Chapter 2
Just a few minutesaway from seeing my new home for the first time, I pop my head up as my driver maneuvers the narrow streets of the New Orleans French Quarter. I find old double-gallery homes now turned into hotels and museums, exquisite cathedrals, funky theaters, tons of bars and restaurants, and even a voodoo shop or two. There are many similarities between this little corner of the world and my neighborhood back home. Like Beacon Hill, the French Quarter is full of history and beautiful architecture. Everywhere I turn, there’s something interesting—nooks and crannies of a city I can’t wait to explore.
As we pass a section of cute, colorful cottages painted in shades of purple, blue, pink, and yellow, my anticipation builds. Each one seems to have its own personality with different shutter styles, intricate corbels, and gas lanterns. Oh, that one is pretty! It’s like a little dollhouse. I hope Aidan got me one just like it. “How far are we?” I ask, tapping my feet in excitement. The flight from Boston wasn’t bad considering I used the family jet. Still, I feel like I’ve been sitting for ages.
“A few more minutes. This is Orleans Street. You’re on Dumaine.” I nod, acknowledging the driver, though my bright green eyes are relentless as they take in my new surroundings.
This is going to be good for me. At least, that’s what I tell myself. The houses are small, yes, and New Orleans is a bit grungier than I’m used to in Beacon Hill. Less cobblestone, more potholes. A little more sketchy than sophisticated, I guess. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a fortune teller on a street corner before, and my smile instantly falls as I spot the graffiti painted onto the once-regal building behind her. I guess this is the place where old meets new. As I start to notice more and more loitering men, I find this is the case in more ways than one. Perhaps I’m wrong to assume they’re on my brother’s payroll, not that they would know Aidan from the next redheaded man in a suit, but I’m not so sheltered that I don’t know a drug dealer when I see one. At that, I exhale and return my attention to my thoughts.
It’s not that I don’t like the business my family is in. I mean, in actuality, all I know is from the internet, which isn’t necessarily accurate or up-to-date. Not that I care. It just isn’t the way of the mob to educate their women in such matters despite having a female leader. Quite frankly, the only reason Josephine Cullen is the leader of the Irish mob is because her father didn’t have any sons and he was too prideful to let the crown pass to someone who didn’t share his last name.
In my world, women are seen as brainless bimbos—arm candy—who enjoy nothing but shopping and partying. Perhaps because that’s all we’re allowed to do. A man is judged not by the smile on his woman’s face but by the diamonds around her neck and the number of zeros in the price of her shoes and handbags. Don’t get me wrong, I quite enjoy being spoiled. I’m a professional princess. But…I want more. Perhaps that is my princess mentality at its finest. I could have everything and still not be satisfied, at least that’s what my brother tells me. And yet, I don’t have everything.
Back home, I’m under constant surveillance by my brother’s guards. Even within the confines of my two-story townhome, there are two. When I leave the premises, the sheer act of which must be approved ahead of time, more slither in from the shadows.
I know that my brother loves me, and he’s only so strict with me because he cares, but I’m twenty-four years old and I feel like I’ve never had the chance to breathe, to be alone, to make my own choices and mistakes. Hell, if it wasn’t for that one night in college that I slipped past my gun-wielding babysitters I’d still be a virgin. For all Aidan knows, I am. I just…I need a break. And as far as I’m concerned, New Orleans may be my only chance to take it, my one chance to put my business and marketing degrees to use, to live alone, to have tons of casual sex or maybe fall in love even if it’s destined to end. This is my chance to be free before my brother remembers I’m a chip on a poker table waiting to be cashed in the moment he needs me most. So, yeah, this will be good for me, I think to myself once more.
In New Orleans, no one knows who I am. The name Anastasia Cross means nothing. And anyone who does know me, thinks I’m on some retreat at an undisclosed European resort. That will explain my absence from the upcoming social calendar and social media. As long as I keep my distance from my brother, as he’s agreed to let me do, then even as word of his new position spreads and the target on his back grows, I should remain safe living quietly and comfortably out of the spotlight. At least, that’s the argument I used to convince him to let me come—safe and independent yet close enough if I truly need him. I just hope I can actually do this.
As my driver puts on the blinker and I spot a street sign with the name Dumaine, I know we’re close. “Eeek,” I let out a childish squeal as my feet, once more, do a happy dance. I reach for my Chanel and pull out my lip gloss, touching up my pink pout out of habit. Next up, teeth check and hair flip. As my long red curls drape over my shoulders, I’m reminded of my mother. She was so effortlessly beautiful and classy. Never with a stain or smudge or without a heel and splash of perfume. I learned all my best tricks from her. If only she and my father could see me now. Though, knowing them, it’s best they can’t.
“Alright, sweetheart. We’re here.”
As the driver pulls the town car to a stop, my cheeks beam with a rosy glow. Reaching down to my ankles, I yank up my white crew socks, making sure they’re even, pull down the hemline of my pink skirt, and straighten the sleeves of my matching bolero. Today’s outfit inspiration is preppy-tennis-princess in the perfect ballerina pink. And, because he always has to match, I pull Brinkley, my white Pomeranian, from the seat next to me to straighten his pink bowtie.
“Alright, Brinkley, are you ready? It’s time we trade in our crowns for a dose of courage.” The low growl that escapes him lets me know he doesn’t share my excitement. He’s more of a princess than I am. “Oh, hush now. You’re going to love it here.” Though as I finally shift my attention to outside of the vehicle, I realize I may have spoken too soon.
“Um, no, this can’t…this can’t be right.” I fight with the door handle as worry steals my smile. I yank harder and harder, my frustration building until the driver opens it from the outside.
“Sorry, miss. It’s childproofed.” He flashes me an apologetic smile as he moves aside for me to make my exit.
“Of course it is,” I huff, joining him on the sidewalk. Though one whiff of the rancid air has me begging for the inside of the car. “Oh my God! What is that smell?” I pinch my nose closed as Brinkley buries his in the crook of my arm. “Yes, baby, I know.” I pull him closer to me as if to shield his fur from absorbing the awful aroma.
“It’s New Orleans,” the bald, middle-aged man laughs. “The trash, the sewer.” He opens his arms wide, prompting me to spin around in search of the culprit. Nevertheless, I find no garbage cans, and any debris is minimal. In fact, the street itself looks a little deserted. Unlike the streets on our drive in, and even the one we just turned off of, there are no people out and about, no flowers hanging from second-story balconies, no brightly painted cottages. It’s dull, dim, and dead. And this atrocious odor is simply infused into the very essence of the city.
“Bourbon Street is one block that way, so there’s a little excrement mixed in there too,” the man continues. At that, I turn back to him.
“Excrement!” I move my eyes to the ground, making sure not to step in anything. “From which end?”
“Ha! Both.” His words give a whole new meaning to the stench burning my nostrils. I gag. “Yeah, and the Gulf is just a couple blocks in the opposite direction, so that adds a little extra spice. The summer heat and humidity will only make it worse. But don’t worry, you’ll be used to it by then.”
“Doubtful,” I grumble, both because I can’t imagine how anyone could ever get used to this and because I know there’s been a mistake. There is no way in Hell this is where my brother has chosen for me to live. My eyes move to the little white cottage before me. The cutest thing about it is the gray-blue shutters, but somehow even they look sad. The sidewalk and street are nothing but a mess of cracks and puddles I can only pray are filled with rainwater. Graffiti covers the brick fence of the place next door. What even is that? An apartment complex? It’s way too big to be one residence. There’s no grass to be found, which is a problem for Brinkley, and even the one tree half-hidden by the fence next door is crispy.
I know Aidan did everything he could to convince me to stay in Boston. And even though he finally agreed to let me come, it doesn’t mean he’s happy about it or that this isn’t his last-ditch effort to have me on the first flight back to Boston. In fact, I bet the jet is still here. I could… No, nope, this is exactly what he wanted, and I won’t let him win. I will, however, let him hear about it.
As the driver starts unloading the trunk, I pull my cell phone from my purse and move closer to the place I’m meant to call home. The roof is weathered and the paint is chipped. I try to open the gray-blue shutter nearest me but it’s stuck shut. No handle to pull, no hook to hang it on. The only thing I’ve accomplished is covering my fingers in dust. Being this close to the Gulf and Jackson Square, it’s got to be one of the oldest homes in the city, a couple hundred years at least. I wonder if the inside is just as neglected.
“Aidan, you asshole,” I mumble as I dial him. And, just as expected, he answers on the second ring. “Aidan Christopher Cross,” I start before he can even say hello. “I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but it’s not funny and it’s not going to work. When you said you’d make the arrangements for me, I thought you were being nice. Well, maybe not nice, but controlling and protective, like you always are. But now I see you were just being petty. Nevertheless, your plan has failed—no—backfired. Because I’m moving to New Orleans whether you like it or not. And I’ll stay in this little decrepit rathole on this dingy, deserted street just because I know it’ll drive you more insane than it ever will me. For every drunken man that passes by my window at night, for every pile of human waste I step over, for every rat I run from, it’s you who will worry. You’ll be the one with premature wrinkles, not me! Because one, Botox, and two, pride! Oh my God, there’s a rat! There’s an actual rat! Eeek!” I squeal and jump and run ten feet in the opposite direction, pulling Brinkley tighter to my chest as he tries to wriggle free. Aidan takes the break in my tantrum to interject.
“Well, good morning to you too, Anastasia. I see you’ve made it to your destination.”
“Ai—”
“Ana, trust me. I know this move is important to you, which is the only reason I allowed it in the first place.” At that, I brush my disheveled curtain bangs from my face and roll my eyes at his use of the word allow. “I would never jeopardize your safety just to teach you a lesson. Don’t you know by now that everything I do is to keep you safe?” I hear a small inflection in his voice that relaxes me, so much so I actually miss him. As controlling and overbearing as my brother is, we are extremely close, even more so since our parents passed away in a boating accident a couple years ago.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just…not what I expected.”
“I know, but looks can be deceiving. On the inside you’ll find everything remodeled and furnished by your favorite designer from back home. The entire place is stocked with all the necessities plus your favorite snacks, bed linens, and I even checked your recent purchases so I could have a fresh stock of all your skincare and hair care products as I’m sure you used every piece of luggage you could find for clothes and shoes.”
He’s not wrong. Okay, I guess my brother can be sweet. A small smile lifts my lips as the last of my tension dissipates. Brinkley, sensing it, also settles.
“I’m not happy about this move, Ana, but I want you to be comfortable. Now, get inside before some creep tries to rob you. Without your normal protection detail, the Louis Vuitton and Chanel bags aren’t something you want to show off.” His words have me spinning, searching my surroundings for anyone who may be watching me. I’ll have to get used to that. I’m used to having other people watching out for me.
“Okay, and Aidan, thank you. Thank you for agreeing to let me come and being so thoughtful. I love you, brother.”
“I love you too, Anastasia. Go in through the wrought iron gate on the side of the house. There’s a side entry you’ll use. It’s safer than a street entry, especially being so close to Bourbon. The key is under the mat, and I’ve left a surprise for you inside.”
“A surprise? Hmm, that makes me nervous.”
“Don’t be. You’ll like it. Give Brink a kiss for me and stay safe.”
“I will.”