Chapter 10 An Unexpected （Unpreventable） Fall
An Unexpected (Unpreventable) Fall
Penelope’s leg bounced beneath her desk, her gaze fixed on the top right corner of her screen, watching time refuse to budge.
Lucia would arrive in an hour, and Penelope’s nerves were firing like one of those old-time popcorn machines at the fair: loud, erratic, and impossible to ignore. Ridiculous.
She minimized the open tab of her email about the Santini loan request she’d put in through a contact at the National.
While she didn’t know what she expected to find, it wouldn’t hurt to have the experts at the National analyze the brushwork.
Maybe they’d find something. Or not. Perhaps she was just chasing ghosts.
Penelope forced herself to focus on the report she needed to finish—more or less successfully—then jumped when her phone rang.
The front desk informed her that her guest had arrived.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, rising to meet Lucia.
When she saw her standing there—curly hair pulled back into a thick ponytail, gazing at The War of the Worlds, a Renaissance painting depicting mankind’s battle against grotesque demons rising from an abyss—Penelope faltered.
Lucia was so lovely—shirt soft with wear, jeans slung low on narrow hips, curls catching the light like rope dipped in honey, her skin glowing in warm bronze.
Penelope hated herself for the thought. Even more so when her heart picked up its pace as Lucia turned and spotted her, a huge smile blooming on her beautiful face.
Traitor.
Penelope forced herself forward, torn between demanding answers, accusing Lucia of playing her, and sticking to her plan.
“Ms. Rossi, welcome back. Right on time,” she said with a smile that only somewhat resembled a grimace.
“Dr. Blackwell. It’s good to see you again.” A mischievous grin tugged at Lucia’s mouth, her dimples in full force.
Penelope wanted to punch something.
Instead, she gave a small nod. “Follow me, then. Let’s explore the belly of the beast.”
Lucia chuckled, a low, warm sound that Penelope immediately added to the list of things she needed to ignore and never think about again.
“What’s your favorite painting at the Meridian?” Lucia asked, stepping up next to Penelope and following her into the back area of the museum.
“Hmm, I’m partial to Renaissance oil paintings. The one you were looking at is definitely among the top three. I overall like the motifs of light and shadow, or the Underworld.”
“I can see that.”
Penelope halted. “How’s that?”
“I don’t know. Eternal struggle, good versus evil, demons trying to drag you down. You do seem the righteous type.” Lucia stuffed her hands into her pants pockets.
And yet you’re playing me.
“I see.”
“I mean no offense.”
“None taken.” Penelope picked up the pace again and they entered the staff-only corridor leading toward the west wing mezzanine, a quieter section rarely frequented by the public during the week.
“So, which painting holds the top spot?”
“Why don’t I show you?” Penelope wasn’t here to linger. Not to indulge in art or philosophy. Not with Lucia. Despite this, her steps led her to the Gallery of Sacred and Secular Visions, the home of A Piece of Heaven, a favorite of hers since she first saw it as a teen.
Lucia studied the painting, her brows knit in something like reverence.
“Do you know it?” Penelope asked after a moment, her voice low, though she didn’t know why she was whispering. They weren’t in a library.
“Yes, though I’ve never seen it up close before.” Lucia’s voice adjusted to Penelope’s register.
“Most people assume it’s devotional art. It isn’t. The painter was agnostic. There’s a letter where he calls it ‘hope in oil,’ not salvation.” Penelope wondered if this reflected her more so now than ever.
“Yet people believe the woman found heaven.”
“Maybe she did. A heaven on this plane, not in a celestial sphere.”
Lucia’s gaze drifted from the canvas to her. “Do you believe in heaven?”
Penelope’s lips parted, but no words came at first. “I’m…undecided.”
Lucia nodded, turning back to the painting. “It’s beautiful. A challenging piece, too.”
“Oh?” Penelope latched on. “In what way?” As a forgery?
“To capture the emotion, the hope, the longing while also allowing a certain amount of darkness present. See the shading here?” She pointed at a section. “That kind of balance isn’t easy to capture. It’s delicate and seamless.”
“Painted a lot of devotional pieces?”
Lucia smiled. “I thought this wasn’t devotional?”
“There’s that, yes.”
They stood in silence.
“Ms. Lake entered one of my pieces into an art competition back when I was twelve, thirteen maybe?” Lucia sighed.
“Did that upset you?”
“Not really, though I’d have preferred to be asked first, but…” She shrugged. “It was nice. Someone who actually believed in me—that I could be more than just…”
A beat during which Penelope almost didn’t dare breathe.
“More than what?”
“Average, I suppose.” She shook her head. “God, that sounds awful.” She averted her gaze. “Don’t mind me.”
“Did you win the contest?”
“I did, yes.”
“Here in Atlanta? That is, are you from here?”
“Born and raised. But that was twenty years ago, so I doubt you’d find anything online about it.”
“2005 isn’t the Dark Ages where the internet is concerned. It might still be out there.”
Lucia hesitated. She gazed at Penelope as if assessing something. “Perhaps, but…” She paused. “You won’t find it under Lucia Rossi.”
Penelope swallowed hard. Why was Lucia telling her all this?
“Oh? How’s that? I didn’t think you were married.” Seriously? Penelope refrained from hitting her head against…something.
Lucia laughed. “I’m not. Never been. No, but…” She rolled her lips. “I don’t know why I am telling you so much. It sometimes feels like I’d answer all your questions.”
Penelope’s hand tightened into a fist. She wasn’t pushing, not really, but she needed to know. Another secret about to spill between them, and the worst part? She wanted it for all the wrong reasons.
A flicker of guilt tangled with the heat sparking in her chest, and she battered it back down. “You’ve not answered my last one.”
“It’s a long story, but the short version, I eventually ran away from a foster family that considered art to be the work of the devil.
I found refuge with…my Italian friend, surrogate mother, what have you.
I ended up changing my name, a sort of homage to her heritage, but also because… it seemed fitting.”
Penelope’s mouth went dry. Who was this woman? How did she make her long for things she knew would lead nowhere?
“Can we pass through the west restoration wing again? I really liked the lighting in there. Besides, you promised me a tour.”
Here we go. “Of course. Follow me. That’s near the textile annex. We don’t display much there, at least not this season.”
She unlocked the side door, keeping a close watch on Lucia and the way her gaze took in their surroundings.
They walked along another hallway when Lucia pointed at a door. “That leads to the East Archive, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Oh, I’m just wondering. I used to come here a lot when I was younger, but it has been a while and things are different, yet still the same.”
“Well, you didn’t have access to these hallways, though.”
“True, but I have great spatial awareness. I remember through there, there used to be an Egyptian exhibit. It was lovely.”
They passed by the corridor to the storage section. “This is where all our art that is not on display is stored. Well, the pieces not in the Conservation Lab.”
“Do all paintings get stored here first before they go on display? Or only the ones in rotation?”
“Some of our more popular paintings, like the Madonna in Red, for example…” Penelope trailed off, observing Lucia again. “Are you familiar with that one?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen it.”
“Paintings like that usually go straight back up. Right now, it’s on display, but new protocols mean even marquee pieces sometimes linger in the lab,” Penelope said.
“Makes sense. What are some of the reasons to keep them off the walls, aside from restoration?”
“Oh, it depends. Sometimes there are issues with case sensors misfiring, or hairline cracks that need a closer look. We’re trying to get them back in rotation quickly, but it’s not always possible.”
They fell into silence as they walked. Their footsteps echoed faintly on the polished concrete, a quiet rhythm in the otherwise still corridor.
The air was cool back here, touched with the faint scent of old varnish and lemon polish.
A distant echo of voices from the public wing reminded her how removed they were from the world right now.
Just the two of them—and everything unsaid.
Penelope leaned closer, whispering almost conspiratorially, “Want to hear something that hasn’t been announced?”
Lucia smiled. The warmth in her eyes hit like a match struck too close. “I’m always open to secrets, especially yours.”
Penelope nearly stumbled, derailed by Lucia’s gaze, the quiet weight of her attention. “For the upcoming ball, the Madonna in Red will be a centerpiece, along with the Bellini your client loaned the Meridian.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lucia said, voice low, genuine. No hitch. No tell.
Penelope studied her expression, searching for any sign she was lying, for the subtext that had to be there.
She wasn’t imagining things, yet Lucia gave her nothing.
She just stood there, calm, almost serene.
Like someone content to linger. Like someone who wasn’t pretending.
As if she genuinely enjoyed spending time with Penelope.
A beat passed. Then another. Heat curled low in her gut, and the traitor in her chest pumped faster once more. This was beyond dangerous, and yet…
Was Lucia really that good of a liar? Maybe Penelope was just terrible at spotting them. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to see a crack.
Despite her findings (never mind that her conviction rested mostly on her unique way of perceiving art), most of her evidence was circumstantial and wouldn’t convince anyone.
Penelope didn’t want to get Lucia in trouble, but she was either in her way or…could she help her get to Valentina? What an absurd idea. Either way, what Lucia did was wrong, and—
“Thank you for trusting me,” Lucia said, quiet and unguarded, as if the words cost her nothing and meant everything.
It landed like a blow.
You’re so screwed.
Worse. She didn’t even want to be saved.