.”

With Bess happily settled in the back seat, I started the drive home, my mind spinning with what I’d tell her next. She needed stability and reassurance. Even as my world felt like it was tipping on its axis, I had to be her anchor.

Back at home, I fixed Bess a strawberry yogurt parfait, her favorite, and let her eat in her room while watching a princess movie. “Just this once,” I told her with a wink, and she grinned before curling up with her blanket.

The moment I closed her door, my body sagged against the hallway wall. My hands trembled as I took out my phone, scrolling through news updates. The headlines flashed in bold letters:

ALISTAIR DEVEREUX DENIED BAIL AS NEW EVIDENCE SURFACES

FBI ARRESTS SON OF INFAMOUS GALLERY OWNER—IS LUCAS DEVEREUX INVOLVED?

My stomach clenched as I skimmed the articles. They were already questioning his involvement, painting him as guilty before he’d even had a chance to fight back. My heart pounded as I exited the articles and shoved my phone into my pocket. No. I wasn’t going to let them tear him down like this. I wouldn’t.

Maria and Marshall arrived not long after. We sat in the backyard, the humid Miami air thick with tension. “What do you know?” I asked Marshall, my voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, rubbing his chin. “Someone close to the family was questioned today. They handed over documents—records about a vault. It seems there’s evidence of additional hidden art pieces. The authorities are investigating whether Lucas knew about them.”

I stiffened. “Lucas didn’t steal anything.”

“I know that,” Marshall said, his tone gentle. “But the FBI wouldn’t have arrested him without something. It depends on what they can prove. His lawyer might get him out in a day or two.”

A cold pit formed in my stomach. “And if they can’t?”

Marshall exhaled slowly. “Then it’ll be a long fight.”

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