Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“That’s what Elena said.”
“Elena? You’re on a first-name basis with Elena Cartwright. How in the world?” Maeve asks.
That’s part of the whole explanation thing I can’t handle, but maybe . . .
Stick to the art, Luna.
“I, uhm, met Elena. And, well, she showed me Thomas’s collection. It’s amazing, with Renoir, Van Gogh, Picasso, and some lesser-known artists too. I even got to see pieces Mr. Cartwright did himself.” I gain steam as I describe Thomas’s collection because the joy of seeing it comes back to me. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. There are pieces I’d never heard of or seen in books. I wanted to sit and stare at them, study them inch by inch. I could’ve spent hours and hours, and I thought, if I wanted to do that, other people would too. So I suggested the exhibition as a way to honor him, and—”
Maeve interrupts me. “Breathe, Luna. You’re turning blue.”
Maeve is smiling warmly at my exuberance, but I’m waiting for her to yell at me. For what? I don’t know.
For speaking for the museum without permission? For volunteering us for an exhibition? For wanting to be in charge of anything beyond tours? For not answering her question about my last name?
None of that happens. She just expects me to breathe.
I take the breath she ordered me to, and with a wavering smile, I meet her eyes. “Hi,” I say unsurely.
“Good job. I’m proud of you for thinking of the museum during what sounds like a really special tour. I’ll email Mrs. Cartwright to follow up on her visit today?”
I’m silent until I feel Maeve looking at me expectantly. I realize she wasn’t telling me that, she’s asking me . . . as if I’m already in charge of the exhibition. “Oh! Yes, of course.”
Maeve nods and stands, tapping away on her phone before she’s even out of the room.
This is happening! A Thomas Cartwright collection right here at the museum, and it sounds like I’ll get to help coordinate it.
Needing to celebrate this with someone, I grab my phone to text Carter.
You won’t believe this! Elena came to the museum today to talk about the exhibition! I gave her a tour!
I should definitely use fewer exclamation points, but I’m so excited that I’m basically vibrating. Texting like a middle-school girl is the least of my worries, so I hit Send and wait.
Less than a minute later, I get a response.
Carter: That’s awesome. Congratulations! I can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.
Me: How was your meeting?
Carter: I don’t know yet. He wasn’t as receptive as I’d hoped.
Me: Oh, no! I’m sorry. Anything I can do?
The three dots are there for a long time, and I wonder if he’s typing a novel. Or more likely, typing something dirty and then deleting it, and I feel a smile steal my lips at the idea.
Carter: All good. I don’t give up that easily.
Luna: Me neither.
Carter: Good girl. I’m heading into a meeting. See you tonight?
I send back a quick heart emoji and put my phone away.
It’s not till after my next tour that I realize that I didn’t text Samantha, Zack, or even my mom when I got the great news about the exhibition. My first and only thought was that I wanted to talk to Carter.
But that doesn’t feel like a bad thing at all.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
CARTER
After Luna tells me about Elena’s weird museum visit with twenty questions and the dinner invitation, I spend the night tossing and turning with my mind running a million miles a minute. I feel three steps behind, and it’s not a feeling I like, but staring at the ceiling isn’t helping.
What was Claire doing at Oleana’s office?
Why did Elena go to the museum after that?
Is this dinner to tell us that it’s all a go?
Or to tell us that she’s going a different direction with both her money and Thomas’s art?
I scoot away from Luna, planning to leave her blissfully sleeping while I go to the living room to plot and plan, obsess and analyze. But she mumbles, “Carter, where’re ya goin’?”
If it was only the half-asleep mumble, I could’ve headed to the living room, but Luna’s reaching out for me with grabby fingers and an unhappy moan is too much for me to bear. I lay back down, and she snuggles into me, her head on my chest and body pressed against me. I feel her cheek move and realize that she’s smiling in her sleep.
Because of me.
Having Luna in my arms is a joy I never dreamed of having. I honestly don’t know that I ever truly saw her before this whole thing. She was my friend’s little sister, but now . . . I see her. I know her. I feel her.
I run my fingers over her arm and press a kiss to her hair. Not for her, but to soothe myself. I have a bad feeling about this dinner, but I vow to myself that I won’t let anything happen to Luna.