by Maggie Marr
No, Devon could be anonymous in L.A., and specifically Venice. His self-made billionaire bachelor status didn’t draw a crowd. And after last year? Devon didn’t want a crowd.
“I love Los Angeles, and I really dig Venice.”
Anthony tugged at the knot of his tie to loosen it. “What’s not to like, living the beach bum lifestyle?” He gave Devon a weary look, his tone acid, sarcastic. “But really? What can you expect to accomplish in L.A.? You’re not an actor or a producer. I could maybe understand if you wanted to be in the Industry, but L.A.? Really? Aside from film and TV, there’s nothing cutting edge out there.”
“Maybe I don’t want cutting edge.”
Again that same disapproving look, as though Devon were being a difficult teenager. The very idea that Devon no longer desired to take over the world, that he might not need to be the biggest titan of industry on the planet, didn’t compute. For at least two of his three older brothers, telling them that he might want to spend his time and effort doing more than just making more money was like speaking to them in Aramaic.
“I don’t understand.”
Devon smiled, knowing his older brother was having a hard time with this. How could he explain? Devon wasn’t even certain he could articulate what had created the desire gnawing at his soul to give back, to do more, to be more than just his bank account. Testifying in court, having his and his family’s lives threatened, had caused a foundational shift in his psyche, shown him how all his money actually had little to do with what mattered in life. The experience had fundamentally changed what Devon wanted. He could never again define success solely by numbers on a balance sheet.
“Life is about more than making money.”
“More?” Anthony leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. “Okay, a wife and kids, right? Of course. I mean, we all discovered that we wanted that.”
Devon shook his head. “Yes, but not just that. More than that.”
Anthony narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.
“Do you ever project your thoughts forward to say…when you’re eighty, and think about what you’ll call a success when you look back over your life?”
“Eighty? God, no.” Anthony shuddered. “Who wants to be eighty? I don’t even want to be forty. What the hell? Are you depressed? You know, there’s medication—”
“I’m not depressed,” Devon sighed. “I just want to be a part of something with a bigger goal than profit. We’ve made money. We’ve made so much money we could be our own country. Our children, our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren are set for life, even if none of us ever made another dime.”
“Bite your tongue.”
Devon smiled.
Anthony bristled.
“I don’t think the endless pursuit of money is what I want anymore, and that includes running the hospitality division of Travati Financial.”
“Stop.” Anthony held up his hands. “You went through a traumatic event. That changes a person. Your testimony, the threats against all of us, the near abduction—”
Devon’s stomach pitched forward and his throat tightened. None of his brothers ever brought up the attempted kidnapping. Not once. Sergey’s last attempt at revenge, his final fit of rage before the feds had begun to dismantle the remnants of his criminal network. Security had apprehended three armed thugs in the lobby of Justin’s building, headed upstairs to the penthouse. Aubrey, Max, the baby—even Shelly and Gwen had been there. All in harm’s way, because of him. His fault. All of it. Sergey had been behind bars, and yet he’d gotten close to destroying the next generation. Devon would never forgive himself for putting his family at risk.
“After all that, it makes sense that you’re questioning your life and your work, but you shouldn’t just quit. Don’t let them make you run away. Don’t resign, don’t stop being a Travati.”
“I can’t exactly stop being a Travati.”
“Really? How exactly does this family define itself?”
“Through our work.”
Anthony nodded. “Through our fearless success.”
“I’m not afraid. And I still want success, but my definition of success has changed.”
Anthony glanced away. His nostrils flared. “Okay, say you stop defining yourself through your work and you stay in California away from your family. Have you really considered what you’re giving up? Who you’ll hurt?” He turned back and aimed a piercing stare at Devon through the screen. “You’re giving us up. All of us. So you can swim in a really cold ocean, watch waves, look at the sunset, and define your own ‘success.’”
Devon sighed. Yes, being away from his family was difficult, especially now that it was growing. He knew part of the price of staying was not seeing his brothers’ kids grow up.
“You’ve been gone close to a year, and I thought that would be long enough. Maybe it’s not, but don’t throw away your life in New York, your entire career, just because you like Venice.”
“That’s not it.” At least not anymore. He felt a pull to be in this place. A pull to settle in, really be a part of the community. A pull that overwhelmed any urge he had to return to Travati Financial. He didn’t want to work in a suit and live in a high rise and go to clubs and restaurants and make money by being out every night. And now ... if he was completely honest with himself, another pull he couldn’t explain and maybe didn’t even understand had taken hold of him…the pull to be with Ilana.
“Look, stay a little longer then. Make Venice your second home. Do what you need to do, but let Justin know you’re coming back to New York. Okay? He’s driving us fucking nuts with his worrying, and he keeps crunching the numbers over and over again. I’d like to be able to tell him to just shut the fuck up because you’ve got it under control and you’re going to be back on such and such date.”
Devon sighed and shook his head. It was like they’d never talked about his plans for economic social activism, what he wanted to try to do out here. Anthony hadn’t truly heard a word of it, and neither had Justin. Maybe they thought if they kept saying the same things to Devon over and over again that eventually he, the youngest brother, would give in to what they wanted. But he wouldn’t. Venice was now home. He wasn’t sure how a place felt right so quickly, but this small town beside the ocean did.
“I wish I could tell Justin that, but Anthony, I don’t think that I can.”
*
“I thought I’d find you ladies here.”
Ilana’s toes curled and heat burst through her body at the sound of Devon’s voice. She looked up from where she sat on the art room floor putting together a kid’s easel toward the front door. God love that man. He walked in with takeout bags in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other.
“Seriously,” Amelia whispered, “you have to keep this one. He’s amazing.”
Ilana nodded. Devon was amazing.
“I figured with only thirty-six more hours to go you two would be hard at it, and that you probably hadn’t eaten. So here I am with dinner.” He already knew her so well. She and Amelia had been working since practically dawn, and what had she eaten? A muffin, maybe? At least she didn’t have to contend with being hobbled any more—her ankle had healed up nicely, and she had given up the crutches days ago with her doctor’s blessing.
“Thank you.” Ilana dusted her hands on her pants, stood up, and tilted her head up to kiss him. So effortless being with him, kissing him. It was like they’d fallen into a relationship without even trying.
“What’d you get?” Amelia asked, liberating one of the bags from Devon’s hand as he nibbled on Ilana’s bottom lip.
“Mexican.”
“Oooo, love it!” She extracted the other bags from his grip and toted them to the kitchen table.
Devon slid his arm around Ilana’s waist and steered her into Amelia’s wake. “I’m also here to help,” he said. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Teleconference, meeting, and now I’m here.”
Ilana smiled, thankful that he
was here now. “I’m worried we won’t be ready.”
Devon paused and looked around the room. “Oh, you’ll be ready. You may not sleep much, but you’ll be ready.”
Her phone dinged with a text alert, and she pulled it from her pocket. A message about a delivery? “Amelia,” Ilana called, “did you schedule a paper delivery?”
Amelia ducked back out from the kitchen. “Oh right, forgot to tell you, The Legend Gallery is donating loose art paper and sketchbooks. Probably that.”
“Okay.” Ilana creased her brow. “Well, the driver just texted to say he’s out back right now.”
“Let’s get it before we eat. Won’t take long, right? Besides, we’ve got a man to help us too. How much paper can it possibly be?”
*
“Oh my God.” Ilana covered her cheeks with her hands. “How much paper is this?” A huge truck half full of paper products was parked in back of the building. “Is this all for us?” Ilana looked at the driver.
He shrugged. “It’s the only address I got, lady.”
“Where are we going to put all this?”
“Amanda just texted me back.” Amelia stared at her phone screen, dazed. “She said they bought what they thought would be six months’ worth.”
“Six months’ worth? For what—three thousand kids? Just…wow.” Ilana was beyond grateful for Amanda’s generosity, but where would they put all this paper? “We’ve filled up the upstairs storage with supplies already. Where are we going to put it all?”
“There’s one open spot,” Amelia said, grimacing. “Well, not really open, but maybe with some floor space that can be spared. Combined with the room left in that back cupboard in the kitchen…”
Ilana sighed. “Fine.”
“What’s the spot?” Devon asked, hopping up into the back of the truck with the driver.
“Second floor, across from the library,” Ilana said.
Devon frowned. “Isn’t that your apartment?”
“It’s the only place with any room. I don’t have much furniture, anyway. It’s not huge, but there’s room to store some paper.”
“Hmm.” Devon grabbed a dolly and started loading boxes. “Okay, if you say so.”
Ilana nodded, even though she didn’t love the idea either. Really, what else were they going to do?
Forty-five minutes later, Ilana couldn’t see her bed over the boxes stacked from floor to ceiling in her studio apartment. “Um, can we make a pathway?” she squeaked.
“Maybe in a week?” Amelia said. “We’ll go through the paper fast, I’m sure. Especially the first week. Everyone gets their own sketchbook, and we’ll have these boxes gone super-fast. Come stay with me ’til then. And look, you can still get to your dresser.”
Not exactly the solution Ilana had hoped for. She sighed. Living above the Enrichment Center was supposed to save money and make life easier. She could roll out of bed in the morning, put on clothes, and be at work two seconds later. Now, her apartment had been turned into a storage closet and she was homeless.
“Thanks,” Ilana said. “I’ll think about it.” Dinner, although cold, still waited for them downstairs. “Be down in a minute.” She walked to her dresser and turned toward the windows. Nope. Couldn’t see the view, at least not really. It had been replaced with a vista of Strathmore boxes piled floor to ceiling instead.
“I know where you should stay.” Lost in her gloomy contemplation of the wall of paper, Ilana hadn’t heard Devon come back up the stairs. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, his breath tickling her ear. A tingle threaded through her blood. She pressed back against his body and, oh yes, he was hard. He was always hard for her. His lips found her neck.
“Great ocean view,” he murmured. “Steps from the beach. Rent can’t be beat.”
Her heart fluttered. Was he suggesting that she stay with him?
“Come stay at my place.” He spun her around in his arms to face him. The sparkle in his brilliant blue eyes made her want to blurt out “yes,” and yet…
“Really? Doesn’t it seem—” She glanced away.
“Fast?” He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. “Uh, yeah, I guess it should. It probably would, with anyone other than you.”
He pressed his lips to hers, and any reservations or fears Ilana had melted in that one delicious kiss. Sure, she could pack her things and pretend that she’d go stay at Amelia’s house, just like she could pretend that she’d been staying at her own apartment the last two weeks. But she hadn’t. She’d spent absolutely zero nights in her own place since the first time she and Devon had made love.
He pulled back. “Can I take that as a yes?”
Ilana laughed, nodding. “I love the guy who runs the place. He’s pretty easy to get along with.”
“Yeah? And I love my new roomie.” Devon’s arms tightened around Ilana as he kissed her again.
The amount of time didn’t matter because the relationship growing between them felt one hundred percent right. But fear still gnawed at her heart. She wanted to give him all of herself, her love and her future. But after seeing what her mother had gone through, could she really believe a man’s love could be trusted?
Chapter 7
By the time she had turned the lock on the front door behind their last students on Friday of the Center’s opening week, Ilana could barely remember her name. Fatigue flowed through her body. Two more days and they’d have Monday off. She loved the Center and the kids and the enthusiasm the community had for them—she did—but she was exhausted. She stood at the kitchen counter laying out last batch of just-washed paintbrushes from the day’s classes. Her ankle throbbed. She arranged the brushes on a layer of paper towels to dry and then limped into the art room to double-check that she’d put everything away.
Amelia called out from the front room, “I’m going to head home and get ready for tonight.”
Ilana jumped, startled. “What’re you still doing here? I thought you left an hour ago?”
“Wanted to hang some of these pictures first.” Amelia ducked her head into the art room and beckoned Ilana toward the front room. “Come see.”
Ilana followed her friend. “Oh my gosh!” She clasped her hands together and raised them to her lips. Amelia had covered the front windows with the kids’ stained–glass tissue paper art projects. The setting sun beamed through the translucent, multicolored paper, and the front room blazed with rainbows of color.
“See the butterfly?” Amelia nodded toward a purple-and-red-winged butterfly. “That’s Jake’s.”
“So beautiful!” Small for his age and speech delayed, Jake had been brought to the Center by his foster mother, who frankly confided to Ilana and Amelia that every doctor she had seen believed he would never speak or read. But there was so much going on behind Jake’s eyes. He said so much with his smile and the emotion that traveled through his gaze. Now this. This brilliant beautiful butterfly with its red and purple wings. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“I told him that. You should’ve seen the look on his face.”
Ilana could picture Jakes smile. She’d already, in one week, seen joy spread across his face a half dozen times. He was adorable and sweet and exactly the kind of kid the Center was meant to serve. His foster mom had thanked them over and over again, because Ilana and Amelia had made Jake their first full-scholarship student.
“Your flowers still look good.”
Heat flamed Ilana’s cheeks. The huge bouquet of peonies and freesia Devon had sent on opening day sat on the table next to the front desk, blooming and fragrant.
“How are things going with Mr. Outrageously Good-looking?” Amelia lifted an eyebrow. “I’m guessing by the shade of pink on your cheeks that they’re going well.”
“I”—Ilana took a deep breath—“I’ve never been this happy.”
“You deserve to be this happy, you know that, right?”
Ilana nodded. It was hard to believe in happiness. She couldn’t quite grasp that joy could be perp
etual. While she wanted to believe Amelia, to feel as though she deserved this happiness, she couldn’t help thinking something bad would happen.
“We’re both going to the show tonight.”
“Of course you are.” Amelia flashed a smile.
“Are you nervous?” Ilana knew this show meant a lot to her friend.
“Does it show?”
“Maybe just to me.”
Amelia laid her palm flat on her stomach. “Honestly, I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“You’ve had lots of shows.”
“Right, but this one feels different somehow. Maybe because it’s my hometown?”
“You’re right on the cusp too.”
Amelia nodded and took a deep breath. “That too. I’m a little freaked out by the guest list. Buyers from MOMA and The Broad are supposed to be there tonight.”
“Well, I love the collection.” Ilana shut down the computer at the front desk. “I think it’s some of your best work.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.” Amelia glanced around the front room of the Center. “I’d love to sell out this entire collection. That would help a lot, you know?” Amelia’s brown eyes landed on Ilana. “I…I just want this, the Center, to work. This place is as important to me as my art. The two feel tied together somehow. And if the collection sells out, that’s a lot of money.”
The muscles in Ilana’s shoulders pulled tight to the bone. She nodded, but her gaze fell to the floor. She felt too ashamed to look at Amelia. My God, she was the absolute worst friend. She still hadn’t told Amelia about Mrs. Luskey and the lease and how the owner had refused the assignment— “Amelia?” But now? Before Amelia’s big opening at the Legend Gallery? Really…was this the right time? But would there ever be a right time?
“Hmm?” Amelia paused from digging through her purse for her keys and turned to Ilana. In that unguarded moment, Ilana could see the tension building on Amelia’s face, the anxiety she’d been hiding under cheerfulness for a week or more. Amelia had worked for years as an artist to get to tonight, to have such a big and successful gallery showcase her work.