Bitter Spirits
Page 72

“Who is this?” Aida asked, reaching for the silver-framed blonde.
“No one.”
Hmph. It had to be Paulina. A dull feeling of jealousy taunted Aida from a distance. “Why would you have a photograph of no one next to your bed?”
“Why would you care? You’re leaving in a week.” He took the photograph from her hand and put it back on the table, then reached to lift her off the bed.
“I can walk,” she said irritably, pushing his hands away. As she struggled to her feet, she flipped the photograph facedown when his back was turned.
His bathroom was spacious with gleaming white tile and polished wood cabinets. A beveled glass window was cranked open to the opposite view seen from his study: instead of the Bay, it was the south side of Pacific Heights rising up steep hills, its prestigious homes wearing a crown of fog beneath the night sky.
An enormous, grand slipper claw-foot tub sat to her left. Winter twisted the silver handles to shut off steaming water. Before she could protest, he lifted her off the floor and set her down into the hot water. It stung her ankle for a moment, but the rest of her felt so good, it didn’t matter.
“Too warm?”
Her muscles turned to mush as her shoulders slid down the high-backed tub. “Perfect. You could fit a car inside here.” Or a giant-sized bootlegger. The heated water sent ripples of pleasure through her limbs.
He folded his big body up to perch on a wooden stool next to her. “Put that foot up here,” he said, patting the side of the tub.
She propped her leg where he instructed and sank farther into the water. A firm hand held her leg while he soaped up her foot, carefully cleaning her cuts with a soft washrag, sloughing all the grime away.
“Winter?”
“Yes.”
“I have three dollars to my name. All my savings was in my room. I have no clothes. No cosmetics, no jewelry—”
“I will replace everything. You wouldn’t have lost it if you weren’t affiliated with me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You normally have people trying to kill you?” he asked.
“Well, no.”
“And I do. This is the same passive bullshit that’s being used on me with the hauntings. My fault, therefore my responsibility. End of story.”
“I don’t want charity. I’ll repay you once I’ve earned the money back. Velma still owes me one more payday, and the salary I’ll earn in New Orleans—”
He slapped the washcloth onto the floor. His face was taut with outrage. “You’re still thinking about New Orleans? You almost died tonight. Do you know how terrified I was? How close you were to being burned alive? I could’ve received a call from Mrs. Lin instead of Bo, telling me to come arrange a casket for your charred body.”
She inhaled sharply on an unexpected sob. “What else can I do? It is the only work I know.” Sniffling, she wrestled with her emotions, and lost. Her fears jumped off her loosened tongue before she could censor them. “I will not stay here and play mistress to you until you grow tired of me and find someone blonder or prettier or more glamorous.”
“Why the hell is our imaginary breakup my fault?”
Because she couldn’t fathom herself finding anyone else she could want more than him. But she didn’t say that. “I’ve built a reputation—club owners are seeking me out, not the other way around. I don’t have to beg for work or try to prove myself. If I don’t take advantage of it, my time may pass. Can’t you understand that? This is all I have. I’m not fit for anything else but this life.”
He surged up from the stool, biting back a reply as flames danced behind mismatched eyes. The surface of the water shook under his angry footfalls as he left the bathroom.
• • •
Winter fought the urge to throw something against the wall. Goddamn New Orleans. If he never heard the city’s name on her tongue again, it would be fine with him.
Find someone blonder . . .
What the hell was wrong with her? Had the fire melted her brain? Why the devil would he want someone—
His gaze fell on the silver picture frame lying facedown. Paulina. He picked it up and looked at her photograph. Aida was jealous of a dead woman? Did she think he kept this here out of grief or love? Far from it. He kept it out of respect. Maybe it would be more accurate to say that he kept it to feed his guilt. Because if he didn’t see it every now and again, he found himself forgetting what she looked like.
Even worse, he found himself not thinking about her at all, which wasn’t much different than when she was alive. Sometimes he wouldn’t see her for days at a time when they were married, even living in the same house. And that had never bothered him.
He should’ve let her go when she wanted the divorce.
Was he now so quick to repeat the same mistake with Aida? Her association with him made her a target. His fault.
Again.
He thought of the numbing panic that unfurled inside him when he’d gotten the call from Bo: Someone tried to burn down Aida’s apartment with her inside it. Death by fire. Few things were worse.
But she didn’t die. She was safe, here with him. That was all that mattered for the moment.
Exhaling heavily, Winter picked up Paulina’s photograph and headed to his study. He sat in front of the windows, looking out over the city as dawn broke. After a few minutes, Astrid peeked inside the door, her arms filled with clothes.
“I heard all the commotion,” she said. Her slippers slapped against the floor as she walked, nightgown billowing behind her. “Bo told me what happened. I thought Aida might need some clothes.”