Immortal Obsession Read Online Free Page A

there. She loved staring up at the eight-foot bronze angel, alighting upon the fountain, holding a lily in one hand while blessing the water with the other. She never tired of sitting on the stone wall, watching the passing scene as weddings were conducted, tourists snapped photographs, celebrities sashayed past and New Yorkers on their lunch hour watched one another.
    She imagined getting married there one day with Bethany as her bridesmaid—her only witness—and the groom? There was no one in her life right now, but she sensed he was close by and it was only a matter of fate until their paths crossed. You hopeless romantic, Amanda , she thought, finishing writing her e-mail. The man you want doesn’t exist.
    She straightened up the piles of books and notepads on her desk, tossed out her Styrofoam coffee cup from that morning, and grabbed her purse. It was Friday and the weekend could not start fast enough. Just give him the money and go , she thought as she exited the main entrance of the museum. She headed up Fifth Avenue and back into Central Park. A cool summer night, rare in New York, enveloped her as she headed down East Drive. It was still light, and people flooded into the park. She dodged bicyclists, rollerbladers, and joggers as she cross the 72 nd Street Transverse heading south.
    Her high heels click on the pavement as she walked along; thankful she had worn a cotton sweater. She and Bethany had plans to watch the fireworks tomorrow night and just relax over the holiday weekend. Work had been so hectic lately, and she needed to recharge her batteries with a good book and one of her favorite movies, Dangerous Liaisons .
    Up ahead on her left, she noticed the Renaissance man, as she called him, playing beautiful music on a flute. She nodded as she passed. He smiled back and kept playing. She heard the din of the diners at the Boathouse as she turned right off East Drive, and scanned the crowd for her brother, wondering what he looked like these days. Something caught her eye as she passed a pedestrian tunnel, and suddenly there he was, hunched over on the steps leading down into the tunnel.
    “Ryan?”
    He stood up slowly and she felt herself swallow hard. He appeared gray in the street light, his eyes sunken and his skin broken out and sallow. His usual jeans and T-shirt were filthy, just like his dark hair. She tried to remember the older brother she loved and admired. The youthful beauty he was before the drugs had claimed him. Although he was four years older, they were often mistaken for twins, with the same wavy dark hair, dark green eyes, and angular faces. He was taller, taking after her mother’s side of the family.
    She tried to read him, pluck his thoughts out of the air like she used to, but it had become impossible. She promised herself she would give him all the money she had and would leave before they had a chance to fight again.
    This time will be different , she thought, forcing a smile.
    “Hey,” he said with as sigh, reaching for her.
    She felt herself stiffen in his embrace.
    “How are you, Ryan?” She searched his face for a hint of the boy she remembered, but could find nothing, only a stranger, and a bag of bones who needed more than just a hot bath and a meal.
    “Ah, you know, hanging in there. How’s the museum? Are you still into all that blood and guts?” He gestured with his index finger across this throat.
    She knew exactly what he meant. The French Revolution was her passion. She had learned even more from working on a recent exhibition titled Jewelry of La Révolution Française . The experience had culminated with her contact with one of rarest and most beautiful suites of jewelry to survive the destruction of the French aristocracy, a parure belonging to Marie Antoinette. Even as a child, she had been obsessed with the French Revolution. She never questioned her love of one of the bloodiest periods in modern history, nor thought it odd. Most of her family was of French