Page 52 of The Art of Loving You

She let out a breath. “You don’t know that.”

I glanced at her, taking in the way she fidgeted. “Ella, I know you. And I’ve seen you put this thing together piece by piece. If anyone can make this a success, it’s you.”

She gave me a small smile, but I could tell the tension was still there. I squeezed her hand again, watching as the museum came into view, its modern glass façade gleaming under the morning sun.

“Besides,” I added, smirking, “I think Bess is the only one with real authority around here, and she already signed off on your outfit. What else could go wrong?”

Ella rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her lips twitched, the nerves loosening just a little.

That was all I needed.

The moment we stepped into the museum the air shifted. It was quiet, save for the low hum of employees making last-minute adjustments and the soft echo of our footsteps on the marble floors. But beneath the stillness, there was an energy—a kind of charged anticipation that came with an opening day.

Maria was already waiting for us near the entrance, tablet in hand, her expression hovering somewhere between excitement and controlled panic. “Okay, so we’ve had a smooth setup so far,” she said as soon as we reached her. “All pieces are in position, security measures are up, and the lighting has been adjusted twice. No disasters yet.”

“Yet?” I repeated, arching a brow.

Maria gave me a dry look. “I’ve worked in museums long enough to know that just because everythinglooksperfect now, doesn’tmean it’ll stay that way.” She turned back to Ella. “But so far, we’re in the clear.”

Ella nodded, already in work mode. “Good. I want to do one last walkthrough, just to be sure.”

Maria stepped aside, knowing better than to argue.

I followed as Ella moved through the main exhibit hall, her pace unhurried but purposeful. This wasn’t nervous energy—this was precision. She wasn’t just skimming the room; she wasreadingit, scanning every inch like an artist checking the final brushstroke on a masterpiece.

And it was a masterpiece.

The collection was stunning, a vibrant homage to Marc Chagall’s signature dreamlike style. Instead of focusing on findingThe Village, Ella had curated a lineup of his best works—pieces showcasing his talent’s full range. The deep blues and soft pastels ofThe Blue Circusdrew the eye immediately, while the whimsy ofBride and Groom with Eiffel Towerbalanced it with a romantic touch.Lovers in Blueexuded a quiet intimacy, andThe Fiddler—the painting inspired by the famous Broadway musical—stood as a testament to Chagall’s deep connection to Jewish folklore.

Then there wasThe Circus Rider, the renowned piece on loan from the Met, its bold colors and abstract figures practically vibrating with movement.

Ella took her time at each display, checking the placement, the lighting, and the small plaques with the descriptions.

She was in her element.

I leaned against one of the support pillars, watching her. There was something different about the way she carried herself here—something sharp and commanding. I’d always known she was brilliant at what she did, but this was the first time I was seeing her not just as the woman who worked behind the scenes…

She owned this space.

The Ella I had known for years had been hesitant and careful. The Ella standing in front of me now? She had no doubt.

She turned, catching me watching her, and raised a brow. “What?”

I smirked. “Nothing. Just enjoying the show.”

She huffed, shaking her head, but there was a small smile playing on her lips as she moved to the next piece.

Yeah, she had this. No question about it.

I was still watching Ella when a woman’s voice cut through the quietness of the gallery.

“Lucas.”

I turned to find Maria walking toward me, her expression tense. “Reporters are outside. They’re asking for you.”

I stiffened. I should’ve seen this coming. My father’s guilty plea had made headlines, and the press was circling like vultures.

Ella frowned as Maria stood beside us. “We didn’t invite the media today,” Maria said, her voice tight. “They are just fishing, hoping Lucas would be here this morning.”

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