by E. C. Land
“Heya! How’re you?” she asks with a big smile while she buckles up her seatbelt.
“Good, super tired, but I grabbed us coffee.” I motion down to the two iced coffees in the cupholder.
“Oooo, you’re my favorite! Have I ever told you that? Which one is mine?” Poppy’s eyes widen like a kid on Christmas day.
“Either. I got one vanilla and one caramel. I wasn’t sure what you liked.” I shrug, and Poppy looks at the ‘c’ and the ‘v’ on the appropriate cups. She grabs the caramel one, and I take the vanilla one. Thank goodness, I really haven’t been in the mood for anything caramel. As she sips on her iced coffee, I pick up mine and the creamy liquid jolts me awake.
“Caramel is my favorite, so thank you. It’s much appreciated,” Poppy tells me, and I reverse out of our parking spot, put the car in drive, and head down the street. For the next few minutes, we make some small chat, and within fifteen minutes of city traffic, we’re at the street of shops and boutiques Poppy said would be the best. As a burlesque dancer, you have to be smart when shopping. We go to the high-end stores and the thrift shops because the old saying “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure” isn’t wrong.
Every time I have a couple hours off, I like to go explore the cities I’m in. Now that Ursula isn’t breathing down my neck and arranging side gigs for me, I actually get to enjoy my off time. Poppy and I go down a small street. Instead of pavement, it’s made of cobblestone, and on top of the boutiques are apartments with Mardi Gras beads hanging off the iron railing. People are so happy here in New Orleans. They smile at anyone they come into contact with and they’re the kindest people I’ve ever met. I wish other people would take notes. This is how humanity is supposed to treat one another.
Poppy and I head inside a boutique with pastel pink lettering. It matches her hair in a way. Once we’re inside, I get a bohemian type of feel. There are long flowy skirts, dresses, and floral patterns are on almost every style of clothing.
Poppy heads up to a mint green curtain and waves me over with her hand. “C’mon, Cora, you’re going to love it in here.” Poppy wiggles her eyebrows, and I follow closely behind her. We both walk into the other room, and it’s filled with lingerie. Lace bras, bustiers, corsets, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg.
“I think I see a couple things in here from your routine the other night,” I tell her, and Poppy’s walking over to a bright yellow rack labeled “Clearance”.
She giggles and nods. “Heck yeah, you did. I got the whole outfit for under twenty bucks. It was a major score.”
I begin to scan through the items, and my eyes land on a sexy black lace number. It’s a one-piece, with floral patterns and cutouts. I wouldn’t be able to use it in burlesque, but I could use it for something else. Licking my bottom lip, I debate purchasing it.
“Bet you plan on letting Rémy see you in that.” Poppy’s words catch me off guard a bit, and I glance over at her. I should deny it, but I don’t want to. All I want to do is let this experience here in New Orleans be authentic. For so many years I’ve been coached in how to act, what to say, how to keep busy, all of it. Poppy tilts her head to the side and grabs onto my arm, giving me a playful shove. “Don’t you remember? I said I’m not into him, you silly goose. He’s not my type. Not at all.” Poppy proceeds to dig through the clothing on the clearance rack, and I inhale sharply through my nose.
“I’m thinking about it,” I answer her question, and she giggles.
“Good for you. I bet you’d look super sexy in it, but you’re the type of woman who looks sexy in everything, I bet.”
Poppy’s comment causes me to bust out into a fit of laughter. “I’m glad you think so. A lot of times I look in the mirror and only see flaws.” The reason I see the flaws is because of Ursula. She pointed them out at the first opportunity. One day she threw open the door to the apartment we were sharing at the time and saw me in one of my new costumes. It was a little too tight around one portion, but I hadn’t gotten the item to a seamstress yet. She called me fat and said I was gaining weight. It really fucked with my head. I have curves, but I’m not fat. For fuck’s sake, I’m five foot three and a hundred-and-fifty pounds. That being said, I’m lucky enough to have my weight proportionality dispositioned.
Poppy frows. “That’s really sad. When I look at you, all I see is beauty and how lovely you are. You know, I don’t think I said this, but I was worried about your arrival. I was afraid you’d get here, and then you, the great Corentina, would treat the rest of us like little fishes.”
My eyebrows naturally furrow and I shake my head. “Of course not. It isn’t hard to be kind.”
Poppy smiles. “Yeah, I agree, and I’m glad you’re so nice. It’s a breath of fresh air. We’ve had a couple of ladies who’ve been real monsters. Like Missy, goodness gracious, she was so mean to Madelaine. Called her a bunch of nasty names. But she got kicked to the curb, and then Félix and Madelaine brought me out from behind the bar to start training in burlesque. I’m glad they did it. I have so much fun doing the shows.”
I find a deep velvet red-colored bustier in my size and grab it. There’s a matching cutout thong hooked to it, and I know I have a pair of shoes at home that’ll match perfectly. “Have you seen Rémy around lately?” I haven’t seen too much of him, but we could just be crossing each other at different times.
Poppy giggles. “Yeah. He’s there every time you have a show, sitting in the section reserved for the DeLancys.” I blink a couple times, realizing the reason I haven’t seen him in the crowd when I’ve been performing is that he’s not in the same spot. “He’s been there every night you’re on, Cora. I think he fancies you.”
“He fancies me? What are you, in the 1950s?” I tease Poppy, and she laughs lightly.
“Sometimes I wish we were, at least my fashion sense would be the same.” Poppy lifts at her skirt, and we both share a smile. She’s a much-needed breath of fresh air, and without my sister looming over my shoulder, watching every move I make, I think I’m actually living.
Poppy and I continue shopping for the next couple hours. We get some great deals, and then spend a bit too much at certain high-end boutiques. I get a text from Rémy just as Poppy and I are walking back to my car.
From: Rémy
Want to have dinner tonight?
To: Rémy
Sure. When and where?
From: Rémy
Seven. I’ll text you the address in a bit.
To: Rémy
Okay. See you then.
Butterflies soar through my stomach, and I’m elated to see him again. My core heats up, and I can’t imagine what other positions he’ll throw me into tonight. I hope there are many, and he’s as demanding and dominating as he was the last time we were together.
Chapter Ten
Rémy
After shooting the text to Cora, I immediately call and make reservations at Fournier’s. It’s not only the best restaurant in New Orleans, but our family’s silent partners as well. We’re able to get a last-minute table no matter how busy they are. It’s one of the many perks we have.
Once I have our reservation confirmed, I text Cora the address and tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her. I’d prefer to pick her up from her apartment, but I have to deal with some business beforehand.
Désirée and I spent the afternoon together, and it didn’t go the greatest. I hate seeing her upset. I want her to understand we’re only thinking of what’s best for her. I mean, we’ve got enemies who’d love nothing more than to get their grimy hands on one of my sisters. Désirée and Olivia are most vulnerable when it comes to needing protection. If we were to try and put a man on Sabine, she’d shoot us in a heartbeat.
Pulling out my phone, I follow my sister into the bookstore and message Félix.
To: Félix
You busy?
Félix doesn’t waste time messaging me back.
From: Félix
Enjoying my wife, why?
&n
bsp; That isn’t something I need to visualize.
To: Félix
Don’t need the visual. Anyway, think you can pull yourself out of your wife long enough for me to bring Désirée by?
Lifting my gaze from my phone, I spot Désirée scanning through a romance book. Out of all my sisters, she and Olivia are the ones who love to read. She prefers her nose between the pages rather than her eyes glued to the TV.
From: Félix
What’s going on?
To: Félix
Just need you to hear her out and tell her you’ll think about it . . . at least for now. When she gets home for good, we can explain things better.
From: Félix
Don’t tell me this about the prick she’s been dating. The one who doesn’t even have the balls to come meet her family.
To: Félix
Yep
From: Félix
Bring her by the house. Just give me time to finish up with Mads. I’ll talk to her, set things right.
To: Félix
Appreciate it.
As I finish the conversation, I decide to look through the books myself. I like to read when I can, much like other members of my family. Only, I don’t read smut like my sisters do.
“Rémy.” The squeal of my name causes me to freeze, and my hand tightens around the book I plucked off the shelf.
Oh, hell no.
Swinging my eyes to face the woman who’s been making my life hell, I glare at her. “What are you doing here, Brittney?”
“Oh my God. I’ve missed you so much, baby,” Brittney croons, wrapping herself around me. If I weren’t in a public setting, I’d push her off me. Instead, I look at my sister to see she’s staring in horror.
“Ugh, Rémy,” Désirée whispers, unsure of the situation.
Brittney lifts her head off my chest and glares at my sister. “Who the hell are you?”
“I think I should be asking you that question, considering I’ve known Rémy all my life, and he’s not one to let skanks wrap themselves around him like a spider monkey,” Désirée snarks, stepping forward, coming to my defense.
“Excuse me, but considering this is my husband, I think I deserve to know what tramp he’s sleeping with.”
What the hell?
“Brittney, get the hell off me now,” I grind out, wrapping my fingers around her arms, releasing the hold she’s got me. Stepping out of her grasp, I glare at her. “I’ve told you to stay the hell away from me. This is your last warning. You don’t, and I’ll make sure you do. And since you don’t wanna sign the papers, I’ll handle it with a different approach.”
Spinning around, I take my sister’s hand and lead her out of the store.
“Big brother, I think you have some explaining to do,” she says sarcastically, wagging her finger.
Glancing down at her, I smirk. “Guess I do, but it won’t be happening now. We’re going to see Félix so you can talk to him. While you do that, I’m going to dinner before heading to Diamond Dancers.”
“Whatever. You’re just using this as an excuse to get out of telling me what the deal is with that woman back there.” She giggles, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” I chuckle, guiding her back to my car.
The two of us have spent most of the day together after her dropping the bomb on me about her boyfriend. I’ve endured the sad look she’s given me, so I’m hoping Félix can explain to her in a sense she can understand.
Dropping Désirée off at our childhood home, the very same place Félix and Madelaine live, I head off to Fournier’s.
Stopping long enough to pick up a bouquet of pink roses, I insist on them being the same color as the dress she wore opening night at Diamond Dancers.
By the time I get to Fournier’s, I grin at the sight of Cora standing at the entrance. I grab the flowers and climb out of my car. The valet comes around, hands me a ticket, and takes my car. All the while, I’m staring at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Cora’s dressed in a simple black strapless dress that comes mid-thigh. I love the way it clings to her body, showing off her impeccable curves. Then there’s the bright-red heels on her feet. Damn, I’ll have to make sure she keeps them on her feet later when I’m deep inside her.
“You look beautiful,” I say, holding the flowers out to her.
“Thank you.” She blushes, bringing the roses to her nose.
Placing a hand at her lower back, I’m met with bare skin, as the dress is all but covering her front and ass. Shit. I’ll barely get through dinner now without taking her somewhere and sliding her dress up over her hips and sinking into her.
Inwardly shaking my head, I lead Cora into the restaurant. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to have a great time at dinner tonight.
Our hostess shows us to the balcony table I reserved and leaves us to look over the menu. I’ve eaten here plenty of times so I already know what I’ll get.
The waiter comes to stand next to the table and asks what we’d like to drink. Ironically, we both request lemon water. Nodding, he leaves to fill our orders.
My phone rings in my pocket and I frown. No one should be bothering me right now. Pulling out my cell, I notice it’s Julian.
Lifting my gaze to meet Cora’s, I grimace. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
“It’s okay.” She smiles politely before diverting her eyes.
Swiping my finger across the screen, I bring the phone to my ear. “This better be a life-or-death situation, Julian.”
“Does three of our burlesque dancers calling out sick count?” Julian quips smartly.
Shit. That means we’re three down. I hope I won’t have to ask Cora to go in on her night off. Tonight’s supposed to be just about the two of us. “Who’s off tonight?”
“I’ve already called in Bexley and Evan. They’ve both agreed to come in. Sarah didn’t answer. That leaves Corentina. With her being the headliner, I hate to call her on her night off and ask her to come in to cover a shift,” Julian rambles.
“I’ll talk to her. I’m sure she won’t have an issue covering for one of the girls,” I mutter reluctantly, meeting Cora’s eyes when they lock on mine.
Letting out a breath, Julian thanks me and hangs up to make sure everything else is in order.
“Who won’t have a problem covering what? Is everything okay?” Cora asks as I place my phone on the table.
Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. “We had three dancers call out tonight. Would you be willing to go in and cover the headliner slot? Julian will redo tonight’s schedule, so you’ll have your normal spot instead of Poppy.”
“I’ll cover one of the girls, but I don’t wanna take Poppy’s slot. She’s good and deserves to share the spotlight with me,” Cora says, immediately coming to defend Poppy’s position at the club.
“Okay, then we’ll have to cut out of here before we order,” I grumble. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want our first date to get messed up.”
“Date?” she asks, quirking a brow. “We’re on a date?”
“Of course we are. Why? Did you not think it was?” I ask, giving her a smug grin.
“Well,” she shrugs, “I didn’t know what to call it.”
“Cora, I’m going to be real with you. I’ve always had a rule in place when it comes to employees. I don’t date or screw around with them. I broke that rule with you because you do something to me that I can’t explain,” I say, completely honest with her. “I hope that you’ll give us a chance. I know I wanna give us the opportunity to be something outside of work.”
Cora’s smile brightens as she places her free hand over our connected ones. “I would like that.”
“Good. Now, as much as I hate to cut this short, we’ve got to go,” I utter, less than enthused about leaving. “I’ll make it up to you later when you’re able to cut out.”
“Sounds good to me.” She giggles, slipping out of her seat, waiting for me. “I look forward to seeing what you have pla
nned.”
Damnit. Those three dancers had better have a good reason for calling out and screwing with Cora’s and my night.
Sitting at my family’s table, I take a sip of my drink. Cora just finished dancing, having taken the slot right before Poppy’s. I swear it took everything in me not to go up there on stage and toss her over my shoulder. The outfit she wore tonight has to be my favorite thus far. It was a deep emerald green, kinda reminds you of what one of the big stars would’ve worn back in the 50s.
I’m still staring at the stage, and my brother Félix joins me. “I see things must be going well between the two of you.” He grins and signals the waitress to bring him a drink.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, frowning. I figured he’d be at home with Madelaine.
“Désirée and Madelaine decided to have a girls’ night pampering each other. There’s no way in hell I’d let them paint my nails like they wanted.”
I can’t help but laugh at his remark, because I know if my brother didn’t get out of the house, Madelaine would’ve found a way to get Félix to change his mind.
“Come on, Félix, you know you love the idea of red nail polish.” I snicker, ignoring the glare he sends my way.
“Whatever, asshole. Anyways, I wanted to talk to you. Désirée mentioned Brittney earlier during dinner,” Félix says, smirking as the waitress places his drink in front of him.
“Anything else?” she asks, holding her tray in front of her.
“No, thank you for asking, though,” I say, sending her off and refocusing on my brother’s words. “Yeah, Brittney showed up at the bookstore earlier after I texted you. She was all over me and got in Désirée’s face. Brittney had the nerve to make a scene. She wanted to know who the woman was with her husband.”
Félix chuckles, placing his drink on the table. “Let me get this straight, this woman, your wife . . .”
“For the love of God, don’t call her that,” I grunt, interrupting him.
