Romancing the Page Volume 1 by Laura Ambrose

Author:Laura Ambrose [Ambrose, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penglass Publishing
Published: 2019-05-12T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

The day passed in a blur of flowers and music and books. They flitted from meeting to meeting, zig zagging through the crooked streets of Edinburgh. The closes and alleyways, the hidden stairways. Buskers played music or posed like Victorian statues. The air smelled of hops from the distilleries and breweries, and the scent of flowers from the flower shops, or the smoky scent of cooking meat. Edinburgh felt both old and modern.

Emma wished they could spend the day exploring, but there was no time. There was so much to do and barely enough time to do it in. They met with everyone they needed to. They made sure the flowers were delivered and that the musicians knew where to go and when.

They went back to the hotel to change into their attire for the evening. Emma changed in the bathroom. Neither of them had talked about the sex all day, though she’d caught Sage looking at her. Was what happened like the late-night texting, where if it happened late at night, in those liminal twilight hours, it didn’t exist in the day?

When Emma walked out of the bathroom, she stifled a gasp. Sage wore a purple blouse and tight, tight black trousers. Victorianesque boots that laced up to her knees. Her hair was twisted up into a loose chignon, and she wore dark purple lipstick and a smoky eye.

Sage’s eyes widened in turn, and Emma stifled a blush. She wore one of her favourite 1940s dresses in a lighter purple.

She’d worn a girdle to emphasize her waist and had done her hair in victory rolls with vintage style makeup. She wore dancing shoes with little flowers on them. Weirdly, Sage and Emma matched, like they belonged together.

“You look . . . nice,” Sage said, her voice strained.

Emma slyly glanced at her vintage watch. No time for a quick tumble, sadly. No energy to open up that emotional tangle again.

They left to pick up Annalie. She lived in a crumbling tenement flat in the Marchmont neighbourhood, by the green expanse of the Meadows. She’d bought the place with her advance, something Emma would never be able to do with her modest salary and even more modest royalty statements—especially in London.

It was hard not to be jealous when Annalie let them in. Her flat was gorgeous—lush and decorated just as you’d expect. Forest green walls, witchy, interesting knick-knacks along the shelves. And books, so many books, from crumbling collectibles hundreds of years old to modern thrillers. A music stand was near the window, along with her violin case and a chair. Yet something about it made Emma wonder how long it’d been since Annalie sat down and practiced. It had an abandoned, forlorn look about it.

Everything was cluttered but not chaos. The window looked out over the Meadows and the castle. What an inspiring view. Annalie gave them a shy tour, as if embarrassed by how lucky her life was with Apollo’s cheques. Her office had dark purple walls, an antique desk, and looked much more used than the music stand—thank god.

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