His voice was playful, almost doting. In contrast, Solenne looked him straight in the eye, asking, “Rockwell, do you… do you really love me?”
He thought she was just being clingy, so he stroked her soft hair with a chuckle.
“Of course, babe, I love you. You can ask me as many times as you want. You’re so lovely—how could I not love you?”
Just then, his phone rang.
Just one look at the caller ID, he let go of her hand and gestured that he needed to take the call outside.
Rockwell stepped outside to take the call.
Seeing this, Solenne quietly followed him, keeping her distance to eavesdrop from behind.
Norman’s irritated voice came through the receiver. “Hurry up, dude! Chesca’s coming back to New York today. If you don’t get to the airport soon, you’re going to miss her!”
“I know, dude. How could I forget a day like this?” Rockwell replied lazily.
Solenne felt like her heart had been sliced open.
‘That name—Chesca. It sounds so familiar. Where have I heard it before?’
Then it hit her. Almost instantly.
Back when Rockwell used to cheer her up, he’d take her to art exhibitions. Every time, without fail, he would pause in front of the same artist’s work.