Julie's Butterfly Read Online Free PDF Page B

was bathed in pale light. An antique mahogany chest of drawers occupied one wall, and a wardrobe in the same style stood opposite, draped with scarves and shawls. She had decorated the remaining walls with earth-toned landscape photographs she’d found at a flea market. She usually liked the serenity of the pictures, but that morning, she found them colorless and sad.
    Wrinkling her nose, she drew her blankets up to her chin and watched the hands of her alarm clock approach seven o’clock. Its persistent ticking gradually made her aware of a throbbing pain in her head.
    Unsure whether her headache was caused by all the champagne she had consumed or the outcome of the evening, she tried to turn her thoughts to other things.
    And failed miserably.
    She couldn’t get his expression out of her mind. The way he had stared at her silently when they were introduced, the way she had felt his intense gaze on her throughout the evening, the way he had unexpectedly helped her, and then the coldness of his rejection—more than once.
    It was a complete mystery to her, why he should be so vividly imprinted on her mind. After all, they had hardly exchanged a word, much less had anything nice to say. The fact was, they were complete strangers, and after his abrupt departure last night, she was sure she’d never see him again.
    She inhaled deeply, gathered her strength, and pushed the blankets back with a groan. Her cat, Spot, who claimed her space by Julie’s feet every night, wriggled indignantly as Julie pulled her legs out from under her. “Sorry, sweetheart,” murmured Julie as she dragged herself out of bed.
    First, she needed to get rid of her headache. Moving sluggishly, Julie shuffled into the kitchen to fix herself something substantial for breakfast. In search of comfort food, she rummaged through the cupboard until she found a box of chocolate muesli, which she poured into a bowl with a generous splash of milk.
    She sat on the sofa and shoveled her cereal into her mouth with determination, impatient for the endorphins to take effect. Only a few bites in, the doorbell rang.
    Julie gave a pained sigh. Only one person was tactless enough to pay her a visit at such an ungodly hour.
    She stood up with some effort and opened the door to greet her mother.
    Despite her diminutive size, Louisa Hoffmann was a formidable presence. In her expensive navy blue suit, she looked every bit the respectable matron she thought herself to be. As she walked in, Julie could make out the precise lines of her scarlet lipstick and the marked wrinkles on her forehead. Her mother leveled her surprisingly perceptive eyes on her expectantly.
    “Good morning, Julietta,” Louisa said in her usual stiff tone, letting her gaze sweep disapprovingly over Julie’s wrinkled, faded pink T-shirt.
    Julie forced a smile. “Good morning.” She gave her mother a light kiss on the cheek and stepped aside to let her in. “How are you?”
    “Very well, thank you, my dear.” She studied Julie’s hangdog expression. “You look dreadful,” she said curtly before sweeping past Julie and into the living room.
    “That could be because it’s not even seven thirty yet,” Julie said sullenly. She braced herself in anticipation of the conversation to come. Her mother would not have come without a reason; she never did.
    “So where were you yesterday?” Julie asked in an attempt to delay the real reason for her mother’s visit. At Louisa’s questioning look, Julie explained. “Isabelle’s opening night at the Schubert Gallery. Important social occasion.” She was surprised that her mother appeared to have forgotten about it.
    “The opening was yesterday?” she asked before narrowing her eyes in frustration. “Your father suddenly remembered he had a prior engagement.”
    “Too bad.” Julie tried to suppress a grin. Knowing her father, he probably hid the invitation and made the excuse of a business dinner to avoid the art-related event.
    “How did it