by Lilah Pace
I love his confidence, how he takes it as a given that he’ll defeat any problem that comes his way. Why did I think Jonah and I needed some time apart? It sounded reasonable at the time—maybe it still is—but at the moment, while I’m worn out and my heart is hurting for Kip, all I can think of is how good it would be to feel Jonah’s arms around me. “I’ve missed you. ”
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“I’ve missed you too, but—” His expression tightens, becomes unreadable. “—our work here is turning out to be more complicated than we’d thought. The university has asked me to extend my stay. ”
“For how long?” I sit upright, rocking the computer. A month? A semester?
“Another three weeks, I’m afraid. ”
“Ouch. ”
“I know. But this is an opportunity that doesn’t come around very often—the earth’s mantle rarely cooperates. We’ve gotten lucky. ” Jonah lifts one eyebrow. “Sure you won’t come over for a visit?”
My resistance is weak. If I could take a time machine back to his first invitation, I’d accept, even if it did turn out to be a mistake. But now—“I’m in the thick of the semester. Plus Marvin has mono, so I’ve got to cover some classes for him. No escaping now. Dammit. ”
“It’s okay. ” He attempts to be cavalier about it, though I can sense his disappointment. “We’ll have other trips. ”
Quickly I tally the days. “Three weeks—that should get you back to the U. S. in time for Mardi Gras. Promise me you’ll get back for that. When you come to New Orleans with me, I feel so much braver. So much stronger. ” I can’t resist a smile as I imagine some of the wilder aspects of Carnival, and how someone as somber as Jonah could deal with them. “Besides, you promised to take Libby to a parade, Remember? No fair backing out now. ”
“Mardi Gras. I think I can manage that. ”
It’s a relief—no, more than that. A gift. “Good. ”
“Have you been staying at my place?”
I don’t have to ask why he wants to know; it’s not like Jonah owns a bunch of plants that need watering. “The Stalker hasn’t shown up. People are speculating he blew town to avoid getting caught. ”
“Hope so,” Jonah says.
“That just means that guy is out there in some new place where the women don’t know to look out for him. ” Though, of course, we do. We are told, again and again, to look behind us and lock our doors and walk with confidence and do a thousand other things that may or may not reduce the chances of being raped. Society wants us scared, but refuses to change in the ways that would actually make us safe.
Jonah grimaces. “I didn’t mean it like that. ”
“I know you didn’t. You just want me to be safe. But I am, I swear. ”
He doesn’t fully accept that even now; I can tell. Jonah’s overprotective streak remains strong. “Stop by my place once in a while anyway. I like the thought of you there. ”
“Okay. ” I’ve done worse things for a guy than stay in his gorgeous penthouse. Besides, if I have to do without Jonah for three more weeks, it would be comforting to spend some time surrounded by his things, the books he loves, sheets that still smell faintly of his skin. Briefly I touch the screen. “I need you. I love you. ”
“I love you too,” he says, and for one instant, it’s as if there isn’t half a world between us. As if I weren’t on the edge of one night while he’s awoken to a brand-new day. We’re together in every way that matters.
Twenty-four
Jonah keeps his promise—barely.
I wait inside the security gates at Louis Armstrong International in New Orleans, suitcase at my feet, overpriced bottle of water in my hand. My flight landed almost two hours ago, but I decided I’d rather hang out here. After six weeks without Jonah, I don’t intend to let our separation last one more minute than necessary.
For six weeks, I’ve slept alone. For six weeks, I’ve fantasized about Jonah, reliving every one of our games in brutal detail. Oh, I’ve tried other fantasies too—particularly reliving our nights in Scotland, and trying to pretend I got off from the way Jonah went down on me. But in the end—always, always, my mind reeled back toward the memory of Jonah at his most dominant, even his most cruel.
And yet I haven’t only missed Jonah’s darkness. I miss the man entire.
Finally, passengers begin trudging out of his arrival gate, towing roller bags behind them. Jonah’s one of the first out. He sees me instantly, and his face lights up—and for one moment, it’s like seeing the Jonah who should have been, the one without so many scars.
“Vivienne. ” He pushes his way through the thicket of people waiting to board the next flight and clutches me in his arms so tightly my feet rise off the ground. Laughing, I sling my arms around his neck and kiss him. When our lips part, he brushes my hair back from my face. “I’d started to think I only dreamed you. ”
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“Same here. ” We kiss again, and then I finally recognize the shadows beneath his eyes. “How jet-lagged are you?”
“I feel like today has already lasted about thirty-six hours. ”
Given his flights from Tokyo and L. A. , he really might have been up that long. “Come on. ” I pull him toward the exit. “Let’s get you to Liz’s place, so you can get some sleep. ”
He laughs. “I want to say I have better things to do with you and a bed than sleep—but Jesus Christ, a nap sounds amazing. ”
“So you’ll nap. ” As we walk through the security gate, toward baggage claim, I snuggle closer to his side and whisper, “You’re gonna need your strength later. ”
“I like the sound of that. ”
We still haven’t settled exactly what he’s going to need his strength for—what our new boundaries will be in bed. But right now I’m so happy to be with Jonah again that nothing else matters.
The trip into the heart of New Orleans takes longer than it usually would. We first see signs of the chaos at baggage claim, where three times the number of usual suitcases spill along the conveyor belt, and the crowd’s energy is already percolating. Then, as soon as our taxi gets within a few miles of Uptown, traffic slows and snarls. “They’ve started rerouting everything for the parades,” I explain to Jonah, who has leaned his head against my shoulder.
“Already?” he murmurs. “It’s six days until Mardi Gras, isn’t it?”
“The parades started three weeks ago, silly. ”
Most people don’t understand the full extent of New Orleans’ Carnival season until they experience it for themselves. They think it’s all about getting drunk on Bourbon Street, when the reality is bigger and stranger. Dozens of parades in locations all around the city, each one of them miles long, with thousands of riders, dancers and band members. Grand balls for various krewes held everywhere from country clubs to the Superdome. Open houses with trays of chicken, pots of gumbo, and ice chests full of beer for all the homeowners’ friends, any friends of friends, and a few random strangers who seem amiable enough and so are invited in.
I’ve always loved Mardi Gras, but this year already feels special. I imagine the entire city is throwing a party to welcome Jonah home.
How perfectly have our stars aligned? For one, we’re not staying with my parents, and not even my mother expects us to. A bunch of her Chi Omega sisters come down every few years, including this one, which means the house is packed. So instead Jonah and I get to camp out at the Garden District home that once belonged to the Marceaus, currently inhabited by Liz and her fiancé. She welcomes us to the tiny carriage house at the back of their property, which is shaded by a vast oak tree. By the time we get there, Jonah’s on the verge of collapse, so I tuck him in and hang out with my childhood best friend for a while.
The first thing Liz says once we’re alone: “Please explain to me why that delicious man is lying in bed without you lying on top of him. ”
“Liz!” I pretend to be shocked, which makes her laugh with gusto. “He’s worn out. ”
“Unless you’re the one who wore him out? Not an adequate answer. ” She drapes herself across the porch swing as sinuously as a cat. Her lime-colored dress contrasts beautifully with the swing’s vivid yellow paint. “Now, I want to make sure I’ve got this straight, so I don’t screw up like I did last fall. If I see anyone from your family, you are or are not in New Orleans right now?”
I sigh. “This time I’m here. We’re even going to the Krewe of Templars ball tomorrow night with my parents, Chloe, everyone. ”
Liz shakes her head in pleasant disbelief. “Renee Charles approves of a man who’s actually good for you. Will wonders never cease?”
“She only approves because his family is rich. ”
“Honey, take your victories where you find them. ”
That night is one of the first big parades, so we meet up with Chloe and Libby along the route on St. Charles. Bleary as Jonah is, he willingly takes Libby on his shoulders so she can beg for throws from the women riding the floats in their crazy-colored wigs; between his height and Libby’s cuteness, they make an effective team. By the time the tenth marching band comes by, we’re all draped in so many beads that our necks are heavy.
“I want all the purple ones!” Libby insists as we divvy things up between floats. “Jonah, you can have these pink ones if you give me the purple. ”
Chloe raises her voice enough to be heard over the approaching bass drums. “He won’t want pink, silly. He’s a boy. ”
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But Jonah contradicts her by sliding the pink beads over his head. He nods toward the guys near us—who are wearing tutus and tinsel wigs. “Looks like the usual rules don’t apply. ”
Afterward we walk back to Liz’s amid the sounds of laughter and jangling beads. Liz invites us in for a cocktail, but Jonah’s brief nap hasn’t fully recharged him. We go to bed early, chastely, though I take enormous physical comfort simply from the warmth of his body next to mine. From the heaviness of his arm around me, and the splay of his rough hand over my belly.
“I brought you a present,” Jonah murmurs. Even though I just turned out the light, he’s already halfway asleep again. “I kept trying to think of the right moment to give it to you today, but it never came. ”
“Whenever. I’m just glad you’re here. ”
“Mmm. ” He’s agreeing with me, but already he’s too close to unconsciousness to form words.
I am glad. Elated, even. Tonight couldn’t have gone any better, especially given how exhausted Jonah is.
And yet the great unanswered question still looms before us. Will I have to give up the fantasy that turns me on every single time? I want to think I can grow past the fantasy to enjoy sex on different terms, but it’s so hard for me to believe that’s possible.
But this is mostly about Jonah’s healing, his ability to face his own demons. Can he once again come to terms with the darkness inside him, the same darkness that wove us together?
You’ll make this work, I tell myself. We love each other enough for that. For now, just be grateful that he’s here.
All true. Yet it takes me a very long time to fall asleep.
• • •
The next day is the usual happy blur of Carnival: unwrapping the silk robe Jonah brought me from Japan (a delicate floral pattern in shades of dark pink and mint green); standing in line at lunchtime for the best po’boy in town; fighting the crowds at the grocery store to stock up on beer, wine, and snacks; and picking up Jonah’s formal wear at the rental place. Tonight is the Krewe of Templars ball, which means we have to dress to the nines.
“I owned a tuxedo when I was in high school,” Jonah says as he works with his white waistcoat. “My mother insisted, so she could drag me to every charitable event and show off what a ‘happy family’ we were. In all those years, I don’t think I wore white tie and tails more than four times. ”
“At least you don’t need a top hat. ” I shinny out of my jeans and black sweater, then watch Jonah watch my reflection in his mirror. My nude-colored strapless bra and panties are translucent, so he can see the flush of my nipples, the narrow dark triangle between my legs. After the comfortable, easy way we’ve been together these past few days, it’s exhilarating to watch his eyes darken while he looks at my body. To know that I ignite the same desperate passion in him that he does in me.
His voice is husky as he says, “Are you wearing your green dress?”
“Of course. I bought it for Mardi Gras balls like these. ”
My careless shrug belies what we’re both thinking of—the last time I wore this dress. Jonah tricked me into walking backstage at a charity event, then pretended to rape me, savagely, on a nearby table. I remember his hand around my throat, the growl of his voice as he called me a whore.
You loved that, Jonah. You can’t pretend you don’t. We can have all that back again. The only thing you have to do is ask—
But he says nothing as I slip into the emerald-green satin, not until I turn to him pulled together—my hair held back on one side with a rhinestone clip, which matches the heavy necklace around my throat. The glittering choker reminds me of his grip, the way it tightened just as I came. I think it reminds him too.
As for Jonah—sometimes white tie and tails can overwhelm a man. If the fit isn’t ideal, the waistcoats emphasize the belly, or the tailcoat makes him look like a penguin. But Jonah has the kind of body that fills this out to perfection. He might have strolled out of the Edwardian era; I can imagine a vintage Rolls-Royce waiting for us, or an ivy-covered manor in the background.
But nothing in my imagination thrills me as much as the look on his face as he steps closer to me. His hand curls around my upper arm, his fingers tighten, and my breath catches in my throat . . .
“We should leave,” he says, and steps away.
Frustration sparks inside me, but I force it into the far corners of my mind. The night is still young.
• • •
The Krewe of Templars is one of the old-school krewes. That means we aren’t attending one of the raucous megaparties with thousands of people screaming for each float as it rolls in to complete its ride. Instead, we’re at a private club in a classic New Orleans–style mansion, along with another four hundred people in formal wear.
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Jonah looks bemused as the traditional ceremonies begin—mummers dancing around with masks and banners, some of the city’s wealthiest men wearing sequined satin costumes and feathered headdresses, and young girls in white dresses being presented as ladies-in-waiting, princesses, or the queen. While the queen takes her traditional turn around the room, waving her glittery scepter at us all, he says, “This is like something out of another century. ”
“It is out of another century. I guess this is how people had fun before cable. ”
He nods toward the queen in white, with her enormous sparkling ruff. “Did you do this?”
“I was one of the princesses. Chloe had been queen a few years before—they wouldn’t pick a second girl from the same family so close together. Besides, I always thought it was kind of ridiculous. ” Meanwhile, Chloe hung a photo of herself as Templars queen in the foyer of her home.
“You hated it?” Jonah says, sympathetically.
Ugh, yes, awful, I begin to answer, but I stop myself. This is another chance to be totally honest. “No, I didn’t hate it. Maybe I laughed at how seriously the others took the whole thing. Like, one girl kept crying because she hadn’t been named queen. As if it could ever matter. Still, I got to dress up and hear everyone say I was beautiful. Every girl likes that, on some level. And for me—I guess this was one of the first times I remember feeling pretty without also feeling vulnerable. Where I started to regain some of the confidence that was taken from me. ”
He kisses my forehead and whispers, “You should’ve been queen. ”
Longingly I glance at the red velvet curtains hanging from the sixteen-foot windows. We could find a private spot, you could
drag me back there, Jonah, please—
But of course he doesn’t.
After the festivities comes the supper dance. A band swings into the usual reception-style hits: “She Loves You,” “Stayin’ Alive,” “Celebration,” “500 Miles. ” Enormous buffets of rich Southern food are placed along the walls so we can feast on biscuits and gravy, smothered chicken and creamy grits. Tablecloths are linen; the silverware is actually silver. From the bartenders flow endless glasses of wine. The lines at the bars are long, though, so when Jonah goes to get us a couple flutes of champagne, he’s missing for a while.
“Libby will be eligible to be a lady-in-waiting in just three more years,” my mother says. Her beige lace gown glints softly in the light from the chandelier above. “I can hardly wait!”
I frown. “Is she eligible? I thought that was only for girls whose fathers belonged to the krewe. ”
“Well, you know, we’ve been working on Anthony to join. I’m sure he’ll want Libby to have this experience, so it can’t be long. ”
As always, Anthony’s name makes my stomach clench. “Mom, come on. Even if he did want to join, wouldn’t that only make things more difficult for Chloe?”
My mother doesn’t meet my eyes as she salts her grits. “Every marriage has its bumps. ”
Meaning my parents still hope Chloe and Anthony will reunite. Suddenly I’m no longer hungry. “Jonah’s taking a while with the drinks,” I say as I toss my napkin onto the table and rise to my feet. “I’m going to check on him. ”
I weave my way through the dancers, scanning the room. The multiplicity of bars means I don’t know exactly where he might be. In one corner I see Liz laughing with her fiancé; in another, Dad is talking with old friends, no longer quite filling out the tailcoat he’s owned for years.
At the doors to the veranda, I see a flash of cotton-candy pink chiffon—almost undoubtedly Chloe. She’s been remarkably quiet all evening; I wonder if she’s become sentimental about her glory days. It looks like she’s near the outdoor bar, so I head that way.
A man in a red satin knight’s costume holds the heavy door open for me. I hug myself against the cool air as I look for Chloe, who is standing next to Jonah.
With her hand on his chest.
“What’s the rush?” She laughs, low and sultry. “I think there’s a gazebo out back. ”
