The Ashford Affair by Lauren Willig Read Free Book Online Page B

Really.”
    She could feel the tension crackling between them, old rivalries and complications. And, if she was being honest, old attraction. She could feel the ghosts of their old selves between them, twenty-one and fearless.
    That had all been a long time ago. Before Dan. Before Caitlin. Before any of this.
    Clemmie took a safe step back, breathing in through her nose, employing all those tricks she had learned to stay calm during difficult depositons. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just— I really wasn’t prepared for how much she’s changed.”
    “Yeah,” said Jon. “I know what you mean.”
    For a moment, they stood in silence, united by mutual memories. Granny Addie playing grandmother to them both, making sure they did their homework, got their applications in on time.
    “Does Aunt Anna know anything?” Clemmie asked urgently. “About her condition? She said she had something to tell me and I thought—”
    “It’s not that,” said Jon quickly. “Nothing like that.” Clearing his throat, he said, “Would you like some coffee or anything? I know where Anna keeps the good stuff.”
    “No, that’s okay. I’ll hit the coffee machine at work. It’s not very good, but it’s there.” Clemmie glanced down the hallway. “I should probably get going anyway. Tell Aunt Anna I was here? Honestly, I’m not really sure why I came.”
    Mostly to piss off Mother. It wasn’t a terribly noble thought, but there it was.
    “Last night was tough,” said Jon quietly. “For everyone. Anna doesn’t usually take sleeping pills.”
    “What are we going to do when she goes?” Clemmie hadn’t meant to say the words, but there they were, stark and cold. She looked down at her hands. “And you’re right. I don’t know anything about her. I never bothered to ask.”
    “She didn’t volunteer,” said Jon.
    Clemmie grimaced at him, trying to keep her cool. “Are you being nice to me?”
    “Don’t get used to it.” Jon looked at her for a moment, head tilted, considering. He said, slowly, “Can I show you something?”
    “That depends on what it is.”
    “Don’t worry,” said Jon. “You’re not going to get that lucky.” Clemmie snorted. Jon jerked his head sideways. “This way.”
    She followed him into a room that looked like it was ordinarily a study of some kind. The walls were lined with built-in bookcases in a dark wood. There was squishy chair in one corner and a table that looked like it could double as a desk. The room also obviously doubled as the guest room. Clemmie avoided looking at the rumpled sheets on the daybed. There was something weirdly intimate about it. Jon’s suitcase, a plain black wheelie, lay on the floor next to the chair, closed but unzipped, the corner of a pair of khakis bulging out of one side.
    Last night’s blazer was tossed over the arm of the desk chair, still smelling faintly of Granny Addie’s apartment: potpourri and lemon oil.
    Clemmie nodded to the daybed. “I thought you said I wasn’t going to get that lucky.”
    “Control yourself, you animal you. I’m still a married man. Technically.” Kneeling on the bed, Jon scanned the bookshelves, his finger moving from one spine to the next.
    Clemmie stood awkwardly behind him, just far enough back to keep her knees from bumping into the bed. “What are you looking for?”
    Aunt Anna’s library ran heavily towards glossy hardcover coffee table books on art and architecture. She had gotten her degree in art history, Clemmie dimly remembered that. It had been one of the bones of contention between Aunt Anna and Clemmie’s mother, that Aunt Anna had gotten her degree and Mother hadn’t. And, then, as Mother saw it, Aunt Anna had thrown it all away, pursuing first one man, then another. It was something that had been drummed into Clemmie from an early age, the importance of picking a career and sticking with it, of being self-driven and self-supporting. Being a success. Like Granny Addie.
    “This.” Jon