Chapter 5 Blue
I stand in front of my ornate, full-length mirror, the centerpiece of the opulent bedroom my mother designed. My room’s a lavish blend of historical elegance and modern luxury. High ceilings, adorned with intricate crown moldings, frame the space, while a crystal chandelier casts glittering light over everything.
The walls are painted a delicate shade of lavender, perfectly complementing the antique white furniture. My grand four-poster bed, draped in rich, cream-colored silks and accented with plush, violet cushions, stands against one wall.
Beside it, my elegant vanity table, cluttered with vintage perfume bottles, a silver brush set, and a scattering of jewelry, testifies to my busy preparations.
French doors open onto a wrought-iron balcony, overlooking the vibrant the acres of land around my father’s antebellum plantation mansion. Our family has lived here since before the Civil War, and I’m not proud of our history. Once upon a time, slaves worked this plantation, and although that ended over a hundred years ago, sometimes I swear I can still hear their cries.
My dress for the charity ball hangs on a nearby wardrobe door, a masterpiece of couture fashion. The gown is a deep emerald green, chosen to complement my auburn hair and striking green eyes. It’s made of the finest silk, with a fitted bodice that flows into a voluminous skirt, adorned with delicate lace appliqués and shimmering beads that catch the light with every movement. The off-the-shoulder neckline highlights my collarbones, and a subtle train adds a touch of dramatic elegance.
I slip into the dress and make a few final adjustments, ensuring every detail is perfect. My father expects nothing less than excellence. Until he invited Vapor, I’d planned on developing a terrible headache before the party. Now, I can’t wait to see the huge, sexy motorcycle man who’s played a starring role in my fantasies ever since I met him.
My hair is styled in soft waves, pinned back on one side with an heirloom emerald comb that belonged to my grandmother. My makeup is classic, with a touch of bold red lipstick to add a pop of color against my fair skin.
I step back to admire my reflection, taking a deep breath as excitement and nerves flutter in my chest. The charity ball is one of the most important social events of the year. It’s also the only time I’ll be able to get Vapor alone. I’m dying to find out if he was able to rescue the women in Black Snake Bayou.
With a final nod of approval at my reflection, I pick up my matching emerald clutch and slip on my satin heels.
I’m about to step out of my bedroom to descend the grand staircase when someone knocks softly. Before I can open the door, it swings in, nearly knocking me over. Justin strolls in.
He’s wearing a classic black tuxedo, tailored to fit him perfectly. The black jacket is cut in a traditional style, with satin lapels that catch the light subtly. It fits snugly across his broad shoulders, tapering down to his trim waist.
Underneath, he wears a crisp white dress shirt, the pristine fabric contrasting sharply with the deep black of the jacket. The shirt is adorned with black stud buttons, adding a touch of sophistication to the ensemble.
His black bow tie is perfectly knotted, sitting just under his neatly trimmed goatee. A pocket square, folded with precision, peeks out from his breast pocket, its white fabric a subtle contrast to the darkness of everything else.
The sharp creases in his black dress pants are impeccably pressed, adding to his polished appearance. A pair of black patent leather shoes complete his look. His cufflinks, small but intricately designed pieces of silver, glint in the light. A gold and diamond wristwatch wraps around his left wrist, reminding everyone he’s one of the wealthiest men in New Orleans.
I’m not shocked by his appearance in the least. He’s always well-dressed. What does surprise me is his presence in my room.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“I came up to see my fiancée so I could escort her to the gala. You look ravishing.” His lascivious gaze slithers down my dress past the curve of my breasts down to my feet. Although he hasn’t touched me, I feel the need to shower.
“How did you get up here?”
“Your father showed me the way.”
“He did?” My stomach drops. Maybe I should have warned my father about the improper advances Justin has been making since he and my father announced our engagement. Would it even matter?
“Your father understands the value of developing relationships.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Don’t tell me you’re unhappy to see me.” He slides his hands across my waist before yanking me hard against his chest.
“We don’t have time for this,” I gasp, attempting to push him away.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Your father has already left. We have all the time in the world. Or at least an hour before anyone would notice we haven’t arrived at the gala.”
“It’s at your house. You should be there already.” I struggle against his punishing grip.
“Why are you so insistent on pushing me away?” he demands. “In three months, you’ll be mine.”
“I want to do everything right,” I say, grasping at the first excuse that pops into my head. “I doubt my father would have let you come up had he known what you really wanted.”
“Is it so wrong to want to fuck my future wife?” His lips twist into a sneer.
“We can’t. I can’t. Not before my wedding night.” I finally manage to free myself and stumble back against the wall.
“I don’t want to wait.”
“Which I get, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to compromise my values to make you happy.”
“So, your good girl act is real,” he muses. “I thought it was cultivated to drive me crazy.”
“Not at all. I will be a proper wife, but you must wait until we’re married before…” My voice trails off because the thought of sleeping with him disgusts me so much my throat closes.
“I understand,” he says in a tight tone.
“We should be going.” I push off the wall and try to pass him, but he catches my upper arm, stopping me.
His mouth brushes my ear, sending shivers of revulsion down my spine. “What if you just sucked my cock for now?”
“Justin!” I pull my arm out of his grasp. “Don’t be so crude.”
“Don’t be such a cock tease.”
“You’re such a—”
“What?” he demands. “Keep playing the innocent, because come our wedding night, I’m going to make you show me what you really are.”
“Which is?”
“A dirty little whore whose father trained to be a dick tease. I know all about how you got your nickname. Tormenting all those high school boys until their balls turned blue. Blue. I’m surprised you embraced the nickname. A truly nice girl would have rejected it.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about who I am.”
I stomp past him, fully intending to call the ride service my father insists I use. There’s no way I’m getting into a car with Justin, not when he’s like this. I wouldn’t put it past him to force me to do the vile things he talks about.
He catches up to me on the front porch. “Blue, wait.”
I pull my phone out of my clutch. “I’m calling a car. I’ll meet you there.”
“Darling, I apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior.” He bows his head as if contrite. I don’t believe a word of it. “My driver is already here. He’ll be our chaperone until we get to the gala.”
“No thank you.”
“Get in the car, Blue. You won’t want your father to hear about how insolent you’ve been tonight.”
“What exactly do you plan on telling him? That you asked me to suck your dick and I refused?” I ask as I walk down the steps.
“I’ll tell him that I caught you with one of your staff. The butler, perhaps? He’s rather young, and attractive enough to be believable.”
“You wouldn’t.” I stop in my tracks. There’s no way I’m going to let Justin drag an innocent person into the mess that is my life.
“Try me, you little bitch.”
His driver exits the sleek black town car before opening the rear door for me. “Miss Blue, you look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you, Claude.”
I hesitate for a moment, weighing my options. Since I don’t want to risk Justin lying to my father, I reluctantly climb into the back seat. Justin slides in beside me, pressing me against the far door. I glare at him as Claude shuts the door.
“Smile, darling. You don’t want to get premature wrinkles.”
Shaking my head, I cross my arms under my chest. When I notice his eyes dropping to my cleavage, I drop my hands to my lap. I crack my knuckles to release some of the tension in my body.
When we arrive at Broussard’s home, another Greek Revival monstrosity, a butler pulls open the car door. Justin gets out then holds his hand out to help me. I ignore it and climb out without his assistance. As I try to pass him, he wraps his arm around mine and squeezes like a snake until I yelp.
“Smile, darling. You don’t want any of the society pages printing a questionable photograph of us, do you?”
I summon my best high society smile, which involves shutting down the voice in my head that’s screaming at me to run and never stop. Photographers turn toward us. Their cameras flash as they call out for me to smile. I’m already doing my best, so they’ll just have to work with what I’m giving them.
Once we’re inside, Broussard is pulled away by someone who is running the gala. Apparently, they’ve run out of mini crawfish beignets, which is a major issue. I hope he finds more and then chokes to death on one.
I follow the crowd into the ballroom, searching for my father. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when I find him. How dare he let Broussard go up to my room! What was he thinking?
The grand ballroom is stunning. Even I can appreciate its beauty. As guests enter the room, they are greeted by high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork and crystal chandeliers. The walls are painted in a creamy white, accented by gold-leaf trim.
Large, arched windows draped with rich, velvet curtains in deep shades of burgundy and gold frame views of the sprawling, manicured gardens outside. The windows are flanked by ornate mirrors that reflect the shimmering light from the chandeliers, making the room seem even more expansive.
On one side of the ballroom, a string quartet plays soft, classical music, their harmonious melodies adding to the refined ambiance. A dance floor occupies the center of the room, its polished wooden surface gleaming under the light. Couples waltz gracefully, their movements fluid and elegant, adding to the air of sophistication that permeates the event.
Elegant round tables are scattered about, each covered with crisp white linens and adorned with elaborate floral arrangements featuring roses, magnolias, and jasmine, all native to the South. The centerpieces are interspersed with flickering candlelight, creating an intimate and romantic atmosphere. Fine china, polished silverware, and crystal glassware are meticulously arranged at each place setting, ready for the evening’s gourmet offerings.
Waitstaff in crisp, white uniforms glide silently between guests, offering trays of Champagne and wine, ensuring that no glass remains empty for long. Additional staff pass trays of pecan-crusted brie, Cajun deviled eggs, Boudin balls, mini muffulettas, and andouille sausage stuffed mushrooms. My mouth waters as I reach for a muffuletta.
“Blue,” Father’s voice carries a warning.
“I thought the best way to find you was to try to eat something forbidden,” I snark.
“The wedding is less than three months away.”
“Trust me. I know. Speaking of which, why on earth did you let Justin go up to my room?”
“He wanted to escort you to the gala.”
“That’s not all he wanted,” I grumble.
“What do you mean by that?”
“He wants me, Dad.” When his face remains passive, I add, “In bed with him.”
“So?”
“You don’t see a problem with that?” I gasp, stepping back.
“Give him a sample of what’s to come. Your sister certainly did that with Xavier.” He chuckles as if it’s all one big joke.
“I can’t believe you’d condone it.”
“Of course it’s not typical, but who cares? You’ll be married and giving him children soon enough.”
“I need some air.” I press my hand to my belly because I feel as if I’m going to be sick.
“Blue!” Margaret Hebert’s sing-song voice carries over the music. “Come join us. You remember Charlotte Fontenot and Evelyn Richards, don’t you? I’m so glad you could make it tonight. Isn’t it a beautiful evening?”
I reluctantly stop when she steps into my path. “Stunning.”
Charlotte sips her Champagne. “Absolutely, Margaret. You’ve truly outdone yourself. The decorations are exquisite.”
“Are you on the gala’s committee?” I ask.
“Yes. Five years running.” Margaret gives me a smug smile, as if I care about her involvement in the festivities.
Evelyn nods enthusiastically. “Yes, everything is just perfect. And the appetizers are divine. I must get the recipe for those mini muffulettas!”
“Thank you both. I’m so pleased you’re enjoying yourselves. Evelyn, I’ll make sure my chef sends you the recipe.” Margaret laughs lightly.
“Oh, that would be wonderful! Excuse me for a moment, ladies. I see Senator Davis over there. I must go say hello.”
As soon as Evelyn is out of earshot, Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Does she ever stop gushing? It’s like she’s still trying to impress everyone at her debutante ball.”
“I know what you mean. She’s sweet, but sometimes I think she tries a little too hard to fit in.” Margaret smirks.
“Sweet?” Charlotte chuckles. “More like syrupy. And her taste in fashion—did you see that dress? It looks like she raided her grandmother’s attic.”
“It is rather… vintage. But let’s be kind, Charlotte. She means well,” Margaret says. “Blue, your dress is divine. Wherever did you get it? Paris fashion week?”
“I thought you and Evelyn were friends,” I say.
“Are any of us really friends?” Margaret laughs.
“No one really likes other people,” Charlotte says, as if she’s stating the obvious. “We all just pretend because we want something. Then as soon as we get it… Poof. Friendship over.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” I walk away from the vapid bitches. I can’t stand women like them, nice to your face but the minute you turn your back, they’re stabbing a knife into it.
“For a pretty girl, she can be so rude,” Margaret says when she thinks I’m far enough away not to overhear her.
“Bitch,” I mutter.
I’ve never had any close friends, so maybe they’re right and all the books I’ve read are wrong. Just once, I’d love to have someone to confide in. Someone who actually cares about what I think and what I want. I doubt I’ll ever find anyone like that in New Orleans society.
As I step onto the back veranda, I’ve never felt so alone. Small clusters of groups gather around, while others stroll through the opulent, French-style garden behind the mansion. I wish I was anywhere but here.
The entrance to the garden maze I’ve never explored calls to me. I head toward the perfectly trimmed hedges, which stand at least eight feet high. The hedges are lush and dense, their rich green leaves creating a wall of foliage that seems almost impenetrable. The scent of jasmine and magnolia wafts through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil and the subtle fragrance of blooming flowers.
As I step into the maze, the sounds of the outside world fade away, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. The pathways, covered in finely crushed gravel, crunch gently underfoot, leading deeper into the maze’s heart.
Interspersed throughout the maze are charming stone benches, inviting visitors to sit and rest while they ponder their next move. At several junctures, the maze opens into small, circular clearings, each with its own unique centerpiece.
One clearing features a classical marble fountain, its sparkling water cascading down in a soothing melody. Another clearing boasts a statue of a graceful nymph, surrounded by a ring of vibrant, colorful flowers.
The maze’s design includes several hidden nooks and alcoves, perfect for moments of quiet reflection or whispered conversations. Ivy-covered trellises arch over some of the pathways, creating shaded tunnels designed to provide a cool respite from the sun.
In the very center of the maze lies a grand gazebo, a beautifully crafted structure made of wrought iron and adorned with climbing roses. I sit within the gazebo and try to enjoy the serene surroundings.
“I wasn’t sure I’d find you, but then I saw you leave the ballroom.” That deep, sensual voice I’ll never forget startles me.
“Vapor,” I breathe as he emerges from the darkness.
As I take in the sight of him, my breath catches. He’s wearing a modern tuxedo, the tailored jacket hugging his broad shoulders perfectly, with a crisp white shirt that highlights his strong, chiseled jaw. Sleek black trousers emphasize his long, muscular legs, and the slim black tie adds a touch of sophistication. Every detail, from the polished cufflinks to the perfectly shined shoes, exudes confidence and style. His black hair is immaculately styled.
When his piercing eyes meet mine, my entire body comes alive with yearning. He’s the embodiment of allure and elegance, a perfect blend of strength and grace that leaves me completely entranced.
I want nothing more than to throw myself into his arms, but that would be crazy. We don’t even know each other. But I want to. I want to know everything about this man.
After all, he’s the only one who’s ever sent flames of desire licking across my breasts with a single look. His mere presence makes me so wet that I feel like I’m drowning in lust. I know exactly how insane my reaction is, but it’s also the purest, most real I’ve ever felt with another person, and I never want that feeling to end.
The question is, does he feel even a fraction of this yearning, or is it all one-sided? That’s the only thing I want to know, but I suspect that’s not why he followed me into the maze. He wants answers, and I’d better start giving them to him.