Chapter 6 Falling
Falling
“My intentions?” Lucia canted her head. “I’d like to enjoy my cappuccino and dessert while learning more about you.”
Penelope leaned back in her chair. “I see.”
She had changed her outfit five times before finally settling on something professional, understated, and, she hoped, unremarkable.
Yet her bun felt too severe, her blouse too precise, her posture too deliberate.
She’d brought the jacket because she’d expected to be cold in the café, yet her body flushed under Lucia’s bottomless gaze, even as her mind protested this ridiculousness.
“Is that acceptable, or do I need to watch my back?”
“I’m not sure how much your general life choices expose your back, but you’re safe from me.”
Lucia leaned forward. “Why do I hear a ‘for now’ hanging in the air?”
“Perhaps because you’re more perceptive than most,” Penelope said, then thanked the server who brought out their orders.
“Thank you.” Lucia pulled her mug closer. “Comes with the territory.”
“Your art restoration?”
“Yes, though more so my…personal work in the field.”
“You’re an artist? What medium?”
“Is someone really an artist just because they produce art, even if no one ever sees it?”
“Of course, you said it yourself: They produce art. What else would they be?”
“An aficionado?” Lucia gave a wry smile. “I paint. Anything and everything, really.”
“No preferences?”
“Faces. I really enjoy drawing and painting faces. If only for the eyes. Your work is all art; do you also make room for it in your private life?”
“As much as I love art, I’m more a consumer than a creator. I dabble, but it’s all pretty awful.”
“Maybe you need more repetition. We all suck at first.”
“Hmm, I doubt that. Natural talent exists.”
“True, but talent without practice—without hard, diligent work—goes nowhere.”
“I suppose that’s true for most areas in life.” Penelope put her cup back down. “And it’s not so much that I suck—well, I do, but it’s more that I use artistic expression as a form of relaxation. It’s fun, but it’s not supposed to be art.”
“That makes sense. It’s totally valid to do so.”
“Of course.” Penelope’s lips curved. “I don’t have the time or the will to turn my expressions into a true craft.”
“That’s fair. I honestly wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I didn’t paint. Mind you, I sometimes hate it, too. Not the art itself, not even the process. But sometimes it doesn’t click. Nothing comes out right, or you want to paint but can’t make yourself. It can be…frustrating.”
“Are you currently stuck like that? I’m sensing a slight undercurrent.”
Lucia pressed her lips together. “A little, but it’ll pass. It always does.”
“Huh. That must be comforting.”
“What?” Lucia asked.
“Knowing that things will always work out.”
Penelope met Lucia’s gaze and held it. Her heart pounded. What was she doing?
“Yes, especially when the rest of your life is mostly a raging storm.”
“You could always bring an umbrella,” Penelope said.
Lucia laughed, a joyous sound that warmed Penelope even further.
“I like the way you think. Yes, I suppose that’s one way to approach life.”
“You seem doubtful.” Penelope stirred her drink.
“I’m generally pretty levelheaded and bounce back faster than most, so what you said…” Lucia frowned.
“What?”
“I just realized I’m wrong.”
“Care to elaborate?” Penelope hated how she yearned to know more about Lucia, and not just because of her plan.
“Well, I thought what you said is pretty much how I live my life, but it’s not. I do bounce back fast, but I don’t do much preparing. Like, I don’t really plan stuff.” She shrugged.
“In what way? At work?”
“Everything, really. I just go with the flow.” She cringed. “That sounds corny and trite, but it’s true. I don’t bring umbrellas.”
A pause.
“You just hope it doesn’t rain?” Penelope asked.
“Something like that, yes.”
Lucia’s dimpled smile should have been illegal.
~ ~ ~
Penelope didn’t appreciate being called in like a servant, and the mood shift from her outing with Lucia to being summoned to Valentina’s mansion a day later chased ire through her bloodstream.
Her heels clacked on the smooth marble floor as she followed Valentina’s… what? Butler? Henchman?
He halted in front of a set of French doors and knocked.
“Come in.”
He stepped inside. “Dr. Blackwell is here to see you, Ms. Varnelli.”
“Thank you, Chester. Send her inside.”
Penelope rolled her eyes and entered. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Sit down, my good doctor.”
“I prefer to stand.”
A small smile spread over Valentina’s lips—delicate like a high-society lady sipping champagne. But when you looked closer, the steel shimmered beneath her sculpted cheekbones. Her skin was as pale as a ghost, though once she entered your life, she was anything but an apparition.
Valentina held herself with an almost aristocratic poise, as if she was used to people serving her, cowering before her.
True enough, considering her spiderweb empire seemed to reach everywhere.
Too bad Penelope’s father hadn’t been more thorough in his research before tangling with this rattlesnake.
“Of course you do.” Valentina rose and crossed to the front of her desk, leaning against its polished edge.
“What’s this about? I am a busy woman, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t waste my time.”
“I heard a lost Bellini has caused quite a stir and that your lovely new director wants it to shine during the upcoming ball.”
Penelope stilled for a beat. Who was leaking this? There’d been no official release about the Bellini. The testing was in its final rounds and so far, nothing had raised alarms. Then again, it shouldn’t surprise her that Valentina’s Eris Group had insiders at the Meridian.
“Nothing has been decided yet.”
“Much like with my Madonna?”
She said nothing.
Valentina sighed. “Have you informed your people about the…discrepancies you’ve discovered?”
“No.”
“Good girl.”
Penelope gritted her teeth, barely stopping herself from spinning on her heel and slamming the door behind her.
“I’d hate for you to follow in your father’s footsteps. Such noble men rarely survive long in our world.”
And there it was, the threat Penelope had been waiting for.
“You mean your world, and don’t worry about my father. You’ve done enough damage there.”
“Now, darling, we shouldn’t blame innocent bystanders for the failures of others.”
Penelope balled her hand into a fist.
“It’s important to distinguish friends from enemies. There are groups who call themselves liberators—Collectives. Noble thieves, they’d say. But I’ve seen how they operate. They’ll use you to launder their lies if you’re not careful.”
“Our authentication process is quite thorough and hard to fool.”
“These people are exceptionally talented, Dr. Blackwell. You’d be surprised by how they manage to fool even the most sophisticated methods and painstaking assessments.”
“I’m confident in the Meridian’s team.”
Valentina crossed one foot over the other. “You trust your instincts, Doctor?”
Penelope straightened. “I do.”
“Even against…curious, charming interlopers sent to suss out your vulnerability—to use you as a pawn in their game?”
Her pulse jumped. “I’m well-versed in seeing through masks people wear.”
A small smile spread over Valentina’s face. “Of course you are. I hope that confidence won’t cost you more than it already has.”
A pause.
“I’m rooting for you, Penelope.”
~ ~ ~
Penelope stalked out of the room, out of the mansion. She hated that she had to deal with Valentina at all. She slammed her car door shut and drove off into the night, heading home.
She forced herself to loosen her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and ease up on the gas. A speeding ticket would not round off her week.
So Lucia was the person Valentina had warned her about.
Of course, she couldn’t trust a word that woman said, but the timing was suspicious, and the Bellini was a fake. Just like the Alessi. Even if their authentication process seemed to be fooled regarding the former.
It wouldn’t be the first time a forgery had passed every test, leaving her instincts to fight an uphill battle against official reports.
She’d been vindicated before, sometimes years later, but the stakes were higher because for the first time, a personal entanglement had taken root.
Roots Penelope should have yanked out already.
She didn’t want Lucia to be part of this mess.
What even was her role? A middleman? A decoy? A patsy? The paintings alone proved nothing, but the fact both came through her and her mysterious “clients,” that was the problem.
If they’d been forged by different hands, Lucia might’ve escaped suspicions entirely.
But they weren’t. The same eye, the same brush. She knew it in her bones. But knowing wasn’t the same as proving.
Worse still––she wanted Lucia to be innocent. That longing could ruin everything.
Penelope had accepted the job offer at the Meridian precisely because it housed the Madonna. Because it might lead her to Valentina. And it had.
There shouldn’t be a conflict in dealing with Lucia. Certainly not one that made her heart thud faster and her palms grow damp.
She sounded like a damned cliché.
And yet… If Lucia was the link, she couldn’t look away.
The problem wasn’t just the danger.
It was how easy it would be to fall.