Page 6 of The Art of Loving You

I checked my watch—just past ten. In less than an hour, I’d be sitting across from Ella. A flicker of something unfamiliar ran through me—excitement, maybe. It had been years, but her message felt damned promising. Memories of our past conversations and the warmth of her presence flooded my mind.

I leaned against the counter, forcing myself not to overanalyze her text. Ella had always been warm and easy to talk to, but this? Did she want something from me, or was this personal? The possibilities intrigued me, adding a layer of anticipation to my day that I hadn’t felt in a long time. A small smile tugged at my lips. Either way, I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see her.

The gallery was quiet, with staff preparing for an emerging artist’s showcase. I stepped into my office to grab my jacket and caught my reflection in a framed print. Adjusting my tie, I straightened my collar.

“Ella,” I murmured, rolling her name over my tongue.

Then, the door creaked open. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air thickened, charged with the weight of his presence.

“Good morning, Dad,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

“Lucas.” My father’s tone was deceptively calm. His words always carried an undertone of control.

I leaned back in my chair, meeting his sharp gaze. “What brings you here? I figured you’d be enjoying breakfast at the club.”

He ignored my jab, his gaze drifting to the ledger on my desk. “I heard you’re leaving the gallery this morning.”

I kept my expression even. “Meeting a friend for coffee. I’ll be back for the afternoon crowd.”

A slow arch of his brow. “Ella Blake.”

Tension settled in my spine. “That’s right.”

“She’s curating the Chagall exhibit, isn’t she?” He clasped his hands behind his back, scanning the paintings on the wall like they mattered more than this conversation. “A curious woman. Ambitious. Dangerous, even.”

I fought the urge to bristle. “Ella’s doing her job, Dad. That’s it.”

His gaze sharpened. “That depends. You know as well as I do that curiosity has consequences.”

“She doesn’t know anything about us,” I said carefully. “And even if she did, she’s not the kind of person who’d dig for the sake of causing trouble.”

“That’s precisely the problem,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Idealists don’t dig for trouble. They uncover it by accident.”

I clenched my jaw. Ella wasn’t a liability.

He studied me, the silence stretching. Then, his voice dipped into something almost fatherly. “You’ve always had a soft spot for her. That’s a weakness, Lucas. One you’d do well to correct before it becomes a problem.”

My father believed love—attachment—was a liability. But he was wrong.

He softened his tone. “Gabrielle, on the other hand, is loyal. Dependable. She understands discretion—qualities we value.”

I pushed down the flicker of anger. “Gabrielle is a good employee. That’s all.”

“And Ella?” he pressed.

I hesitated. That was all the answer he needed.

“Be careful, son.” His voice was almost gentle. “You’ve worked too hard to risk everything for a fleeting infatuation. Remember where your priorities lie.”

I swallowed back my frustration. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, he turned to leave. The door clicked shut behind him, but his warnings clung to me like a shadow.

I exhaled slowly, checking the time. Almost time to go. Whatever my father thought, seeing Ella again felt worth the risk.

Soon, the growl of the Jaguar’s engine soothed me as I navigated Miami’s streets. My father’s words lingered: Ella’s a liability.

He couldn’t see her as anything but a risk. I couldn’t see her as anything but Ella.

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