Chapter 33

So not only was Julian a tasteless decorator and a show-off, but he didn’t even take care of his valuable things. Spoiled brat. Rafi sighed.

“Julian,” he called, but heard no answer, or even any rustle of movement. “Julian!”

Ugh.

The entryway fed him down a hallway, where another, equally ill-advised statue, this one roughly humanoid, was wearing Julian’s straw hat from the beach. The hallway opened out into a sitting room that was nearly Victorian in its overcrowded, over decorated glory.

“Good thing I’m not claustrophobic,” Rafi muttered, dodging around overstuffed furniture with tassels. Tassels.Here, too, Julian showed his true colors—the mahogany coffee table bore multiple water rings, and books and papers sat in haphazard piles. Another hat perched atop a lampshade. There were cigarette butts on the Persian rug.

Wait—did Julian even smoke?