CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
“Love,” Rachel muttered into the lonely darkness of Polidori’s suite. “If not love, then l**t and all the variations of need, want, adoration, and fancy in between. It was the Age of Romance after all.” In a way, it still was. She tossed and turned, pushing the bulky eiderdown to the foot of the mattress, flicking off the sheets so she lay n***d on Polidori’s bed.
In kind with the girls in his basement.
She’d retired long before Aubrey, laying alone in Polidori’s bed, the mellow vocals of Nina Simone still casting a spell on the shadows of the townhome until eventually the others left and she recognized his footsteps creaking up the stair. He had hesitated on the landing outside her door.
There was no lock, nor would she have latched it if there were.
She’d held
