Page 92 of Eternal Obsession

James beamed. “And Ingrid told me it looked like a druggie had painted it.”

“She’s right, James,” I answered. “Augusta is a coke addict.”

“Bloody hell,” Belle said.

James sighed.

Ingrid patted James’s arm affectionately. “Well, I’ve rather grown fond of it. Come on Jadeon, let’s get you a drink.” Ingrid guided me toward the refreshments. “Do you really know Augusto?”

“Augusta Nadam,” I corrected her. “I only met him once.”

I sensed James studying me and turned to fend off his glare. James quickly headed to the other side of the room.

“You know, Jadeon,” Ingrid said, “I’m pretty good with figuring people out, but there’s something about you that I can’t put my finger on.”

Perhaps it’s because I am a vampire. No, that would not be funny. “I’m a southerner, so maybe . . .”

“I’m going to keep prodding until I put my finger on it,” Ingrid said.

Amused, I smiled at her. Ingrid blushed. The sound of her laughter was contagious.

“How long are you in London?” I asked.

“The course lasts a week,” she said. “But I’m off for the weekend.”

“That’s nice. You can sight see while you’re here.”

“You really live in a castle? Like, a real one?”

“We do, yes.”

“That’s incredible. I don’t even know what to ask first.”

“It’s been in the family for generations. I suppose I’m more of a caretaker than anything else.”

“Do you offer tours?”

“No, never.”

She looked disappointed. “That’s . . . magical. Is it as romantic as it sounds? Or is it mostly cold stone and creaky floors? And old relatives glaring at you from ancient portraits.”

“All of it, honestly. There’s beauty in it, but also a lot of responsibility. It’s quiet, eerie. Its history is rich with endless stories.” I made it endearing even though our past was reckless and filled with sorrows etched into its stones, like scars the centuries were unable to heal.

“It sounds like a place that holds secrets. I’d love to see it one day . . . if that’s not too bold.”

“The castle likes kind souls.”

I let my palm settle against the small of her back, and for a breath, we shared something. A look, an understanding, a quiet moment suspended between us. I didn’t want to lose it, didn’t want to let go of her warmth. But somehow, with more effort than I’d ever admit, I drew my hand away.

Music emanated from James’s piano and caught Ingrid’s attention. She realized that it was Alex who was performing the ethereal music.

Conversations ceased as other guests listened in awe. “Are you spontaneous, Ingrid?” I checked my watch.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Do you ever do things on the spur of the moment?”

“Sure. Why?”