Page 11 of Forever: The Companion

FIVE

“So, did the fourteen-year-old cramp your style last night or …?”

Lucia laughed at Renzo’s sister’s suggestion as she moved from the smaller illuminated table to the bigger one with an art print in her hand. She needed more space to do what she needed to do. Setting the print to the table and grabbing her magnifying glasses, she answered Rose back with, “You know I don’t mind Diego staying the night.”

“Yeah, but Ren just got home, right? How long was he gone?”

“Three weeks this time.”

“Right, so again …”

“I promise I don’t mind. We had fun. He passed out on the couch after I filled him full of soda—”

“You did not give him soda.”

Lucia barked out a laugh. “No, I didn’t.”

“Good. Swear the kid’s fucking addicted to the shit.”

“And he asked when Ren was going to take him to see that show … the uh, the car one he’s talked about for the last year.”

“Are you asking me? Because as long as the car works and takes me from point A to point B, I am a happy girl.”

Lucia shook her head and pulled the glasses from her eyes to blink over at the phone resting on the table where she had it set on speaker for this conversation. “Anyway, that’s coming up, so you might want to get all the details hammered out with Ren.”

“Will do. Thanks again, huh?”

“You know I love that kid.”

“Yeah, I do. Let me get back to this painting.”

“Mmhmm. Are you ever going to let me have a showing for you or what?”

“Someday,” Rose joked.

She didn’t know if she believed it or not, but she wasn’t going to push. Some artists just had their own way of doing things. To be honest, Rose had carved out her own path and name in the art world without much help from anyone else. Plus, there was that whole don’t mix family and business thing.

It might be better if they didn’t work together.

Either way, she was proud of Rose.

Absolutely.

“Later, Lucia.”

“You, too.”

With the phone call ended, Lucia went back to her work of surveying an art print that she was supposed to find a buyer for, after a client decided it was no longer needed for his personal collection. Which didn’t make that much sense to her, considering the piece originally sold for over twenty thousand American dollars.

And now, it was worth more.

But whatever.

He wanted to sell it; she’d sell it.

That was part of her job.

Lucia was so lost in her work that she didn’t even hear the buzz of her intercom, which signaled her assistant at the front of her gallery was calling through for whatever reason. In fact, she stayed so focused on the print in front of her that the only thing to drag her attention away from it was the sound of a familiar voice echoing down the hall.