Die Once More by Amy Plum

Author:Amy Plum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

TEN

THE NEXT FOUR DAYS ARE A BLUR OF ACTIVITY. Once it’s decided that Ava and I will leave for Brittany on Saturday, she practically disappears. Kate and Charlotte enlist her help with the wedding preparations and, on their breaks, take her to see the sights of Paris. On one of the rare occasions that our paths cross, I ask how her research for Gold is going.

“I have to start with Bran,” she claims, and that’s the end of that.

I spend the time catching up with my kindred over meals, sparring in the armory, and walking the Paris streets. In a way, it’s like nothing ever happened, but my return to New York lurks, ever-present, in the back of my mind.

Vincent and I spend the next few evenings in the great hall, sprawled on the leather couches, catching up. People come and go, knowing we will be there, and join the conversation, before leaving us alone once again.

Vincent wants to know about New York, and I give him all the details. But we both carefully skirt around the subject of Kate and her everyday life with my kindred. It’s unnatural to feel this uncomfortable around my best friend. We know everything there is to know about each other. But we’re both being careful. Tiptoeing around each other’s feelings. And knowing that we both feel weird about it.

Although we don’t sleep, everyone needs their downtime, and in the early hours of Saturday morning, I say good night to Vincent and go back to my room. I try to read but can’t focus. I pull some old drawings out of a cupboard and sort through them. God, I’m glad no one dug through my stuff while I was gone. All the drawings from the months before I left are of Kate. Kate lying on a couch, reading. Kate sitting in a café, laughing. Kate in my studio, lying on her back and staring dreamily at the ceiling as she poses for me.

I toss the sheaf of papers onto a table and realize I’m no longer pining. Following the conversation with Kate, I’ve begun to pull myself back together and am starting to feel like my old self again. Maybe, when I get back from Brittany, I’ll talk Ambrose into going to one of the clubs we used to go to. I could pick up a high-spirited French beauty. Charm her into taking me back to her place. And find solace in the arms of a woman for a few delicious hours. I think back to the last time . . . it’s been a while. Sacha? Or was it Sandra? I can’t even remember her name.

And suddenly I feel empty. Like a century of affairs that felt like a bubbling source of sparkling springwater—water I needed to survive—had actually just been a mirage. A dry streambed in a desert of emotional void. And I know that’s not what I want anymore. I crave something else. Something real, tangible, lasting.

I pick out a sketchpad and some charcoal and take them over to my easel.

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