Novel & Cerita The Dumont Diaries

Juliette sat curled beneath the pale yellow throw on her bed, her fingers trembling around the spine of the journal she had unearthed earlier that day; hidden inside one of the boxes from the boutique Damon had helped her set up. The boutique had stirred something in her. A rush of emotions she couldn’t explain. The smell of fabric, the soft jingle of a bell on the door, the way her hands moved instinctively over the display tables… it had all felt hauntingly familiar.

Andrew looked for newspapers and came back with one printed two days earlier. At a table near the fountain a man sold notebooks and pens. His face was dark from the sun, thin, with a nose that looked recently broken. He tapped a cigarette on the table while he talked. “Diaries,” he said. “Blank. Good paper.” “Old ones?” I asked. He hesitated, then reached under the table. He laid out a small book wrapped in brown paper. “One left. The rest burned.” I opened it. The first page carried a single word written neatly in blue ink: Santuzza. The rest were blank.