Page 102 of Old Flames

The garden? He’d thought they were done with that. Was the migraine an excuse to get rid of him? And why? To confront her mother alone?

“She often meditates at night,” Elias continued. “Apparently, it’s good for her writing. You authors are a strange breed.”

That they were.

“I figured she was done by now,” Leo replied coolly. “I’ll head out there. Thanks.”

He exited through the back door and strolled the stone path, hands in pockets, in case Elias was watching. The night was mild. New fairy lights strung around the pergola twinkled like stars. When Leo caught sight of July, stretched out on the ground near the flower bed, bathed in moonlight, he quit his posturing and raced to her. Kneeling beside her, he gathered her trembling body, kissed her shut eyelids, and brushed the dirt off her cheeks.

What if she needed medical attention? He decided to call 911. She could be convulsing, for all he knew. But in a matter of minutes, she settled in his arms. Her hand curled around his, warm. If he had her carted away and she woke up in a cold hospital room, would she ever forgive him? July had come out here for a reason, whether he liked it or not, understood it or not. And he had a role to play. Instead of wasting time, he ought to get to it.

Leo cradled her in his arms. “I’m here, love. We’ll get through this.”

He forgot the night manager. He forgot everyone. It was as if they were alone in the world. “Tell her what she needs to hear. Be kind, but firm. Make her understand that she won’t find him in this garden. He’s waiting on the other side. He’s been waiting three lifetimes. If she stays, she loses him forever. Tell her that the love she lost is waiting for her to claim.”

He did not know any of this to be true, but that had never stopped him.

Leo rocked her, repeating these words like a mantra until she stirred in his arms, coughing, blinking, gasping for air. He could have wept with relief.

Finally, she opened her eyes and whispered, “You found me.”

As if any other outcome were possible.

He helped her sit upright, and she immediately circled her arms around his neck.

“Please tell me you’re okay,” he said.

She nodded and tightened her hold.

He stroked her back. “Did you tell her?”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

“I think so.”

They’d get into that later. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just sore.”

“We’ll take care of that,” he said. “Is there anything else you need? Anything you want?”

She pulled away and met his eyes. “I want to marry you,” she said. “Tonight.”

Leo looked up to the star-filled sky. The universe was too small to contain his joy, but that didn’t change his answer. “No,” he said. “Tonight, I’ll pour you a warm bath and a chilled glass of wine, then I’ll get you to bed.”

36

Jules woke up to a bouquet of fresh gardenias on the bedside table, a note that read Getting breakfast. I love you, sunshine streaming through window shutters, red roosters crowing riotously, scooter engines sputtering to life, and the overall sounds of a Key West Saturday unfurling to the delight of tourists. She’d never felt more at home or more energized to greet the day. For the first time in weeks, she was eager to write and start work on that happy ending.

Her phone screen was crammed with notifications. She’d been added to a WhatsApp group chat titled SOS AURORA, in which Sebastien, Ayesha, Vicky, and Matty were begging for information. Jules sat up in bed and scrolled through the messages of the group chat. Without going into detail, Leo had insisted they were well, which wasn’t the word she would have used. They were free. Mission accomplished, task met, Aurora had released her hold on them. There was no other way to explain it.

Last night, Leo poured her a bath, sat at the edge of the tub, and listened to another incoherent, incomprehensible tale of the ghost in the garden, masquerading as her mother, who’d finally revealed her true face.

“She looks like you,” he said.

Leo had come to this conclusion early. It fit nicely into a theory that he’d developed.