Chapter 32 Choices
Choices
Lucia’s chair creaked as she leaned back, her gaze darting across the room. She probably should have worked on her delivery. Maybe then, the news about Penelope’s phone call with Varnelli would not have gone off like a bomb during Francesca’s planning session.
“Isn’t it a bit…too convenient? So what, your girlfriend’s so tight with Varnelli they chat on the phone?” Skye asked, her voice barbed.
“I told you, she called to ask about her father. She had every right to do that.”
“That’s what she told you. For all we know, Blackwell’s been playing us the entire time. Maybe she’s Varnelli’s mole!”
“You just wanna place the fault on someone else when you weren’t even able to resist a puppy email!” Lucia snapped back, her voice brittle, thinner than she’d intended. Why are we doing this shit again, Skye?
“The trouble started way before! Jules’s machine was already infected with something, and—”
“Wait, wait.” Jules’s brows furrowed. “Hold on. Skye’s paranoia aside, what if Varnelli is feeding off something Blackwell doesn’t realize she’s giving away? Loose ends? A trace somewhere?”
Lucia bristled. “She’s not careless. And she’s not feeding Varnelli.”
“You sound awfully sure for someone who’s known her all of five minutes,” Skye said.
“I trust her.”
“Trust is cheap when the wrong person cashes it.”
“That’s enough,” Francesca said, her tone low but sharp enough to cut across the argument.
She gathered the scattered papers into a neat stack.
“We won’t waste our energy tearing into each other.
Blackwell may have flaws, but betrayal isn’t one of them.
If she were working with Varnelli, we’d already be in handcuffs. ”
The room stilled, and the tightness in Lucia’s chest eased. She didn’t know what she’d have done if Francesca had turned on Penelope.
Jules spoke into the stillness, quieter this time. “Then we take her warning seriously? It seems kinda vague, but you know Varnelli best. Is that what she meant?”
Francesca’s features hardened. “Yes. We will have to adapt the plan.”
Jules shot a quick glance at Lucia before focusing on Francesca again. “What about hitting the warehouse a day earlier? We’ll catch them off guard and make some changes to the entry strategy.”
“Yes, that’s our best move. Lucia, see if Blackwell has had any other contact. Also, ask if the Meridian is still raising concerns about the humidity glitch. Last thing we need is scrutiny on your Madonna.”
Lucia nodded. Jules inclined her head as well.
Skye muttered something below her breath, but Francesca’s gaze sliced toward her, cold enough to still her tongue.
“Good,” Francesca said. “Then let’s focus.”
By the time they were done, Lucia’s nerves were going haywire. Yes, she wanted to help Francesca, but the plan seemed to hinge on so many variables going just right. Never mind that no one seemed to seriously consider that this could be a trap.
She returned home and, instead of heading inside, cut straight toward the studio. The sun hung low, casting long stripes of light across the path. Pebbles shifted beneath her boots with each step, the faint scrape louder than it should have been in the quiet.
At the door, she paused, drew a deep breath, and stepped inside.
The familiar scents of paint and linseed oil wrapped around her—the flecks of color on the floor, the half-used tubes and jars filled with brushes, the stacks of canvases along the walls, waiting for her to pour this tightness onto them.
Lucia needed out.
Not for Penelope, though it would help there, too; she didn’t think Penelope would be too keen on a relationship with an art forger. Criminal. Whatever.
She wanted to see what else was out there and where she could take her art. Lucia had enough savings to keep her afloat for a while, free from worrying about a regular job just yet, but where would she even start?
It was easy to want out. Even quitting didn’t seem terribly hard, especially since Francesca wouldn’t make it difficult. But the problem?
Lucia worried she might not know what to do with so much freedom. Without the structured scaffolding that had been her life for the last two decades, she might collapse. Could she even make it away from the Collective?
Lucia gritted her teeth and snatched up a blank canvas to put it on an easel. Painting usually eased her worries or at least allowed her to forget about them for a while.
Instead of forcing form, Lucia just let her brushes glide over the canvas, dipping into scarlet and indigo, adding specks of verdant green until it all became a blur of colors—freedom daubed onto the white background.
When she took a few steps back later, her breath caught. Her chest felt tight—like something had landed there and refused to move. She wouldn’t want to show this piece to her psychologist if she had one—which, come to think of, wouldn’t be the worst of ideas.
Her idea of freedom, her longing, still lived in a cage. Was she the bird that didn’t fly away when the door opened?
God, since when was she so melodramatic? But the hard lines and angular boundaries in something she thought would be lighthearted and free—the way the colors blended into shadows… No. She wasn’t there yet, not in her heart, it seemed. Her shoulders drooped.
“Fucking hell,” she muttered and wiped her hands before exiting the bungalow for home.
~ ~ ~
The next morning, she texted Penelope.
How are you?
Good. How about you? Came the immediate reply, and with it, a smile curved Lucia’s lips. She really shouldn’t have missed Penelope already.
Doing all right. I told them about what you said.
And?
We’re adjusting the plan. Thanks again for the heads-up.
Please be careful.
I always am.
She stroked her thumb over Penelope’s last message and sighed. Be careful. No one but Francesca had ever said that to her, and it left her almost breathless.
After wolfing down a quick breakfast and completing the checklist Francesca had sent her late last night (confirming equipment drop-off times, double-checking route maps, and running a silent alarm test on the burner phone Jules had configured), she headed back to her studio to take another stab at the painting she’d created yesterday.
She’d just set up and dipped the bristles into purple paint when a sharp knock on her front door almost made her drop the brush.
“Damn it.” She strode to the door and stopped short as she pulled it open.
Skye stood there, hands shoved into her jeans pockets. “Hey. Can I come in?”
Lucia stepped aside, shut the door, and followed Skye back inside.
“What brings you here?” Lucia asked. “Need to fling some more accusations?”
“No.”
Skye just stood in front of the easel, staring at Lucia’s most recent painting. The light caught on one corner of it, where the crimson bled into storm gray.
“I’m bringing gear from Jules.” She jostled her small backpack.
“I see,” Lucia said. “What’s it this time?”
“Additional burner and an updated access map. Jules figured we’d better be flexible.”
“Thanks.”
“Mmhmm.” Skye squinted at the canvas. “This is kinda shit, isn’t it? Like you couldn’t decide what to lean into and mixed everything instead into this”—she gave a lopsided shrug—“hodge-podge of ‘I tried but can’t’?”
Lucia sighed, fighting the impulse to snatch the bag and kick Skye out. “As charming as ever. I thought we’d found a truce, no?”
Skye almost flinched, her expression cagey.
“Are you just here for a tech run and to insult me, or is anything else weighing on you, Skylar?”
“Right. Sorry.” She paused. “I just… Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yeah. It’s time to move on.”
“All because of Blackwell? Is she that good?”
When Lucia opened her mouth to snap back, Skye raised her hand.
“No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t making fun or talking about sex.
” She ran a hand through her hair. “I just… It seems kinda sudden that you want out, and the thing that’s different is Blackwell, so she must be good.
To you, or like… I don’t know. She makes you happy? ”
Lucia smiled. “She does, though we’re not… We’re still figuring stuff out. But no. It’s not because of her, though I’d be lying if I said she’s had no impact. She definitely gave me a little push to step up.”
Skye’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Want water or tea?” Lucia hadn’t expected a heart-to-heart with Skye, especially not after her reaction at the planning meeting. But you never knew with Skye.
“Unsweetened tea?”
“Sure.” Lucia headed to the kitchenette and grabbed two glasses, filled them, and handed one to Skye.
“Thanks. Uh… Where do you sit here?”
“I don’t.” Her voice came out with a small laugh. Maybe she should invest in a bean bag or something. She could picture it already: herself painting while Penelope curled up in the chair beside her, reading.
“Oh.” Skye lowered herself to the floor, crossed her legs and leaned back on one hand.
Lucia joined her.
“So?” Skye prompted.
“Why do you want to know?” Lucia asked.
Skye shrugged, acting as if she couldn’t care less, yet her fingers flicked against the glass in her hand.
“Like I said, it’s sudden. At least for me.
I don’t… I hate that you’re leaving and, yes, I need to keep working on expressing my pain differently, but let’s not psychoanalyze me. I’m here for you.”
“You want to psychoanalyze me instead?” Lucia bit back a smile.
“What?” Skye lowered her glass. “No. I just… I want to make sure you know what you’re doing, and that you’re not rushing in because of some hot and heavy arrangement.”
Lucia snorted. “I’m fine. It isn’t sudden, not from the inside. I’ve been thinking about quitting for the last…five years or so.”
“Five years? What the fuck? Why? And why did it take you so long to make a move?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m loyal, and I didn’t… I don’t want to disappoint Francesca, not after all she’s done for me.”
Skye nodded. “I get that. That’s still so long. Were you miserable the entire time?”
“No. Just sometimes. It comes and goes.” Lucia sighed. “There were days when I felt like jumping out of my skin. Like I needed to leave now—yesterday. But then things calmed down, and it wasn’t so bad anymore.”
“And now it’s mostly bad?”
“No. It’s OK, actually. I just reached the point where I’ve realized I don’t have to integrate and flatten out being miserable. I don’t have to live a life that, at its core, makes me unhappy.”
“So, what’s the plan? What do you think will make you happy?”
“I mean, I’ll continue with my art. Focus on my own stuff. See where this thing with Penelope leads.”
“And that will be enough?”
“It might. But it’ll be what I chose, and for the first time, it feels like I have the right to do that. To choose something just because I want it.”
Skye smiled, and Lucia couldn’t help but feel touched. Their relationship continued to be volatile, and maybe that would never change, but Skye genuinely cared, even if she hid it beneath a ton of spikes.