Page 12 of Gardening and Gargoyles

“Just a bad, weird, heartbreak dream. Probably. But thank you for listening, statue friend,” I murmur, and slog back into the lodge for sleep and a shower, in reverse order.

When I’m just stepping out, my phone rings with the James Bond theme song.

Daniel.

Maybe that was all a rotten dream, too.

“Hello?” I answer cautiously.

“Junie, darling. I was so worried about you. I’m sorry about last night. I don’t have long to talk now, but I have a few minutes before a lunch meeting.”

I flop on the bed in a towel and open my laptop, idly scrolling, part of me wondering what I would show Duncan to educate him about the world if he were actually real, not the side effect of my love life—and maybe my future—crashing down.

The banking website is still open, and my password autocompletes the login when I tap the tab. I hit the keys to access the accounts again, hoping I’ll find proof that it was all a bad dream. Nothing from Kitten’s Lounge or Aphrodite’s Dungeon, or whatever it was.

Nope.

Still there.

“Junie?”

“Hi. Sorry. I... I guess it’s good to call and talk,” I say, not sure if I believe it. I sure as hell don’t want to. Last night was terrible. Like meeting two monsters, not one.

I wince, thinking about how Daniel suddenly turned harsh. And so selfish.

“I hope you’ll realize that it’s just like... avant-garde theater, sweetheart. A show of an adult variety, with some minor audience participation. You know, things are much freer in the UK than they are in America, and don’t even get me started on Europe! You know, topless pictures appear in newspapers and on the television. I think you overreacted. I just like going to a show when I’m on my own. All right, love? A little me time at the theater, that’s all.”

“If it’s so harmless, why can’t I watch, too?” I ask. “Maybe I’d like it.”

Daniel is silent for a second, but when he speaks, his voice isn’t warm and kind like it was moments ago. “You wouldn’t like this. That’s not the girl you are.”

“Maybe itisthe girl I am. You don’t want someone to explore all your desires with you?”

“No. This is pure recreation. This is my treat for myself, and if you’re too selfish to understand that, then it’syouwho needs to reconsider our relationship.”

I feel like he just smacked me, and reactively, my fingers flex, scrolling on the trackpad.

Seeing new charges on his unfrozen account.

Another charge. A big one. From F. L. Accommodations.

Okay, he was in London last night. He needed a room.

The rate seems awfully high, even for some luxury resort, and you’d think some luxury resort would be booked up months in advance. Daniel claims he only got this deal to buy Castle Mackintosh a few weeks ago, which is why our summer in the mountains is starting with me here alone.

I don’t breathe as my fingers open a new tab, and I look for F.L. Accommodations, asking the search engine what business is associated with that name.

If you see the term F.L. Accommodations on your billing statement, it may reference Fantasy Lovers Hotels, a chain of erotic fantasy hotels, where rooms are tailored to various themes. Or, it may reference Fort Lauderdale HOA. Or...

I don’t keep reading. I’m typing again.

Fantasy Lovers Hotels, London area.

“Darling, don’t you have any little secrets? Little vices?”

“Yeah. I will absolutely smuggle my own candy into the theater. I’m not supposed to use my phone at work, but I’ll playmusic on it to calm down raging kids, even though that’s ‘against protocol.’ I don’t go to sex clubs.” I clutch my head.

Can’t bear to push enter and see if it’s true, even though I know it’s true.