7
Dinner was at La Terazza, yet another historic home converted into a hospitality haven. In a small lounge off the ladies’
room, Jules, Vicky, and Ayesha were at the mirror, reapplying lip gloss and fluffing their hair, when Ayesha, consciously
or not, took aim at Vicky.
“I appreciated your talk,” she said. “I never bothered to read your books. Maybe I will.”
Vicky bristled at this. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
“I meant no offense,” Ayesha said.
“Well, too bad,” Vicky said. “I’m offended! Do you know how condescending you sound?”
Jules pocketed her lip gloss and ducked for cover.
“Historical vampire romance is not my preferred genre,” Ayesha said. “I’m not a twelve-year-old girl.”
“I write adult fiction,” Vicky countered. “Why don’t you just admit you think I’m a joke.”
“Forget I said anything,” Ayesha said, ready to quit the thorny discussion. “I see I hit a nerve. I’m sorry you can’t take
a compliment.”
“You insulted her work,” Jules said, walking into the line of fire. “Don’t insult her intelligence, too.”
Ayesha let out a choppy laugh. “You’re ganging up on me? Unbelievable! You always do this!”
“Always do what?” Vicky asked. “Please don’t use the past as an excuse. We were bad roomies. That doesn’t make you a martyr.”
Sebastien entered the lounge. “I’m here to break up the bathroom brawl,” he announced. “We can hear you out there. The boys
are placing bets.”
“We’re not fighting,” Ayesha said, quick to save face.
“You are,” Sebastien said. “Daphne says you three were college roommates. I get it. If I ever cross paths with my first roommate,
it’s war. But we’re in paradise, the happiest place on earth, some may say. This isn’t the time or place to settle old scores.”
Chastened, all three followed Sebastien out of the lounge until Jules reversed course, grabbed Vicky by the arm, drew her
back in. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Me? I’m fine!” Vicky said, flippant. “I don’t care what Ayesha thinks.”
“You’re not a joke,” Jules said.
Vicky scoffed. “Right? She’s the joke!”
“You are not a joke,” Jules repeated, hoping to get through to her. “She wishes she were more like you.”
“Now you’re laying it on thick.”
“It’s true.”
“There’s no timeline in which Ayesha envies me. She’s got much more going on than I ever will.”
“You have something most writers crave—a connection with your readers,” Jules said. “You’ve got a fan base. Who does she have?”
“Oprah.”
“Will Oprah join her fandom? I don’t think so.”
Vicky held still a moment, not blinking, not breathing, then suddenly bursting into tears. Jules collected her friend in her
arms. “There, there, little one.”
“What’s gotten into me tonight?” Vicky said between sobs. “It must be the whole situation with Kit, the way Barbara took care
of it. She didn’t even give me a hard time, not really. Then you, standing up to Ayesha just now . . . Thanks for that.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The truth would go unsaid. Vicky was not one to come undone over her mother’s crumbs of kindness, and she knew the lengths Jules would go to defend her.
The lecture had likely drained her. Vicky could not speak candidly about her grandmother without crying.
The last time she saw Maria, she was confined to a nursing home bed, constrained for her own safety.
Agitated and alarmed, she’d screamed for Vicky to get out of her room.
Vicky never returned and mourned the relationship she had treasured above all.
Tonight, though, in arguably the happiest place on earth, the kind thing to do was accept her version of the truth.
“I love you,” Vicky said. “You know that, right?”
“I do.” Jules stepped away to grab a paper towel. “Dry your eyes. Let’s go out there and get back to being bad bitches.”
Vicky laughed through her tears. “Please! Someone, get me a drink!”
They exited the lounge just as Leo reentered the restaurant, phone in hand. It appeared that he had stepped out to take a
call.
“Were you on the phone with your bookie?” Jules asked. “I heard you guys were placing bets on the fight.”
“How did it go? My money was on you,” he said with a cracking smile.
“That’s too bad. It wasn’t my fight to win or lose.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Nothing ruffles your feathers, does it?”
Jules was feeling ruffled now. By contrast, he looked fresh and neat, in a way that should turn her stomach but didn’t. He
wore a loose blue cotton shirt and jeans. His thick chestnut hair was swept back.
Vicky slunk away, affirming her need for a cocktail. Leo and Jules stayed put.
“What was the argument even about?” he asked.
“The brows,” she said. “High and low. There’s definitely a hierarchy in place here.”
“In that case, Dick’s at the top.”
Still roiled up from the bathroom brawl, Jules asked, “Do you even like my books?”
Leo paused, looking confused.
She instantly regretted the question. But since it was out there, she wouldn’t take it back. Before she could get an answer,
however, the hostess approached them, menus in hand, and offered to guide them to their table.
“Excellent first evening, authors!” Daphne declared. “Well done! I couldn’t have asked for more. I’m so pleased you were willing
to speak candidly. You’ve set the bar high.”
Jules reached for a calamari ring. She had no intention of raising the bar any higher. If she had her way, she’d lower it
to the ground where it belonged.
“I wasn’t going to bring up my grandfather tonight,” Sebastien said. “It came from nowhere.”
“And I followed your lead,” Vicky conceded. “Your story moved me, and I was compelled to share.”
“And did so quite beautifully,” Matty said, eyes on Vicky. Then he caught himself, and added, “You both did.”
Dick snorted. “Don’t expect that sentimental dribble from me!”
Sebastien, who forgot he was in paradise, shot back. “We know exactly what to expect from you.”
A waitress came around to take their drink order, likely preventing a second brawl.
Leo gestured to her, and Jules watched him chat her up. With a nod and a wink, she walked away.
“So, Daphne, about this ghost tour,” Vicky said, “what can we expect?”
“It’s a crowd-pleaser,” Daphne replied. “We try to include it every year. Is that something you’re into? I heard you were
summoning ghosts last night.”
“Didn’t work,” Vicky answered. “We were sitting around my vanilla candle. How effective could that be?”
“It was a start,” Matty said. “Each of us has a specific set of skills. We ought to get this done.”
“What skills are those, Matty?” Ayesha asked. “We’re fiction writers.”
“Six speculative fiction writers check into a haunted hotel,” Matty said. “It’s our duty to investigate.”
“It would help if we understood our ghost,” Sebastien said over Ayesha’s objections. “Except for her age and likeness, what
do we even know about Aurora?”
“I’ll tell you what I know, if it helps,” Daphne said. “But don’t count on me to join you. I’m not getting involved with you
meddling kids.”
“Go on,” Vicky said. “I promise you won’t have to join the séance.”
“Aurora’s father, a Cuban cigar manufacturer, owed the shipbuilder a significant amount of money. They married her off to
settle the debt to an old man who, though sick, would outlive her,” Daphne explained. “Aurora was devastated.”
“How terrible!” Ayesha said, suddenly engaged. “What happened next?”
“He locked her in the house, kept her from her friends and family. He wanted to get her pregnant right away. He’d lost a son
and was eager to have another. Locals say she spent her days in the tower, gazing out. They say she had a crush on a local
boy. Who knows?”
“The tower . . . at least we got the location right,” Vicky said. “We may need more candles, though.”
“Despairing of ever being free, she climbed onto the roof,” Daphne continued. “You can imagine what happened next.”
“No,” Matty said. “We can’t.”
“Come on! Narrate!” Dick demanded.
The waitress returned with mojitos for everyone and another wink for Leo.
Daphne waited until the drinks were served then concluded her story. “She leaped, landed on a pile of stones, and broke her neck. Happy now?”
“What happened to the shipbuilder?” Leo pressed.
“He died a year later,” Daphne said. “Not of guilt or regret. He was just . . . old.”
“Sad,” Ayesha said.
“That’s Key West,” Daphne replied. “It’s not all fun in the sun down here.”
“No spirit-summoning tonight,” Dick announced. “After the ghost tour, we’re touring the bars. It’s Friday night.”