Chapter 1 What Happens in New Orleans.
WHAT HAPPENS IN NEW ORLEANS...
CHRIS
The SUV rolled to a stop in a back alley that looked like the opening scene of a true crime documentary. Brick walls, dim lighting, a single red door with no signage. If I didn’t trust Hayes with my life, I’d be checking for exits.
We’d spent the last three days in New Orleans eating our weight in crawfish, losing money on the golf course, taking pictures with Touchdown Jesus, and sweating through a swamp tour that Isak live-streamed to his followers.
It had been the perfect bachelor party weekend.
But now, on our last night in the city, my sweet baby brother had apparently decided to take us somewhere that looked like it required a secret password and possibly a blood oath.
“Hayes.” I leaned over as the door opened. “Where the hell are we?”
“Trust the process, Chris.” He climbed out of the SUV with a grin that told me nothing.
Dad had already taken Isak back to the hotel, something about not wanting his underage son anywhere near whatever this was.
Isak was not happy about having to miss out on any activities because of the mere one year keeping him from being of legal drinking age, but if there’s one hill that Bridger Kingman would die on, it would be no underage drinking, which meant the rest of us were at Hayes’s mercy.
My brothers piled out of the vehicles, a wall of Kingman muscle in button-downs and blazers, and I followed them toward the red door.
My phone buzzed. I checked it automatically.
Ciara
The florist confirmed the purple ranunculus. Stop asking.
I quickly typed back to our wedding planner, the honorable Ciara Moses-Wilmington or whatever her name was.
What about the backup ranuncules...ranunculeses...ranunculi? In case something happens to the first ranunculeese?
There are no backup ranunculus. There are PLENTY of flowers. Please go enjoy your bachelor party.
But what if—
Christopher. Take a breath. Breathe in the inner peace. And stop texting me.
I hadn’t even finished my text before she sent that reply. Sometimes I thought she was a witch. The magical kind, not the bitchy kind.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket as several bouncers appeared, opening black umbrellas and lining our path to discourage any paparazzi from snapping photos of the Denver Mustangs’ starting lineup entering a mysterious back-alley establishment.
Inside, the lighting shifted to a dim red glow that reminded me of a darkroom.
A gentleman in a suit appeared and led us up a narrow staircase, through a brick hallway that did nothing to ease my concerns about where we were headed. For a moment, I genuinely wondered if my sweet, innocent brother had accidentally booked us into an underground fight ring.
Then the door at the end of the hall opened, and we stepped into what I could only describe as an old-fashioned speakeasy. Low lighting, jazz playing softly, velvet everything. Okay. This was nicer than expected.
“Welcome to The Siren’s Den.” Another guy in a suit, this one with an accent that split the difference between Southern gentleman and New York cabbie, gestured toward a row of tables facing a stage. “Everyone have a seat. We’ll get your drink orders shortly.”
A stage. With six stripper poles.
Great.
My phone buzzed again.
Ciara
Also, the grounds crew has already rearranged to make room for the second fancy porta potty you requested as a back up.
I hadn’t even texted her about the back up for the back up. She was getting preemptive now.
They are LUXURY TOILET TRAILERS
I’m turning my phone off.
She wasn’t going to turn her phone off. She was a professional. But I appreciated that she wanted to.
The waitresses approached wearing short, sparkly dresses with trays around their necks like cigarette girls from old movies. They offered an array of drinks, craft cocktails, local beers, something called the Green Fairy that was literally on fire. I ordered a pilsner and tried to relax.
This place was actually beautiful, now that I was looking. Restored brick, original woodwork, the kind of vintage details Trixie would love. A touch of vampire, this was New Orleans after all. And it was completely empty except for us.
“Hayes,” I whispered, leaning over. “Is this place even open?”
“It is for us.” He looked pleased with himself. “I rented out the whole club.”
Smart. No random strangers snapping photos of the Mustangs’ QB1line at a strip club. But with fewer people to spread the attention around, that also meant more interaction with whoever was about to come out on those poles. I was not excited about this development.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the effort.
Hayes had thrown himself into best man duties with the same intensity he brought to studying game film.
He’d read books on the subject. Made spreadsheets.
Probably color-coded something. And if he thought this was an essential part of the bachelor party experience, then I was going to sit here and be a good sport about it.
But Trixie Moore had been my every fantasy since I was a teenager. Now that she was finally mine, finally about to be my wife, the last thing I wanted was to look at another woman. The only body I was interested in seeing was currently at her own party somewhere, hopefully thinking about me.
Appetizers materialized on the tables, enough food to feed an army. Crawfish egg rolls, boudin balls, gator bites. Hayes must have ordered ahead. My brothers descended on the spread like locusts. Nothing stood between a Kingman and food.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Good food, cold drinks, jazz music. Just a nice bar with some poles that I would politely ignore.
My phone buzzed.
Ciara
I can see you typing. Step away from the phone and go have fun. That’s an order.
See? Witch. For sure. I put the phone face-down on the table.
“You’ve been staring at that thing all weekend,” Declan said, raising an eyebrow. “Hot sexts from Trixie?”
“Wedding stuff.”
“It’s your bachelor party, Chris. The wedding is in a week. Whatever it is can wait.”
He wasn’t wrong. But every time I tried to relax, my brain started cycling through everything that could go wrong.
The construction delays. The weather. The seating chart.
Whether the caterer understood what “vegan but also crowd-pleasing” actually meant.
Trixie kept telling me to chill, that it would all work out, that Ciara had everything under control.
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who’d promised her future wife the wedding of her dreams.
Before I could spiral further, the lights dimmed and an androgynous MC in a red velvet coat climbed onto the stage.
“Welcome, Kingmans and friends, to The Siren’s Den, the crown jewel of the French Quarter.
” They spread their arms wide. “We have prepared a very special show for you gentlemen this evening. Our ladies are here to rock your world and melt your minds. You are going to want to look and strongly encouraged to touch. I present to you... Les Belles de la Maison Kingman.”
They leaped off the stage like gravity was optional and disappeared into the shadows.
Wait. Strongly encouraged to touch?
“I am not touching anybody,” Flynn announced, looking horrified. “Tempest will murder me. She will beat me with a chancla and I will deserve it.”
“If some dancer puts her hands on me, Marie’s going to deep fry parts of my anatomy and serve them as appetizers,” Johnston muttered, eyeing the boudin balls with sudden suspicion.
Declan, who had one the snacks half way to his mouth stopped and glared at Johnston before eating it anyway. Sausage balls is sausage balls man.
I felt vaguely ill as the curtain drew back. A dozen female silhouettes posed against deep blue lights. The tallest one in the back slowly raised a microphone and began to sing the opening notes of “Lady Marmalade.”
I knew that voice.
I shot Declan a look. His eyes were as wide as mine.
It couldn’t be.
The singer powered through the last note of the intro, the beat dropped, the lights blazed to life, and...
OH. MY. GOD.
There was my future wife.
Trixie came strutting down the stage in rhinestones and strategically placed fabric, shaking everything she had.
Even her glasses were bedazzled. Behind her, the other women fell into formation, Kelsey, Willa, Penelope, Tempest, the whole crew, but I couldn’t process any of them because my brain had short-circuited at the sight of Trixie Moore in a burlesque costume.
She spun a chair around, high-kicked over it, sat down, and winked directly at me.
My heart actually stopped. I think I died for a second. Dead.
Kelsey belted out the song while the ladies performed a routine that was obviously well-rehearsed. When had they even found time for this? Twice-weekly book club my ass.
I turned to Hayes. “You were in on this?”
“Sure was.” He grinned, turning back to the stage. “That’s my wife! Go Willa, baby!”
The absolute betrayal. The beautiful, wonderful betrayal.
My brothers had lost their minds. Declan was staring at Kelsey like she’d hung the moon. Flynn’s earlier panic had transformed into delighted shock as Tempest worked her way toward him. Even Johnston had relaxed, Marie now visible at the edge of the stage, definitely not about to deep fry anything.
And Trixie, my Trixie, was having the time of her life up there. Confident, radiant, sexy as hell. She’d planned this whole thing. Probably coordinated with Hayes for months. All so she could show up at my bachelor party and blow my mind.
God, I loved this woman.
The song wound down and the ladies made their way off the stage toward their respective partners. Trixie danced her way over to me, and I caught her as she dropped into my lap, my hands finding her waist like they belonged there.
“Were you surprised?” she asked, slightly breathless, eyes sparkling behind those bedazzled frames.
“So surprised. The best surprise.” I pulled her closer. “How did you keep this a secret?”
“We practiced on book club nights.”
“I knew twice-weekly book club was excessive.”
“The importance of the Bridgerton family cannot be overstated, Christopher.”
Down the table, Penny was laughing at something Everett had said. “We watched your reactions on a camera backstage. When they said ‘touching strongly encouraged,’ you looked like you were going to be sick.”
“I wasn’t happy,” Everett confirmed. “Johnston said Marie would deep fry his balls.”
“And serve them with remoulade,” Marie added serenely, stealing a shrimp from his plate.
The staff rearranged the space, adding tables and chairs as more food appeared.
Lulu and her wife Mina joined us—apparently the ladies had been having their own New Orleans adventure filled with spa treatments and haunted walking tours.
The whole group settled in for what was quickly becoming an actual party.
“I can’t believe you pulled this off,” I said, still not quite over it.
Trixie traced a finger along my jaw. “I can’t believe you were willing to suffer through a strip club for Hayes’s sake. Very noble of you.”
“I was going to be so polite. So respectful. Eyes on my phone the whole time.”
“I know. That’s why we had to intervene.” She kissed my cheek. “Couldn’t let you sit here being miserable on your own bachelor party.”
Across the room, Gryff and his girl Artie were eyeing the now-empty stage.
“Bet I can spin better than you, Kingman,” Artie challenged.
“Oh, you’re on.” Gryff was already rolling up his sleeves.
“Bet we can beat both of you,” called Olive, my cousin Levi’s fiancée. “Come on, babe. Let’s show them what we learned in pole class.”
“That’s cheating if you’ve taken a class,” Gryff protested as they all raced toward the stage.
Mac snort-laughed. “How in the world did she get Levi to take a pole dancing class?”
“She gets him to do a lot of stuff.” Sara Jayne said. “She was telling me about a cheese making class they took when we were at that restaurant, Charcutadaddy’s.”
“Well if we ever have to dance to make some cheddar we will know who to call. Get it, Chickadee? Make some cheddar?”
“Oof, Kingman, you’re not a Dad yet with those jokes.” She teased.
I swear my dick went from zero to why hello there in two heartbeats at the thought of Trixie having my baby. I was gonna get her so pregnant with so many babies.
Trixie laughed, settling more comfortably against me. “Your family is insane.”
“Our family,” I corrected. “In one week, you’re stuck with us forever.”
“I’ve been stuck with you forever. The paperwork is just a formality.”
I pressed a kiss to her temple. One week. In one week, I’d be marrying my best friend, the love of my life, the woman who’d just crashed my bachelor party in rhinestones and a corset.
Whatever else happened with the wedding, the flowers, the weather, the fifteen things I’d probably text Ciara about tomorrow, this moment right here was perfect.
Trixie in my arms, my family causing chaos around us, good food and good music and the heavy New Orleans air wrapping around everything like a promise.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it.
“Smart man,” Trixie murmured against my neck.
“I’m learning.”
She pulled back to look at me, and there was something soft in her expression. Something that made my chest tight in the best way.
“Hey,” she said. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
I kissed her, slow and sweet, not caring that my brothers were probably making gagging noises somewhere behind us.
“I can’t wait to marry you too, Chickadee.”
One week. I could make it one week without driving everyone crazy.
Probably.