The Chateau by Jaclyn Goldis EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Author: Jaclyn Goldis
- Language: English
- Genre: Heist Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
In the prelude to sunrise, just after I’ve returned to my room and drifted back o
to sleep, I awaken to a scream. I bolt up in bed, shove my sleep mask o my face.
I reach out to toggle the lamp, but where is the switch? Disorientation in the
dead of night is doubled when you’re across the world, in someone else’s home.
Finally, I grasp the switch and wince as light illuminates the cavernous room, the
herringbone marble replace and towering windows framed in gauzy cream
drapes, the leafy branches of an oak tree swishing against the exterior of the
panes. In the thick silence that has ensued, I analyze the sound I thought I heard
—its scratchy, desperate contours. Did I dream it? I sag back into my nest of
pillows. I suppose I did.
I grab my phone to see if one of the girls has texted. No text, and mercifully
no Instagram notication from @imwatchingyou88. Only the time blinks back
at me. 6:05. So I stole not even ten minutes of sleep after returning from my
little errand. My heart slaps my chest—did someone see me? Does someone
know?
No. Impossible. I force my mind to turn over other aairs—the fact that my
birthday is ocially over. Forty. Thank the Lord. Thirty-nine felt like a forced
march, but now that I’m here, in this new decade, I remind myself, again, that I
have everything I’ve ever wanted. A kind, gorgeous husband; two amazing kids; a
career that has steadily skyrocketed. And I’m hotter than ever, hotter even than
most of the twenty-four-year-olds who clamor to take my spin classes. Forty isn’t
our grandmothers’ forty, right?
My unconvincing pep talk is interrupted by another scream. My breath stalls,
hovers, until I gulp for it. The sound rollercoasters my eardrums. I’ve never
heard anything so primal. And its origin is clear. Darcy.
I hear footsteps outside my door. Arabelle?
“Belle?” When there is no answer, I shout, “I’m coming!” The few words I
manage sandpaper my throat. Darcy needs me. Us. Someone. But still I am xed
in place to this linen duvet.
In the twenty years Darcy Demargelasse Bell has been my best friend, I’ve
hardly ever heard her scream. Darcy is exceedingly patient and compassionate,
not the type to overreact. Recently, though, I’ve witnessed her in a couple of
disproportionate blowups—an unusually short fuse with her kids, with Oliver.
It’s not nice of me to say, and I wouldn’t aloud. These are the kindnesses best
friends pay each other, to trip over each other’s failings and then straighten out
the rug.
Silence has once again descended like a tarp on the chateau. I pad down from
the bed and reach for my tee draped on the olive velvet chaise, then tug it back
on. My feet shiver against the terra-cotta tiles. For a moment the view from my
window transxes me: the manicured grounds, the still swimming pool, the
shimmering moon.
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