5
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!”
Vicky and Ayesha, at her door. Jules dragged herself out of bed to find the women in their pajamas: Vicky in loose boxer shorts,
Ayesha in a flowy kaftan and matching headscarf. They invaded the room. One set a tray with coffee and croissants on the bedside
table. The other drew back the curtains to reveal a fresh morning sky.
Jules moaned as she crawled back into bed. Cocks were crowing outside her window, for God’s sake. “What time is it?”
“Seven,” Ayesha replied. “We’re going snorkeling. It’s on the schedule.”
“Can’t we skip it?” Jules asked.
“Apparently not,” Vicky answered. “We must explore the coral reefs before it all disintegrates. These are the end days, darling.”
Jules stifled a yawn. “Everybody knows the reefs are better in the Bahamas.”
“Don’t let the locals hear you,” Vicky warned. “They’ll burn you at a stake on Mallory Square.”
“Either way, it’s a scheduled activity. We have to go,” Ayesha added.
Jules’s gaze swept from one to the other. “When did you two join forces?”
“Last night,” Ayesha said. “While you were sleeping.”
“You slept well?” Jules asked, working hard to keep her tone flat.
“We slept late,” Vicky said. “We summoned a ghost or tried to. Didn’t work.”
“That’s your idea of fun?” Jules asked.
“At least we stayed up past our bedtime,” Vicky said. “Can you say that?”
“I didn’t summon anything. I’m saved,” Ayesha said, reminding them of her five-star rating with the Ancient of Days. “I didn’t
come here to get unsaved.”
“You might’ve come to the wrong place with the wrong people,” Vicky said.
“I stayed up, chatting with Daphne, who is the right kind of person,” Ayesha said, sinking into the banquette under the window. “I was in bed by ten, but didn’t get much sleep.
I never do when I’m away from home. It’s always like this.”
“I have a gummy for that,” Vicky said. “I’ll hook you up.”
Jules sat up and poured herself a generous cup of coffee.
Vicky swiped a croissant off the platter. “I tried to wake you for dinner, but you were dead to the world.”
Jules froze. “You entered the room last night?”
“Yes,” she replied, with a mouth full of fluffy French pastry, “The night manager agreed to let me in because you weren’t
answering your phone.”
An honest-to-goodness wellness check. Still, Jules repeated her question. “That was you?”
“Who else?” Vicky said. “I checked your pulse and wiped off your lipstick. You shouldn’t sleep in makeup. How many times do
I have to tell you?”
“We agreed it was best to let you sleep,” Ayesha said. “It had been a long day, and you did all the driving. You must’ve been
exhausted.”
The idea of Sebastien, Daphne, Matty, and, worst of all, Leo deciding her fate made her uneasy. It was embarrassing. She switched
the topic back to the supposed séance. “Which ghost were you summoning?”
“There’s only one—Aurora,” Vicky answered. “According to the night staff, she roams the halls.”
“It’s all nonsense,” Ayesha said. “The staff is paid to play up the myth.”
“I stayed up to read last night and didn’t hear a thing,” Vicky reported happily. “Anyway, time to get going! We’re meeting
in the lobby at eight.”
This was surreal. Ayesha was supposed to be the travel mom, keeping them on task and on schedule. What Vicky said next made
more sense. “I want to see what Matty has going on under his boxy shirts.”
“You’ve been drooling over that man all night,” Ayesha said. “What about Big Money?”
“I don’t know.” Vicky pursed her lips. “I might have to withdraw my funds from that account.”
“How could you? The man is babysitting your cat!”
“I’ll take that into consideration.” She hopped off the bed. “As for you, Jules, this is the girls’ trip you signed up for.
No excuses! Get up, get dressed, and meet us in the lobby at eight, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
With those words, Vicky headed toward the door. Ayesha followed, pausing at the doorway to toss one last look around the room.
“Yes,” she said, as if confirming a theory that she’d been mulling over. “This is a converted attic.”
That much was obvious. The narrow stairs leading to the top floor and the sloped ceiling confirmed it. “It has character,”
Jules said.
“Daphne says it was originally the servants’ quarters,” Ayesha continued.
Jules took in the small space with new eyes. The blue bedroom was narrow, but bright. The windows framed a view of the garden.
“Eight o’clock,” Vicky reminded her, and then they were gone.
A heavy silence pressed on Jules’s shoulders.
She wanted nothing more than to remain in the attic, not meet up with the others, not make small talk or marvel at coral.
However, Vicky had a point. This was the girls’ trip she’d signed up for.
She loved snorkeling and wanted to feel the sun on her face.
So why was it such a struggle to get out of bed?
With great effort, she kicked back the sheets and made her way to the wardrobe. Made of carved wood and inlaid glass, it was
far too fancy to store her random collection of clothes, a mix of fast fashion and designer pieces picked up at the vintage
shops in Brooklyn. She selected a string bikini and classic denim cutoffs, flip-flops, and dark sunglasses to hide the dread
in her eyes.
Jules was the first to arrive at the lobby. Her gaze followed the wood-trimmed walls to the high coffered ceiling as if seeing
the details for the first time. Perhaps Ayesha was right. The trip had drained her. Maybe all she needed was a good night’s
sleep. Already she was feeling better. She wandered over to the portrait of the old shipbuilder, even leaned closer to examine
his wax paper skin, when the man who showed up at the top of the grand staircase instantly stole her attention. There he was,
Leo James White, in a white T-shirt, navy shorts, and wayfarer glasses, a backpack tossed casually over his shoulder. He looked
good, healthy and tan, his mop of chestnut hair in rumpled waves. Frankly, he looked better than ten years earlier. The boyish
face had hardened some, his jaw tighter, his build sturdier, and his overall manner more assured.
He spotted her and paused as if weighing his options. Then slowly, deliberately, he walked down the stairs, crossed the lobby
and joined her in staring at the portrait. Jules had no option but to stand there, glued in place.
“He’s not our ghost,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t know we had one,” Jules said. “And joint custody, too?”
“That would be fun.”
His charm was studied, weaponized. He knew what people wanted from him and served it up accordingly. But what did she want from him? To say, casually, I remember you. Or better yet: I haven’t forgotten.
“What I meant to say is, ghostly as he looks, he’s not the one haunting these halls. That would be his young bride, Aurora.”
“Is that a fact?” Jules asked.
“So the story goes,” he said. “Take it with a grain of salt.”
Jules focused on the miniature portrait of the young woman displayed in the plexiglass case. Rosy cheeks, bright eyes, lustrous
curls piled high, Aurora looked happy. It could not have been a faithful rendering, considering her fate.
“I don’t get it,” Jules said. “This is a great house, but why not move on? Seems like a waste of an eternity.”
“In life as in death?” he said.
“Did you take part in last night’s séance?” she asked.
“I hosted it,” he said. “In my turret.”
“Your what?”
“Ah, that’s right,” he said with an easy smile. “You’re the only one who hasn’t seen it.”
“I don’t think I know you well enough for that.”
“Ha!”
Why was this so easy? She, usually so withdrawn, downright standoffish in the company of new acquaintances, gravitated effortlessly toward him.
“I didn’t attempt to summon any spirits,” he said. “It’s not my thing, but it was interesting to watch. Will you join us next
time?”
“Sure. I don’t want to miss out on all the fun.”
He waited a beat. “Vicky said you were comatose.”
“I was,” Jules admitted.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked. “You left the party in a hurry.”
His tone was more intimate than it had any right to be. “I don’t know.”
His gaze lingered on her face. When had she turned her back on the portrait on the wall to devote her attention to him?
“We haven’t met, have we?” he said.
“We haven’t,” Jules said, her voice clipped.
That settled it. He didn’t remember her or their first encounter and that was fine. Frankly, she should’ve long forgotten
herself and committed to forgetting now.
“I’m Leo,” he said.
“Is that short for anything?” she asked.
“Other than astrologically, no. I’m a Leo. My birthday is in August.”
Why did that make her insanely happy? “July,” she said. “For roughly the same reasons.”
“Got it,” he said, smiling. “Your friends call you Jules.”
“They do.”
“What do I call you?”
“You’ll have to sort that out for yourself.”
“I look forward to it.”
Jules couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop smiling.
“I was hoping to catch you last night,” he said, “and tell you I respect your work.” Respect was the baseline, the bare minimum.
Meanwhile, she adored his work. With each book, his writing had only gotten better, sharper. She’d stayed up nights reading his novels. She took
his paperbacks on her travels and reread them on planes, trains, and automobiles. She’d studied his work, broke down sentence structure, analyzed word choices.
“Likewise.”
Jules was grateful for Ayesha’s timely arrival, or else she might’ve cracked and revealed her disappointment.
Ayesha greeted Leo with a brief hug. “Slept well?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “How about you? Did anything go bump in the night?”
“No, but I slept with this.” Ayesha rested a hand on the simple diamond cross pendant at her neck.
“Got any extras?” he asked.
Jules stepped back, attempting to exit his orbit, but didn’t get far. A glance her way and easily, effortlessly, he roped
her back in.