Infatuate Read Online Free Page A

smirked, looking at me from the corner of his eye. I studied the imposing mansion. Rising a full story above our hostel, it had black-lacquered shutters framing the windows and a grand balcony wrapping all the way around the corner. The dove-gray paint of its façade was chipped and there were a few boarded-up windows on the upper level. A honking horn pierced my thoughts, and I looked back to see the cab disappearing down the street, a hand waving goodbye out the window.
    “Haunted house? Please. That’s nothin’.” Dante brushed it off and gathered his tiger-striped bags. “After where we’ve been?”
    Luggage in hand, we turned our attention back to our own residence and clustered around the center gateway. We peeked inside and could see through an arched walkway back to what appeared to be a patio. There was no one anywhere in sight. I nudged the gate, and it creaked open.
    “Well, shall we?” I asked.
    “Let’s do it!” Dante said.
    Lance shrugged, but proclaimed, “Laissez les bon temps rouler.”
    I led the way through the passage until we came out into what would be our own secret garden. I had never seen anything like it: the courtyard was hemmed in by the sides of the building, but above was sun-soaked sky. An ornately carved stone fountain gurgled in the center, with a ledge around its circular pool that seemed the perfect place to sit and read a book. A wrought-iron table and matching chairs stood to one side with a cush- ioned chaise longue beside it. All around the garden, patches of tropical plants flourished, their giant leaves fanning in the hot breeze. Technicolor flowers in luscious candy-apple reds, hot pinks, and citrus shades blossomed up trellises that lined all four interior walls. I tried to call up anything I could remember from my last trip to the Chicago Botanic Garden, where Joan would take me each summer. I let my fingers sweep a wall of magenta blooms. “Bougainvillea,” I said, almost to myself.
    “Gesundheit,” said Dante, who’d already sat on the chaise and put his feet up.
    “You’re good.” Lance came to my side and leaned in for a closer look. “I think you’re right.”
    “There are banana trees too. Anyone interested?” Dante asked. He was on his feet now, trying to reach a cluster.
    “Um, maybe we should have a look around before we start eating the landscape,” I said, scanning to see if there was anyone to notice that we were about to tear the place apart.
    “Suit yourself,” he said, wiping his dirtied hands on his jeans. “But I’m totally coming back for a snack later.”
    Two staircases beckoned from either side of the entranceway, each leading up to the balcony level. We climbed the stairs on the right side to a green-shellacked door, and knocked. Strands of my shoulder-length caramel hair were matted to my hot neck and slick temples, and I prayed I wouldn’t be forced to meet a whole house full of people looking this way. Lance leaned to peek into a window just a few feet away and shook his head to confirm there were no signs of life. I tried the door and it was open, so in we went.
    We instantly entered a hall of mirrors—a short walkway lined floor to ceiling with square mirrored panels the size of pizza boxes. “Kind of fun-house chic,” Dante muttered, as we walked through into a sprawling living room. It looked like a carnival come to life. The walls were painted slate gray, but that was the only subtle thing about the décor. One wall was dominated by a giant mask, crafted of some sort of shiny lacquer, in a riot of eggplant, gold, and emerald shades. It wore a smirking expression and had almond-shaped slits where enormous eyes would have gone. A tufted purple velvet sectional sat curved around one corner of the room near windows that looked out onto Royal Street. Elsewhere, distressed gold leaf side tables and a matching coffee table caught my eye. Expertly mismatched low-slung chairs and a love seat in the hue of the walls and speckled