4. White Knight Pas de Deux
M y hand flies to my chest as my heartbeat slows, but not by much.
“You scared me!”
His cousins’ mouths curl into unsettling, triumphant smirks, making me shudder.
Zy frowns. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“Jumpy, aren’t ya?” Bart laughs.
“It’s fine.” I ignore Bart, waving off Zy’s concern. My gaze darts between the three of them. “Why aren’t you wearing masks to a masquerade?”
“We don’t play dress-up,” Rufus rumbles, his arms crossed.
I resist rolling my eyes. Okay, cool guy.
Zy cuts him an annoyed glance, then gestures to his breast pocket, where two masks stick out, one black and one white.
“Didn’t know which one you’d want me to wear.” He nods toward my outfit and grins. “White it is.”
“Fitting,” Bart snickers.
“Why is it fitting?” I frown.
“Don’t mind him.” Zy sets his drink down and ties the white mask on. “He’s an asshole. His whole family is. My mom barely claims them.”
Bart purses his lips but then seems to think it over before shrugging like he agrees. Moving on, he points at my ring.
“Now that you’re getting hitched, what’s next?”
I bristle, but with my dad’s warning ringing in my head, I fumble over what to say.
“She’ll join the New Orleans Ballet Corps,” Zy answers in my silence, flabbing-the-freaking-gasters out of me. He squeezes me into a side hug, beaming with pride.
But I scoff, Dad’s warning be damned.
“No. I’m doing no such thing.”
His face falls. Guilt needles me, but seriously, how does my fiancé know so little about me?
“Really?” he asks. “But you’re so talented.”
There it is. The expectations. God, I can’t wait to get out from under their weight.
When you’re in the public eye, there’s this weird phenomenon where people stop seeing you as a person and start seeing you as a thing they’ve taken a stake in.
Choosing not to pursue something you’re “so talented” in becomes “unable to hack it” or “a waste of potential” just because you’re not living the life they’ve already bizarrely mapped out for you.
They don’t care about your dreams if they don’t align with theirs.
Those are strangers, though. It hurts most coming from someone who’s supposed to know you, and the disappointment in Zy’s frown makes me feel like I’m actually screwing up.
I curl in on myself, holding my stomach. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always wanted to travel. Be on the open road? Explore the mountains where my Momma’s family is from?”
Why are these questions? Just answer the man.
A song plays for half a measure. Then he bursts out laughing, putting more gusto behind it than necessary and making me jolt.
“Oh my God, you got me good. Your dad would kill me if I let you do that.”
“ Let me?” Anger twists my lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he and his cousins double over laughing like my hopes and dreams are a comedy show.
“I’m serious,” I insist. “I wanna get out, explore, maybe hike the Appalachian Trail.”
“Hike?” Bart sneers. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t last a day in those mountains.”
I prop my hands on my hips. “Watch me.”
The challenge thrums a defiant chord in me. If I could, I’d stomp off right now to start learning about backpacking. Just to prove the asshole wrong.
Zy pulls me in. “Come on. Why would you ever leave NOLA? Your friends, your family, your home?”
“I…”
I swallow.
Play the part.
I shake my head and pitch my voice higher. “You’re right. I’m being silly. New Orleans is home.”
“There ya go. You’ve come to your senses.”
The hell I have, but I’m not here to convince three knuckleheads what I want. The only person I need to talk to is Zy, that’s never been more clear.
Jesus, tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
A tray of shots comes by, and Bart pulls out a wad of cash that makes my eyes nearly bug out as he signals for the waiter to stop.
“For the birthday girl.” He grabs four, flashing his canines in a grin over his shoulder that makes him nearly drop them. “Help me, will ya, Rufus?”
I go up on tiptoe to figure out what the shots on the tray are, but the waiter disappears in the crowd, and I plop back down on my heels. Honestly, I’ll take any liquid courage at this point.
Bart passes the shots out, leaving me last. “You look stressed. Maybe this’ll help.”
Zy’s eyes narrow at his cousin. “I can get my fiancé a drink.”
“Sorry, Thrasher. Figured I’d give my future cousin-in-law what she needed since you couldn’t do the job.” He snickers. “Damn, man, you act like you didn’t have your daddy around to teach you manners or something.”
Ozias’s cheeks flush crimson. I want to defend him, point out that my dad wouldn’t even speak to Mr. Thrasher if he didn’t like the man, let alone allow me to date his son.
But something’s… off.
I glance between them, trying to figure out where this tension is coming from. Rufus and Bart are practically twins with blond hair that’s slicked back and teeth so big I feel like little red riding hood, their eyes watching my every movement like a predator.
Zy is undeniably handsome, dark eyes and hair, always clean-shaven, showing off his sharp jawline, although I like him best scruffy. And how could I forget Mr. White Knight’s easy smile that never, ever, ever goes away.
Except for right now.
Zy’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking as I wait out this weird standoff. I reach up to cup his cheek, but he flinches away.
I sigh.
Typical.
The motion broke the moment for everyone though, and Zy looks his cousin up and down before he takes my shot from my hand.
“I’m getting you a drink. Be right back.”
What the hell?
My eyes dart between my empty hand and his back before I eventually mutter, “Jesus, what was that all about?”
Bart chuckles behind me. “Thought he’d do that.” He taps my shoulder. “No worries, princess. I always think ahead. Here.”
His shot enters my field of vision, and I take it before he can spill it down my chest.
“Snagged an extra one before the waiter left. You looked like you needed more than one.”
Damn right I do.
He and Rufus raise their shots, and I do the same as Bart says, “Let the good times roll, Princess Bordeaux.”
I don’t dignify the “princess” remark with a response, toasting instead. “ Laissez les bon temps rouler , indeed.”
We down our shots in one go, but I come up sputtering. The overly sweet concoction makes me forget all about my Liquor Poker Face game, and I scrape my tongue with my teeth.
“What was that? Straight sugar?”
Rufus snorts. “Just like a city girl not to take her liquor.”
“Aw, be nice, Roofs. The girl can’t be good at everything. Nice dancing earlier, by the way.” Bart backs up the compliment with a reproachful brow. “Though I was surprised to see the tats. Skulls? On a pretty thing like you?”
“Your point?” I cross my arms and settle on one foot, popping my hip.
“Kinda slutty, don’t you think? Especially that one.” Bart gives my legs a once-over that makes my skin crawl even though my tutu completely covers me down to my shins. “Just an observation.”
“Keep your observations to yourself then, how about that?” I ball my fists at my sides. “The skull is the Bordeaux family mark.”
Bart tsks. “You’re not gonna be a Bordeaux forever. You don’t wanna be mistaken for a Fury fucker, do you?”
The hair on the back of my neck raises.
“What did you just call me?” I haven’t heard that last name in years. And no one speaks to me like that.
Bart shrugs. “Calling it like I see it. Skulls are the Fury’s mark too. You ever met one?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. “They’re these assholes that try to throw their weight around, kind of like your daddy, come to think of it.” He leans in, cupping his hand around his mouth like he’s telling a secret. “Trust me. Being a Fury fucker is the last thing you wanna be.”
I step closer, lifting my chin. “You don’t know me very well, but call me that again, and I’ll go do it to spite you, asshole.”
His toothy grin turns to a scowl, and his chest puffs up as he towers over me. If I hadn’t had a ruthless crime boss for a father and years of mixed martial arts training, I might be more than just a little bit scared. As it is, though, I’m mostly furious.
“What’d I miss?” Zy reappears, handing me a drink that takes every ounce of restraint not to throw in Bart’s face.
“Just getting to know my cousin-in-law,” Bart settles back, winking at me like nothing happened.
I’m not a snitch. I’ll get back at him someday, and since Rufus hasn’t said a thing, he can go fuck himself too.
“Zy? I think your cousins were about to leave. Weren’t you, Bart?”
A glimmer in Bart’s eyes spikes my adrenaline, but I stand my ground.
Zy’s gaze bounces between us and he clears his throat. “Can I talk to my fiancée alone?”
He takes my hand without waiting, the soft fabric of his gloves warm and cold at the same time.
“Sure thing, cuz.” Bart grins, checking his phone, then claps Rufus’s shoulder. “We’re gonna grab a smoke. Join us when you’re done. We’ve got some things to iron out.”
They shoulder into the crowd, leaving me with a frown and Zy scowling at their backs. I’ve never seen him like this, but his temper is kind of… hot?
Jesus, I’m so starved for passion, I’ll take hate at this point.
“What was all that about?” I ask.
“What? Oh, uh, nothing. Come on. I wanted to talk to you.”
My chest jolts. If ever there’s a time to break this news, this is it.
Sorry, Dad.
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you too,” I admit. His brow quirks up. “Do you, um, wanna dance and talk?”
Movement helps me sort my thoughts, especially when they’re all over the place like now.
Apparently, that’s not Zy’s style.
He scratches the back of his head and points toward a corner with his thumb. “Let’s just go to the back. Somewhere quieter.”
He takes my hand again, and I sigh, wishing he’d… I don’t know, grab my arm? Throw me over his shoulder? Anything to show he can’t wait to ravish me right here and now. But, of course, he’d have to want to do that in the first place.
Instead, he sits us at a table near the back. The twinkling, starry lights flicker over his furrowed brow.
I swallow. “Ozias, I?—”
“No, me first, please,” he interrupts.
My “Okay” deflates out of me on a sigh.
This better not be like the movies where I one hundred percent wish I’d gone first.
“I know you want to leave New Orleans, but my cousins are starting their own business down here and asked me to join. My family… they need the money. And there are people I care about that rely on me to work with my cousins. So, I figured after our honeymoon you’ll have the travel bug outta you, and we can set up roots here? My grandmomma would love that…”
Yup. I one thousand percent wish I’d gone first.
I zone out. I can’t help it when I’m now the star in the movie I dreaded watching.
But the worst clichés are the storylines where the girl just suffers in silence.
So… I don’t.
“ Icantdothis !” I blurt.
“What?” he asks.
I swallow. “I can’t do this.”
His shoulders sag.
Oh God, did I hurt his feelings?
“I mean, I just… Zy, before tonight, I didn’t even know you liked me this much. Let alone loved me.”
His face clouds. I follow the thick gulp down his throat. When he speaks, his voice is rough.
“You said yes, Luna.”
Okay, weird response.
I shift in my seat. “I did. But I couldn’t exactly say no in front of a whole auditorium, could I? And what’s with this proposal at all?”
Silence stretches between us until he slouches in his seat.
“Shit.” He tries to swipe a hand over his face, stopping at the white mask and snatching it off to tuck back into his jacket pocket with the black one. “I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?”
I grimace, but don’t disagree.
He trills his lips in defeat and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his inside jacket pocket. “Look, I need… I need some air.”
My nose wrinkles at the thought of him smelling like an ashtray when he gets back, but I keep my mouth shut. I must really have hurt his feelings. He only smokes when he’s stressed.
A glance at his phone makes him curse. “Fuck. Thirty minutes until your birthday.” He squeezes my crossed knee and stands. “I’ll be back before then. I just need to think. We’ll talk when I come back.”
I nod, because what else can I do? As platonically, boringly chivalrous as Zy’s been the past six months, it’s still been six months. I can give him twenty-nine minutes.
“Don’t worry.” He chuckles as he rounds my chair. “I’ll take my jacket off, so I won’t smell as much.”
He pats my shoulder in a way that screams brotherly. Then he’s gone.
My trapped breaths rush out of me so quickly I get lightheaded, like I’m no longer treading water but sinking to the bottom of a lake.
He wants to talk? What else is there to talk about? Unless Zy comes back a completely different person, I’m done.
I have to be, or I’ll never get out of this town.