Page 90 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Yep,’ I reply.

As we step out into the cool evening air, my heart rate increases – and it has nothing to do with the handsome Dutchman by my side. This is it. We’re going to break the news to Lucia.

* * *

We arrive at the gallery to discover itisopen, alleviating concerns about tracking Lucia down, but she seems to be hosting some sort of event. It’s brimming with people drinking wine and chatting animatedly, with some spilling out onto the footpath.

‘Not ideal,’ I say to Willem. ‘What do you think we should do?’

His eyes scan the small crowd, then land on me and he does that thing where he’s obviously thinking things through, but his eyes are locked onto mine the entire time. It’s incredibly sexy and far less unnerving than it was at first. But even so, I look away, refocusing on how I plan to break the news to Lucia.

‘We could get dinner and come back later,’ Willem says eventually.

‘But we have no idea how long this will go on,’ I say, looking back at him. ‘What if by the time we return, she’s locked up and gone somewhere else?’

‘Good point,’ he says, twin lines forming between his brows. ‘And you definitely want to be the one to tell her?’

‘Yes, it should come from me.’

‘Okay, let’s go in.’

He lets me go first, uttering an apology in Italian as we slip past the people blocking the doorway.

As we weave through the jovial party guests, I take in the long, narrow, beautifully appointed gallery. The pieces on the righthand wall appear to be by the same artist and when I peer at one more closely, Lucia’s signature is scrawled across the bottom-right corner.

The artwork on the opposite wall must be by other artists – they’re hung in small groups, each with a distinctive style. And along the middle of the room are narrow wooden tables showcasing pottery, wood carvings, and blown-glass sculptures.

A trill of boisterous laughter fills the space, and when I look up from an intricate glass paperweight, I spot Lucia at the back of the gallery, perched on the edge of a desk and laughing heartily at something an older, stylishly dressed woman just said.

Photos do not do her justice. She is absolutely stunning: a petite but curvy figure, jet-black hair worn pin-straight past her shoulders, a heart-shaped face with full lips and high cheekbones, and enormous dark-brown eyes, framed by expertly shaped, full brows.

I turn and make an ‘eek’ face at Willem. ‘I’m nervous,’ I say.

He stares at me intently, then gives my arm a squeeze. ‘It will be okay,’ he says reassuringly. It helps – a little.

‘But how do we… you know…approachher?’

‘We wait for their conversation to end,’ he says, nodding towards Lucia, ‘then introduce ourselves.’ He’s replied as if this is a normal, everyday situation. It isn’t.

‘Right, okay.’

I draw in a deep, fortifying breath, then expel it slowly. And before I can overthink it or hedge a moment longer, I beeline for Lucia.

‘Hello, Lucia,’ I say, interrupting. So much for waiting for a natural break in the conversation, but nerves took over and now it’s done.

‘Hello,’ she says, eyeing me curiously.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ I say to them both.

The other woman smiles at me tautly, then says something to Lucia in Italian. Lucia accepts a kiss on each cheek and when the other woman leaves, she looks at me with a smile. She must think I’m an admirer of her art or even a prospective client.

I look behind me and signal for Willem to step closer, then turn back to Lucia. ‘I’m Kate Whitaker and this is Willem de Vries.’

‘Hello,’ she says again, reaching out to shake our hands in turn. Then her head tilts expectedly. This is the part where I’m supposed to tell her who we are and why we’re here.

‘Uh…’

It’s a poor start and I mentally chastise myself.Come on, Kate. Margot would just blurt it out, like ripping off a plaster, but I’ve practised what I want to say, so I start there.

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