After Seven Empty Chairs, I Took My Daughter and Left Chapter 16

After Seven Empty Chairs, I Took My Daughter and Left Chapter 16

Following that hand upward, Ava saw a handsome, reserved face. He wore a soft Brunello Cucinelli cashmere sweater. His features were deep-set, his nose high, and his bearing was warm and restrained, like the marble sculptures in the courtyard, washed clean by rain. In his other hand, he held a thick art history volume on the Florentine Renaissance.

In his clothing, his accessories, and his demeanor, he was entirely different from the Beacon Hill circle. He didn’t carry Noah’s deliberate polish, but a settled elegance that belonged to another era.

Ava didn’t take the handkerchief. Tear tracks still marked her face, but the wariness in her eyes didn’t lessen.

“How do you know my name?”

Her voice was hoarse with caution. She didn’t remember seeing this face in Boston.

The rain seemed to grow heavier, striking the glass dome and sealing them away from the outside world. The man hadn’t seemed to expect her reaction. He paused slightly, then gave a faint, understanding smile.

“We’re Harvard alumni,” he explained, his voice as gentle as moss dampened by rain. “Many years ago, at a freshman art history seminar. You were analyzing a Titian painting. Your perspective was… very alive. Hard to forget.”

After he finished, his gaze drifted unnaturally toward the Roman sarcophagus beside them, as if its intricate carvings were safer than looking at her. Ava followed his eyes and keenly caught the faint, almost invisible flush at the tips of his ears.

In that instant, the taut string in her heart loosened. It was hard to associate a man who blushed over something from so many years ago with malice.

The air in the courtyard was damp and cool, carrying the scent of earth and flowers. Ava finally reached out. Her fingertips lightly touched the soft white handkerchief, and she accepted it.

“Thank you.”

She wiped away her tears. A slightly silent atmosphere flowed between them, and accompanied by the soft rush of rain, it gave birth to a subtle ambiguity. Ava felt strangely flustered. To break the silence, she chose a casual topic.

“Are you here to get out of the rain, too?”

“Not entirely,” he replied gently. Sensing her discomfort, he explained a little more. “I’m one of the museum’s trustees. I came to handle some business.”

Ava was surprised.

“And,” he added, looking at her with an encouraging smile in his eyes, “I also happen to be the donor behind the Children’s Art Foundation. I know you, Ava. Not just from that Harvard seminar.”

The information was like a small stone dropped into still water, stirring ripples in Ava’s heart. Everything she had done for Lily and countless other children—this man had been the one supporting it from behind the scenes.

“I’m surprised,” she said sincerely. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for the children.”

“I should be thanking you,” Elias said, glad she was interested in what he did. It made the invisible wall between them feel a little thinner.

He looked into her clear eyes, and images he had forced down for years surged up uncontrollably. He remembered everything about her. He remembered how radiant she had been in that freshman seminar. He remembered the sight of her walking by the Charles River when she later fell in love. He remembered her face in the newspaper after Noah Whitaker proposed with a showy diamond ring, her joy tinged with a trace of uncertainty.

Only after she married did he force himself to stop paying attention to her. He had thought that in this life, they would be two parallel lines that would never intersect.