Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ella
The streets of Miami stretched out in front of me, a blur of familiar landmarks barely registered in my mind as I drove. Usually, this drive to my parents’ house felt like a warm hug, a reminder that some things stayed constant no matter how chaotic life got. But tonight, the city’s neon lights and palm tree silhouettes couldn’t cut through the turmoil I was feeling.
Marshall’s words echoed in my thoughts, looping like a song I couldn’t turn off. With every mile I drove, the weight of his revelation sank deeper into my chest. I had promised to keep his confidence and assured him his trust was safe with me. But how was I supposed to face Lucas, knowing what I knew, and say nothing?
His father’s gallery—no, his entire legacy—is under scrutiny.
Marshall’s revelation had thrown a spotlight on the side of the Devereux family that Lucas either didn’t know about or had chosen to ignore. Either way, I was honor-bound to keep the secret.
What about my friends? Marshall had taken a significant risk by confiding in me—protecting both Bess and me. If I revealed what I knew, it could not only cost him his job but also put him in danger. The stakes were incredibly high, and I felt trapped, like a tightrope walker without a safety net.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my knuckles going white. Was there any way to balance honesty with Lucas and loyalty to Marshall? My stomach churned as I thought about it, my mind racing through scenarios that all ended badly. No matter what I did, someone would get hurt. The thought was paralyzing.
The sound of my car’s engine was punctuated by the occasional blare of a horn and the distant thrum of music from passing cars. Normally, I’d turn on the radio and let the upbeat tunes or soothing melodies drown out my thoughts. But tonight, silence felt more fitting—a reflection of the storm brewing inside me.
At least I didn’t have to deal with this tonight. I’d texted Lucas earlier, letting him know I’d be working late. It wasn’t a lie—not exactly. The Chagall exhibit needed my attention, and there were ads to monitor and last-minute details to finalize. But the real reason I’d postponed seeing him was the hope that I’d have more clarity by the time we talked. So far, that hope felt like a long shot.
I exhaled slowly, trying to shake the tension out of my shoulders as I turned onto Royal Palm Street, where my parents and I owned homes. Their house came into view, a cozy bungalow framed by the soft glow of porch lights and the sway of palm fronds in the evening breeze.
Despite the chaos in my head, a small part of me felt a flicker of relief. Here, at least, I could press pause on the storm and focus on Bess and my parents. The conversation with Lucas could wait until later. For now, I’d let the warmth of home be my anchor, even if only for a little while.
I barely had time to step out of the car before the front door flew open and Bess came running out, her laughter bubbling over as she barreled toward me. She was wearing her favorite pink leggings and a t-shirt with a princess on it, her pigtails bouncing with each step.
“Aunt Ella!” she shouted, flinging her arms around my waist.
I bent down to scoop her up, her little arms wrapping tightly around my neck. “There’s my girl! Did you miss me?”
“Uh-huh!” she nodded enthusiastically. “Guess what? Grandma, let me help make dinner! I put the cheese on the lasagna all by myself.”
“You did?” I asked, feigning surprise. “Then I’m sure it’s going to be the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”
“It is!” She declared confidently as I set her down. She grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the house. “Come on! Grandma says it’s ready.”
Inside, the familiar aroma of garlic and tomato sauce greeted me, making my stomach rumble despite the tension still gathered there. My mom stood at the dining table, placing the last of the silverware. She looked up and smiled warmly.
“Ella, you’re just in time,” she said, waving me over. “I made enough for you, so no excuses.”
“You know I can’t say no to your lasagna,” I replied, my lips curving into a smile despite everything weighing on me.
We settled around the table, Bess claiming the seat next to mine and launching into a detailed retelling of her day. She’d painted a picture of a dragon at daycare, played hide-and-seek, and then helped my mom in the kitchen. Her infectious excitement drew me out of my head for a while.
“How are things at the museum?” Mom asked, passing me the basket of garlic bread.
“Busy,” I admitted, taking a piece. “The Chagall exhibit opens soon, so we’ve been finalizing ads and prepping the gallery. It’s a lot, but it’ll be worth it.”
“I saw one of the ads on TV earlier,” Dad chimed in. “It looked good. You’ve done a great job, Ella.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I smiled, warmth spreading through me at his praise.
It felt like old times for a moment—just us sitting around the table, sharing stories and laughs. But even as I giggled at one of Bess’s antics, my thoughts drifted back to Lucas. The weight of what I knew loomed in the background, impossible to ignore for long. How was I going to tell him? Could I tell him?
After dinner, I helped Mom clear the table and load the dishwasher. She glanced at me as we worked, her brow creased with concern.
“You’re quiet tonight,” she said softly. “Everything okay?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Just a lot on my mind. Work stuff, mostly.”
“If you ever need to talk, you know I’m here,” she said, resting a hand on my shoulder.
“I know. Thanks, Mom.”
Once the dishes were done, I hugged them both goodbye and kissed Bess on the forehead. “Be good for Grandma and Grandpa, okay?”
“I’m always good,” she said with a cheeky grin.
“Sure you are,” I teased, fluffing her bangs.
As I walked back to my car, I felt a small pang of guilt for not staying longer. But the truth was, I needed the quiet of my home to sort through the storm in my head. The warmth of my parent’s home had steadied me, but I wasn’t ready to face the bigger storm waiting on the horizon.
Back at my house, I let out a sigh of relief as the door closed behind me. The quiet enveloped me, a refreshing contrast to the lively chatter and laughter at my parents’ home. I removed my shoes and changed into my most comfortable yoga pants and an oversized shirt, the soft fabric providing a small comfort against the lingering tension in my chest.
I turned on the TV and scrolled through local channels until I found the ads for the Chagall exhibit. The vibrant colors and elegant graphics danced across the screen, but the satisfaction I usually felt when seeing my work on display was diminished. The experience felt mechanical, as if I were merely going through the motions.
My thoughts inevitably circled back to Lucas. What would he say if he knew? Would he understand why I’d kept this from him, or would he see it as a betrayal? The questions gnawed at me, each one heavier than the last. I wanted his support, but I couldn’t shake the fear of what sharing the truth might do to my friends and to us.
Finally, I grabbed my phone, hesitating for a moment before typing out a text:
Ella: Hey, I’m home now. If you’re free, come over.
I stared at the message, my finger poised over the send button. Part of me wanted to delete it and push the conversation with Lucas further down the line. But another part—a braver, quieter voice—reminded me that delaying the inevitable wouldn’t make it any easier. With a deep breath, I pressed send and set the phone down, my heart thudding widely.
Then the screen lit up moments later with his reply:
Lucas: On my way!
He was coming, and I had no idea if I was ready for what would come next.
I moved to the couch, sinking into the cushions and pulling a blanket over my legs. The TV murmured in the background, and another ad for the Chagall exhibit flashed across the screen. I tried to focus on it, on anything but the turmoil rising inside me.
My heart rate increased as headlights illuminated my window. I held my breath, waiting for the sound of his car pulling up and the abrupt slam of a car door. Finally, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for what was about to happen.
Lucas had arrived.