Chapter 39 Respite
Respite
Penelope laughed when Skye missed an easy shot as the woman she’d been eyeing all evening walked by and smiled at Skye.
Lucia groaned. “Damn it, Skye! That was our chance to end them.”
“Sorry.” Skye rubbed the back of her neck, gaze still fixed on the woman at the bar. “Let’s finish this, all right?”
Lucia shook her head. “You’re useless.”
“Well, Ms. Rossi, looks like you’ve picked the wrong partner after all,” Penelope said, leaning over the table to align her shot. She only had to sink the six ball and then the eight.
“Ohh, someone’s in trouble,” Jules said. “Serves you right for being so damn competitive.”
“Whatever,” Lucia mumbled. “Pen hasn’t made the shot yet.”
The white ball slammed into the six ball, followed by the thump of it dropping into a pocket.
“You were saying?” Penelope asked.
Lucia pursed her lips but held Penelope’s gaze.
“I think your error was assuming that because I haven’t played in a while, I’d be bad at this.”
“No, my mistake was trying to protect you from these sharks…”
“Hey!” Jules exclaimed.
“Meanwhile,” Lucia continued, “you’re a freaking megalodon.”
Penelope laughed.
“Don’t mind her. She’s a sore loser,” Jules said.
“Blackwell, can you put us out of this misery?” Skye called from the sidelines, her eyes still drifting toward the bar.
“Traitor.” Lucia tightened her grip on the cue.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you,” Penelope said before lining up the cue ball. With a sharp clang, it shot the eight ball into the right corner pocket.
“Yes!” Jules called.
Lucia sighed.
Penelope put the cue back and strode toward her, leaning close. “Maybe next time, stick with me?”
Lucia grasped her hips, pulling her closer. “You bet. Congratulations, Dr. Blackwell. You played a hell of a game.”
“Thank you, Ms. Rossi. You weren’t so bad yourself.”
“Unlike my teammate.”
“Hmm, you can’t fault Skye for being distracted by a beautiful woman.”
“I suppose.”
Penelope shivered at the heat in Lucia’s gaze.
“How do you plan to make it up to me?”
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see when we get back home.” She pressed a light kiss against Lucia’s lips, savoring her closeness.
“Hey! Enough of that. I didn’t expect to be the third wheel. The night is young, dartboard, anyone?” Jules said.
“Maybe another time?” Lucia said.
“Seriously? Skye just ditched us, and now you’re bailing, too?”
“No, we’re not. We came out to have fun,” Penelope said, clasping Lucia’s hand.
Lucia pouted but followed along, and after waving to Skye, they all headed to the back corner of the bar toward the dartboards.
Penelope enjoyed the outing more than she’d expected, and warmth settled deep in her chest. Yet later, as their dart game wrapped up—Jules slaughtering them both—and Lucia squeezed her hand, her smile faltered.
Found family was one thing. But there were still ties she hadn’t untangled, ghosts she hadn’t faced, and one in particular she could no longer ignore.
~ ~ ~
The door fell shut behind Penelope with a loud clang. She clutched her purse strap, fingers tense and unmoving. The room was musty, almost dank. A small wooden table stood between two rickety chairs.
This was a mistake.
She couldn’t even pace, and instead resembled a statue, turned to stone by her own daring, or perhaps by the anticipation of the door across from her opening and revealing—
The door opened, and Penelope’s mind stalled.
A man in a beige jumpsuit wearing handcuffs entered the room.
“Pen?” he croaked. “What are you doing here? They said my lawyer—”
“I called in a favor. I knew you wouldn’t come if they said it was me.”
The door closed again, leaving the two of them alone in this barren room. The walls were painted a flat, institutional lime—bordering on vomit-green. Whoever designed this room had no eye for color.
“Can we please sit and talk, Dad?”
He sighed, hesitated, but then nodded and shuffled to sit down on a chair.
Penelope followed suit, and at first, they only stared at each other.
“I wish you’d not come here,” Richard finally broke the silence.
“And I wish you’d been honest with me.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I couldn’t crack all your codes, but I pieced together enough. Your notes and my research painted a clear picture—and it’s bleak.”
He ground his jaw.
“What I don’t understand is why—why put us through this? Why lie?”
The metal of his cuffs scraped over the wooden surface as he folded his hands and lowered his head.
“I didn’t want to hurt you and your mom more than I already had.”
Words she’d practiced became stuck in her throat, and her heart fell into her stomach like a bird who’d forgotten how to fly. She’d still carried a glimmer of hope that she’d been wrong, that she’d misread it, that there’d been some other explanation than the truth: Her father had been complicit.
“I was just…reckless.”
“Reckless?” Penelope snapped, her back straightening. “You lied to us! For what? To cover up laundering stolen art and God knows what else.” Her anger dimmed—just a little—as Lucia’s face flashed in her mind, and shame crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks scarlet.
“I… It started as a favor for a friend. It didn’t seem like a huge deal, and then…
” He looked at Penelope. “It worked. No one knew or suspected a thing, and it became a kind of thrill. Almost a competition between us. Like, ‘What else can we get away with?’” Richard sighed.
“Barry is the one who got me in touch with…that woman.”
Penelope narrowed her eyes. “How old are you? This was about thrills? Wouldn’t there have been a more legal way to achieve that?”
“I know it was dumb, and I deserve everything I got and more. I just… I’d already lost everything related to my career, my freedom.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to lose my family, too.”
Penelope exhaled sharply, her vision blurring. She froze. “Wait, Barry, as in Whitfield?”
Her father’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. He’s an old buddy of mine from school. Why?”
“Nothing. His name popped up, but I was never able to place him fully, outside of his ties to…that woman.”
Richard nodded, turning his hands, palms up, inching closer toward Penelope. “I’m sorry, Pen. I know I let you down.”
Penelope paused, glancing at her father’s hands for what seemed like eons before she reached out and interlocked their fingers, allowing his warm and familiar touch to anchor her.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice broke.
“I know, Dad. I know.”
~ ~ ~
“Are you sure this looks all right?” Penelope asked, standing in front of the mirror, gazing down at her navy wrap dress.
“Yes. You look beautiful. I don’t understand why you’re so nervous. You’ve been to Francesca’s before and met all these people already.”
“As the curator of the Meridian joining forces with the Collective. That’s a far cry from showing up as your girlfriend. Francesca’s practically your mother!”
“Aww, and you want her to like you?”
“Watch it, Ms. Rossi, or you’re going stag.”
Lucia held up both hands. “No offense, Dr. Blackwell. I think it’s cute.”
“Let’s go. Waiting makes everything worse.”
“As you wish.”
They left Lucia’s house and drove to Francesca’s estate. Once there, Penelope carried a bottle of Barolo in her hands as they ascended the stairs and rang the doorbell.
Lucia squeezed her hand.
The door opened and Francesca stood there, dressed in black slacks and a flowing ivory blouse, smiling at them. “You made it! The others are already inside. Come on in.”
They followed her inside and after greeting everyone, they settled in the sunroom for aperitifs and small talk.
The room was flooded with warm, late-afternoon light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the estate’s tall magnolias and crepe myrtles, their shadows stretching long across the tiled floor.
Francesca poured Americanos and set out a small tray with olives, roasted almonds, and thin grissini wrapped in prosciutto.
After a while, Francesca cleared her throat.
“I wanted to thank you all for joining me tonight, and for all the hard work you’ve put into our little collective over the years. And Penelope, I wish we could have done more for you. Your assistance was greatly appreciated.”
Penelope nodded, her ears heating.
“What are you gonna do next?” Skye asked. “Lucia said you might retire, but I told her you’re not that old yet.”
“Charming,” Francesca drawled. “I’m undecided. Dismantling the Collective is more labor-intensive than I anticipated. Six weeks in and the work is still in its infancy.”
“Maybe that’s a sign,” Jules said. “Not to continue, just… I don’t know. Something else.”
“Did you all collaborate on this?” Francesca asked, mirth dancing in her eyes.
“On what?” Jules asked.
Francesca’s gaze swept to Lucia.
“I may have suggested something similar a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, cool. Great minds and all, right?” Jules said.
Francesca made a noncommittal noise and drank her coffee.
“It does seem like a shame to tear something down that could be used for good,” Penelope said.
“You, too, huh?” Francesca asked. “It’s not as simple as turning the ship around. There are legal and reputational risks.”
Penelope nodded. “True, but the idea is still worthwhile.”
“See? Even Blackwell agrees.” Skye shot Penelope a half smile. “Anyway, I’m starving. Can we move this along to the dining room?”
“You’re the worst,” Lucia mumbled.
Skye only shrugged.
“All right, let’s go then,” Francesca said.
“Did you cook all these dishes?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide when Francesca guided them to the serving table that held a variety of dishes: eggplant involtini stuffed with ricotta and herbs, grilled sea bass with lemon and capers; handmade pappardelle with wild mushroom ragù; roasted fennel and citrus salad; focaccia with rosemary and sea salt; and, for dessert, a pear and gorgonzola tart.
The aromas mingled: bright citrus, savory herbs, the earthy richness of mushrooms, all comforting and quietly celebratory.
Francesca arched a brow. “I had help. I’m dedicated, not a martyr. Although these are some of my favorite dishes growing up.”
The dinner flowed by in an amiable atmosphere, filled with banter about the past from this little misfit family—one that had grown closer to Penelope than she’d ever admit—as well as talk of a future built around a benevolent and legal Collective.
“Jules could even create a website, something like, —has a ring to it, no?”
“I’ll definitely need health insurance if we’re going legit,” Jules said.
“Why is everyone acting like this is a done deal?” Francesca asked.
“It makes sense and is an efficient use of resources, and we all know you’re a big fan of that,” Lucia said. “Besides, doing nothing will get boring. You need another challenge.”
“I quite enjoy doing nothing right now.”
“I’d not call dismantling the Collective nothing,” Lucia said.
“There’s that, yes. It is…tedious. But it’s also administrative for the most part. Less likely to get my heart pounding.”
“Yes, I believe that such a respite is needed and well deserved. But too much of it? That’s stagnation. Life abhors homeostasis,” Lucia said.
Penelope gave her a wry look. “I thought life despises chaos?”
“I think you’re both quoting the wrong philosopher,” Jules said, waving her fork.
“Nature abhors a vacuum,” Francesca said.
“Yes, that rings a bell.” Lucia scrunched up her brows. “But I stand by my version. Life resists stillness. It’s all about change and disruption.”
“I’d still prefer a little less chaos,” Penelope said.
“I’m with your girlfriend for now,” Francesca said. “Give me a bit of calm before I have to jump into the next adventure, but I will pause my efforts to demolish the Collective until we’ve decided what to do.”
“We?” Lucia asked.
“Yes, well, we are a family, aren’t we? We should figure it out together, especially since you all seem to be so eager. But don’t worry, I’ll put you all to work. That includes you, Penelope.”
Penelope smiled, while the others cheered, then lost themselves in their conversations.
She leaned back in her chair, her hand finding Lucia’s under the table as she took in these women who had completely changed her life.
Outside, the sky had darkened, casting the windows in soft indigo. Candlelight flickered across the table, catching smiles and glints of wine.
Lucia squeezed her hand, smiling at her so openly and so full of affection that Penelope’s breath caught.
What had begun as a plan rooted in hurt—justice tangled with revenge—had become a lifeline Penelope hadn’t known she needed, guiding her to a place where she truly felt like she belonged.
Her research into Belgrave Trust had stalled; Lewis remained little more than a ghost, leading nowhere. And for now, she was at peace with letting it rest.
Life with Lucia and with this wondrous collective, so unlike what she used to think family meant, filled her with warmth, joy, and a quiet thrill for whatever came next.