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And wait.
“I’m bored now.” Pax twirls his sword around on his finger. “Can I go to the park and feed the squirrels?”
“No. I need you here, just in case the countess isn’t exactly thrilled to meet Edward’s new paramour.”
“Maybe if you recite one of Edward’s poems?” Ambrose suggests hopefully.
“Oh, that’s not a bad idea.” I rack my brain, but if I’m honest, I kind of tune out a lot of Edward’s poetry. It is really,reallybad. The only poem of his that comes to mind is the one about my ass:
“Ah, fair creature, thy posterior doth entrance,
A vision that captivates, by fate’s own chance,
In the realm of desire, where passions reside,
Thine alluring curves, no secrets to hide…”
“Edward, is that you?”
The temperature drops.
The curtains flap, even though the windows are shut up tight.
The candles flicker.
I swallow hard. Pax raises his sword. Beside me, Ambrose jiggles his leg in excitement.
“Hello?” I call out.
A grey shape walks through the bathroom wall and stands at the foot of the bed. She wears a diaphanous white gown, her golden hair in loose ringlets that fly about her porcelain face. The front of her dress is stained pink from where her husband stabbed her after she discovered him in bed with his mistress.
And through her spectral body, I can see the outline of the bathroom door and my socks strewn across the floor.
The ghost of the Countess Marie de Rothschild glares down her perfect nose at me. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Edward?”
23
Bree
I’ve seen pictures of the Countess de Rothschild in many of Edward’s biographies, but even as a spectre, I’m unprepared for her beauty. I try to speak, but I find I can’t summon my voice, not when the only thing I can see is Edward’s dark eyes worshipping this perfect creature. How am I ever supposed to compare to her?
But then I remember Edward’s rapturous expression the other night, when I let him float inside me, and I feel bolstered.
She may be exquisite, but Edward and I have something special.
“Edward, my darling? Have you come to visit me? Have you crossed the oceans of the underworld to find me again?” She sweeps the room before pausing on me. “You there! Who are you? Where is my Edward? What are you doing in my house?” She flies at Pax. “Uncouth scoundrels! This ismyhome and I’m waiting for my lover, Edward—”
“We’re friends of Edward,” I say quickly.
“Friends of my Prince Eddie?” Her hand flies to her mouth. “I don’t believe you. You certainly don’t look the sorts to be his friends. Your bosom isn’t nearly comely enough to please him.”
“He likes my bosom just fine.” I fold my arms. “But if you mean thePrince Eddiewho loves rhyming couplets and getting his jollies with the circuit breakers, then yes, we’re his friends and we need to speak to you.”
“That sounds like my Eddie,” she purrs, draping herself over the corner of the bed. “Tell me about this electrical socket. Why, I haven’t had a decent orgasm since…since the night Eddie died, in fact. Why, the things that man can do with his tongue—”
HerEddie? I can’t help the flare of possessiveness engulfing my heart as she speaks. I don’t want to think of his tongue being anywhere near her, even though their affair was literallycenturiesago.
This is why you should never look up the ghosts of your lover’s exes.
