Chapter 2

For the next few days, Isabel came out to the old estate every other day, calling it "helping Tony sort through his old things." What she actually did was make trouble for me at every turn.

Either she knocked over my ink on purpose, or she hid my carving knife. There was always some little move.

I couldn't be bothered to fight over any of it. I put everything into the book restoration.

That day I was going through the celadon brush washer my grandfather had left behind. It had been his favorite piece while he was alive, the clay fine and dense, the glaze soft and warm.

I had just set it on the worktable when Isabel, who'd slipped up behind me without my noticing, slammed her arm hard into my hand.

"Oh no!"

She cried out, and with a crisp cracking sound the celadon brush washer hit the flagstones and broke into three or four pieces.

I turned, frowning, and saw Isabel with her eyes red, waving her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I only wanted to see what you were fixing, and my foot slipped—"

Before she'd finished, Anthony strode in.

The moment he saw the shards on the ground, his face went dark, and he snapped at me. "Penelope! This was Grandfather's favorite brush washer. How could you be so careless?"

Isabel tugged at his sleeve, sobbing softly. "Tony, don't blame her. It's my fault, I shouldn't have gone over there. It's all on me."

Anthony comforted her gently. "It's got nothing to do with you."

Then he turned to me, his eyes cold as ice, and said sharply, "Penelope, apologize to Isabel."

"The cost of the brush washer comes out of your settlement."

I said flatly, "She's the one who knocked it over. Not me."

Isabel shot back at once, her voice shrill. "You clearly lost your grip on it yourself. Don't try to pin it on me!"

I took the kintsugi repair toolkit out of my kit and said plainly, "Grandfather's brush washer doesn't need you to pay for it. I can fix it myself."

"As for who's lying, there are security cameras in the courtyard. Pull the footage and we'll know."

Isabel panicked instantly, clutching Anthony's arm and shaking it. "Tony, I really didn't mean to."

"My foot just slipped. You have to believe me."

Anthony's brow stayed tightly drawn as he watched me, saying nothing, open the toolkit, mix the lacquer, patch the body, lay the gold leaf, every motion smooth and sure.

Half an hour later, the broken brush washer was whole again, the gold leaf tracing a fine seam along each break, so that the damage lent it a kind of beauty settled deep with the years.

Anthony stood off to the side, something complicated in his eyes.

He'd known me for three years. He knew I could restore old books, but he'd never once seen me do kintsugi, and he'd never known my hands were this good.

I set down the tools, wiped my hands, and said in a mocking tone, "Miss Fox, next time you want to frame someone, do me a favor and use your head first."

"At the very least, next time you set me up, pick a spot with no cameras!"

Isabel's face went green, then white, and for a long while she couldn't force out a word.

Anthony started to speak, then stopped, and in the end pulled Isabel, who still wanted to argue, out with him.