Page 45 of Old Flames

“Is it too late for a séance?” Vicky asked.

She can’t be serious, Jules thought. What she wanted, most likely, was for them to gather upstairs and perform a postmortem autopsy on Sebastien and Alexandre. Time of death: midnight.

“Go to bed, Vicky,” Ayesha said.

“We’ve only one night left. How am I going to write about Aurora if I can’t meet her on home turf?”

“By using your imagination and your skills as a writer,” Ayesha suggested.

Vicky crossed her arms. “I’d rather not.”

“I hope you won’t be too disappointed,” Matty said. “The most you can hope for is a knock on the door. According to the staff, no one has seen her.”

“That’s something,” Vicky said. “Either way, it’s worth a try. If you don’t mind letting us into the tower, Leo.”

“I don’t mind,” he said.

The group dispersed. Ayesha retired for the night, Matty popped into his room for a minute. Vicky and Leo headed straight to his suite. Jules stayed put. She’d missed the midnight hour. Should she try again at two? Did the exact time matter as much as the location? Jules only had a couple nights to make the most of whatever this was.

“July.”

It never failed. Every time he said her name, and said it in that way, the faintest shivers ran down her spine, awakening parts of her that were dormant for years.

She glanced over her shoulder. He was at the foot of the stairs, waiting. “Are you coming?”

Saying yes felt like capitulating. She said yes anyway.

15

Leo opened his suite to the group. Before storming the tower they pillaged his minibar for snacks. While the others claimed their usual seats, Jules toured the space, taking in the curved bookshelves, the desk. Leo watched, amused. Soon, she turned to him. “So this is what all the fuss is about.”

He beamed with pride of ownership. “Like it?”

“Love it.”

She stood at the window from which Aurora had likely gazed out over a century ago. Then she moved onto the one that overlooked the garden and lingered there. He joined her. Below, Alex was seated on the stone bench in pretty much the same posture they’d found him on the porch. Only this time, he was weeping openly. Sebastien paced circles in the grass, his hands lost in his dark hair.

It was tough watching a breakup in real time. There was clearly love between them, but love couldn’t thrive under surveillance.

Matty had stopped by his room to grab his phone charger and returned a moment later with Ayesha, in silk pajamas and a matching headscarf.

“Guess who has FOMO and wants to join us,” he announced.

“I don’t have FOMO.” She removed a stack of local magazines off a stool and sat down. “I’m concerned. They’re still out there. I could hear them arguing from my room. Do you think they’ll make it?”

The consensus was still out. Some were hopeful, others weren’t.

“From my vantage point, it’s not looking good,” Jules said.

“Should we intervene?” Ayesha asked.

The answer was unanimous. “NO!”

Ayesha looked as though she might cry.

“For someone who doesn’t read or write romance, you’re obsessed with romantic love,” Vicky quipped.

“Forgive me for having a heart,” Ayesha said. “It’s like watching Ken and Barbie break up without the benefit of a dance number or colorful set design. Very disturbing.”