Chapter 19 Impulses
Impulses
Lucia raced up the stairs to Francesca’s home, ringing the doorbell while catching her breath.
She’d overslept after inspiration had her holed up in her art studio through the night, the smell of oil and turpentine still faintly clinging to her.
Sleep had been impossible with Penelope looping in her head.
“About time,” Francesca drawled in lieu of a greeting and ushered Lucia inside.
“Sorry. Things got away from me.” She followed Francesca into her office where Jules and Skye were already working.
“Look who the cat dragged in!” Skye said.
Lucia ignored her and fell into her chair.
“And I’m the cat in this equation, Skylar?”
Skye straightened. “No. Of course not. It’s just a saying.”
“You could be a cat,” Lucia said.
Francesca raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You’re aloof, independent, and you’ll slice and dice someone for doing you wrong.”
Francesca appeared to suppress a smile as she settled in her chair. “All right. Let’s hear where things stand.”
“I ran a short live test, barely a minute. Facilities called it a glitch, but Conservation still logged it, which is what we want,” Jules said.
“The second spike won’t look random, it’ll look like escalation.
That makes it less likely Montgomery will ignore Blackwell’s suggestion to move the Madonna out of caution. ”
“Excellent work,” Francesca said.
“I also looked further into the Meridian’s schedule, and Wednesday before the ball looks like the best day for Skye to bring in Lucia’s Madonna. There’s a lot going on that day, so one more delivery girl won’t stand out,” Jules said.
“Good. Now, about the supply closet.” Francesca’s tone sharpened.
“It’s close to the Conservation Lab. That means every technician walking past is a risk.
Jules, check their staff logs—who’s assigned to that wing on Wednesday.
If traffic is heavy, we’ll need a second window.
” She turned to Skye. “And you, no improvising. You drop it, you walk out. No heroics.”
“Of course. I don’t want to get in trouble. Not everyone has a walking key card wrapped around their finger.”
“None of that,” Francesca said before Lucia could open her mouth. “On the note of Penelope, though, any updates? Any news on Varnelli and her attempts to change the loan terms?”
“Not really. Everything seems to go like it always does during the prep. Though Montgomery is making a big deal about the importance of impressing donors. So, having to take the Madonna down will sting a lot, but Jules’s live run there will undoubtedly help,” Lucia said.
“As for the loan, Penelope said that Montgomery isn’t budging. ”
“Good. I’m assuming they want to keep the Madonna for the entire loan term?”
“Yeah, and according to Penelope, Varnelli seems to be letting it go.”
Francesca scoffed. “Unlikely. She’s probably just contemplating her options.”
Lucia’s phone vibrated in her pocket. A spark of hope fluttered—ridiculous, really—but she still had to fight the instinct to check. She glanced at her watch. Too early for Penelope to take a break, but later on she’d—
“Lucy? Are you listening?”
Lucia’s head snapped up. “Huh?”
“Try to keep up. Distraction gets people caught.”
“Right. Sorry.” Lucia shifted her focus back to the discussion at hand. Her mind still contemplated Penelope—or the notion that she wouldn’t mind getting caught by her.
She flushed and ducked her head.
Focus, damn it. She’d survived tighter spots. Just not ones involving a woman who made her forget how to breathe.
~ ~ ~
While Lucia and Penelope had been texting a lot, neither had brought up meeting again. Lucia told herself it was fine—that they were both busy, that patience was one of her better qualities—but each unanswered message itched like drying paint.
A week after their moment on the balcony, her lack of patience led her to a nearby deli where she picked up a caprese sandwich and a lemon tart before heading for the Meridian right around lunchtime.
In one of her recent texts, Penelope had mentioned craving something light but fresh, and Lucia hoped she’d like the contents of her paper bag.
Her stomach fluttered as she drove. What if this was a bad idea? Maybe Penelope thought she was overstepping. Still, she’d rather face a raised eyebrow than silence.
After signing in at the front desk and ignoring the guard’s brief appraisal while calling Penelope to confirm her visit, Lucia leaned against the wall in the staff reception area, clutching her bag until Penelope finally appeared.
“Lucia, hi. What brought you here?”
“Hey. I was in the area, and I recalled your tendency to skip meals, so…” She held up the bag.
“You brought me lunch?” Her gaze flicked between the bag and Lucia like she wasn’t sure which she wanted more. Or maybe that was just Lucia’s wishful interpretation, but Penelope’s voice was even and something warm flickered behind her eyes.
“Yup. You’re up for it?”
“Sure. Come along.”
Lucia followed Penelope to her office, closing the door behind her.
“Thank you. That truly wasn’t necessary.”
“Hmm, perhaps, but I wanted to see you, too, and I thought, why not use my desire for something good?”
Penelope flushed, fidgeting with a pen. “An interesting word choice.”
“Good?” Lucia rolled her lips to keep from smiling when Penelope narrowed her eyes.
“What do you have?”
“Oh.” Lucia placed the bag on Penelope’s desk and opened it, pulling out a sandwich and dessert. “After our talk about cravings the other night”—Lucia shrugged—“I thought this fits the bill.” She handed Penelope the food.
Penelope opened the wrapper. “I love caprese sandwiches, thank you.”
“You hadn’t eaten yet, right?” Lucia glanced at her watch. “You could always eat it for dinner if you have a fridge somewhere.” She tilted her head. “You guys have a community kitchen or something?”
“Sit down before all these thoughts hurt you.” Penelope settled into her chair.
“Hey!”
Penelope chuckled. “I hope you also brought some food for yourself.”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t want to assume you have time to eat lunch together.”
“So, you’d have just brought me lunch and left?”
“Yes.” Lucia sat down, rummaging in the bag before pulling out her own sandwich under wafts of paper towels and condiments.
“How thoughtful.”
Lucia grinned. “That’s me.” She set her sandwich on the corner of Penelope’s desk and finally let her gaze wander around the office.
The space was neat but lived in—books arranged with deliberate care along one shelf, a scattering of exhibition catalogs stacked in mostly orderly piles, and a mug filled with half a dozen different pens, grouped together rather than aligned.
A framed print of a Renaissance altarpiece hung just off-center behind Penelope’s chair, the gold leaf background catching the light. It was so very her: disciplined and exact, yet softened at the edges by use, by taste, by warmth she didn’t quite conceal.
The faint smell of coffee and paper mixed with Penelope’s perfume—something crisp and clean that still managed to linger.
Lucia quite liked it.
“Do I pass?” Penelope said after a moment, wiping her fingers on a napkin.
“Huh?” Lucia unfolded her sandwich wrapper.
“Your inspection of my office.”
“Oh.” Lucia’s cheeks heated. “No, yes.” She huffed a laugh. “I’m just curious. I wasn’t judging or anything.”
“Good to know.”
Lucia took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “People spent a lot of time at work and tend to turn their office into something of a second home.”
“Is that you angling for an invite to my place?”
Lucia straightened. “What? No!”
“You don’t want to see my place?”
“I mean, I do, but I’m not rude enough to invite myself over.”
“That’s why I used the term ‘angle.’”
“No. I swear, I didn’t mean to—”
“You’re usually so unflappable. I’m just messing with you, and I know what you meant. I was just as curious when I entered your art studio.”
“You were on a mission.”
“That, too, but my interest in you has never been just…professional.” Penelope grabbed her water and drank a sip.
“I’m glad.”
Penelope heaved a sigh. “I still don’t know what we’re doing.”
“Eating lunch?”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yes, but you like me.”
“Eat your food.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Watch it.”
Lucia smiled, warmth spread through her, and she silently congratulated herself on her impulse to bring Penelope lunch.
They continued eating until Penelope folded her wrapper and tossed it in the trash.
“Is this solely an unofficial-slash-social check-in or did Francesca want something?”
“It’s not about business.” Lucia held Penelope’s gaze. “But if there’s something you need to tell us, I can relay that information.”
“Varnelli contacted me again. I was wrong. She’s not letting this go and is still pushing to get out of the loan contract, talking about lawyers and bad press for the Meridian.”
“I see. What’s the usual protocol for this?”
“Well, she signed a contract, but it’s still her property.” Penelope waved her off. “Yes, yes. I know. No need to defend your surrogate mother.”
Lucia pursed her lips.
“Montgomery doesn’t want to lose the painting, so it’s unlikely anything happens. And knowing Varnelli, she’s about as fond of spectacles and attention as Francesca, so I doubt she’ll take this to court.”
“Yeah.”
Penelope brushed crumbs off her desk. “But you might want to let people know about the urgency behind it.”
Lucia nodded. The space between them felt fragile, like glass that would shatter if she reached too far.
She hated how her relationship with Penelope wasn’t clear-cut, that all this Collective and Madonna business stood between them and whatever they could be.
Potentially even dooming them. On the other hand, would they even have met otherwise?
“And Lucia? We might want to keep our contact mostly…digital. For many reasons.” She shot her a significant look.
Lucia’s pulse stumbled. She blinked once, twice. What had she expected? Something more, maybe. Stupid. Hope truly was a cruel companion. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
Penelope’s eyes flickered, almost like she wanted to take it back. Then she said, softer, “Please don’t be. I did enjoy seeing you. This is all just…complicated.”
“I know.” Lucia nodded once, forcing a smile. When she left, the faint click of the door behind her sounded louder than it should have. She didn’t look back.