by Violet Paige
“All families are crazy. You think ours is any better?” My hands landed on her shoulders. “What about Brandon? You two seem like a good fit.”
Her long lashes fluttered until her eyes closed. I could tell she was trying not to cry.
“He’s no different than his parents,” she whispered. “Can’t you help me? I don’t want to marry him. Please, Knight. You have to do something. Get me out of this.”
Seraphina didn’t know about the fight I’d had with our father when he announced the engagement. He was part of the old regime. The old New Orleans that still believed in arranging marriages and brokering deals through offspring.
I sighed. “Sorry, kid. There’s nothing I can do.”
“But you’ll be in charge soon,” she urged. “You’re next in line to run the family. Please.”
I hated that she was begging for her freedom. I hated that she looked to me for salvation. I hated that there wasn’t shit I could do about any of it. Soon was relative. My father was fit and healthy. He walked the golf course twice a week. He played tennis. Swam laps regularly. He wasn’t even sixty.
I shook my head. “Try to make the most of it. You can spend Brandon’s parent’s steak fortune. That could be fun. Take your friends on a trip. Buy a new horse.” She was an avid rider.
Her eyes welled with tears. “I don’t want their fucking steak money.”
“Seraphina, just hang in there.” I didn’t know what else to say. Should I tell her I had already threatened our father? That I pinned him to the desk in his office and hovered my fist inches from his nose. Did I tell her there was enough rage in my body to beat him until his nose fractured and his skull cracked? Was that the kind of thing that would help at her engagement party to a man she didn’t love?
She leaned against the wall and quickly unsnapped a silver clutch. She began to retouch her red lipstick. “You’ll get to marry who you want. You know that?” I heard the accusatory tone. The resentment. The anger my little sister had bottled up in her voice.
She dabbed the corners of her eyes to remove the smudged mascara before she snapped the clutch shut.
“We’ll talk later. Your guests are waiting.” I nudged here to re-enter the party. “It’s going to work out.”
She plastered a wide smile on her face. “Is this better?” She spun on her five-inch heels and stormed out of the hallway.
By the time I shook enough hands to make it to a spot on the terrace, Parker was on his second drink.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
“I got cornered a few times,” I explained, taking the bourbon from him.
It was quieter outside. The bass from the band vibrated, but at least I could hear myself think. My eyes traveled the distance of the yard. The fence that bordered the property felt like a zoo enclosure. We were New Orleans’s most exotic mafia families confined in one space. The Castilles had installed a pool, along with a cabana house.
I glanced over my shoulder. I saw my mother parting the crowd and headed for the terrace.
“I’ll be back,” I explained to Parker, as I hopped over the stone railing and strolled toward the cabana.
There were floating candles in the pool as well as some kind of exotic flower. I knew Seraphina hadn’t chosen a single element of the party. It was all Mrs. Castille.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept walking. I made it to the pool house. I slung back the bourbon and left the glass on a table. I opened the door and closed it behind me.
I didn’t expect the sudden scream when I stepped inside.
My hands rose in the air. “Hey, just another party guest. Didn’t mean to scare you.” There was probably a couple in here fucking. But as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized there was only one person here.
One beautiful, alluring scared person.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t think anyone else would come out here. It seemed deserted.”
She stepped out from behind a stack of pool furniture. I almost staggered. I was caught off guard. She had the body of a goddess, dressed in a tight black cocktail dress. Curves. Long slender legs. Elegant features I swore I’d only witnessed in paintings.
“I’m Knight Corban.” I extended my hand.
She smiled. “Kennedy Martin.”
Her hand fit in mine like a glove. Soft. Warm. Tender. I wanted to thread my fingers through hers and pull her closer. Close enough to study her eyes. What color were they? It was too damn dark in here.
The door immediately flew open.
“Miss Martin?” A broad-shouldered man hurried next to Kennedy. His expression was serious as he discovered she was no longer alone. I dropped Kennedy’s hand.
I realized he had brandished a gun, and it was only a few feet from my chest.
“What the hell are you doing with that?” I glared at him. “Put it down. This is a weapons-free event.”
“Not for security,” he argued.
“I see.” I nodded. “Detail for Ms. Martin?”
Kennedy groaned. “Kimble, I’m fine. Put the gun away. Now.”
The bodyguard was reluctant to return the weapon to its holster.
“I insist.” I nodded at him. “I don’t think the Castilles would be happy if gunshots ruined their party. They take offense to those kinds of rules being broken.”
The bodyguard checked the safety, before tucking the gun under his jacket.
“Thank you.” I waited for him to leave, but he remained next to us. “That’s all.” I pointed to the door.
Still nothing.
“You can go, Kimble. I’m fine. Just chatting with a new friend.” Kennedy smiled. Now that the door was open and an outside light shone through, I thought I caught glimpses of emeralds in her eyes. Fuck. She was breathtaking. Light pink lips. High cheekbones. Her hair was swept off her shoulders and fasted in a rhinestone clip. It was honey blond with streaks of auburn.
Her bodyguard didn’t want to leave her. It could have been the black dress she wore. No man would want to walk away from her.
“I’ll be outside. Not far,” he added. He ducked on his way out. He was a damn giant.
“Sorry about that. He’s only following orders.”
She didn’t have to explain to me how it worked.
“Why are you out here by yourself?” I asked. “Not having a good time at the party?”
“It’s a long story.” She sighed.
I walked to the wet bar. “I like long stories.” It was a hell of a lie. I barely had patience to read texts. But if this girl had something to say, I wanted to hear it.
I rummaged through the liquor cabinet and revealed a bottle of vodka. “Drink?” I offered.
Kennedy nodded. “Yes, please.”
I poured one for each of us and sat on the edge of the chaise, allowing room for her body to slide next to mine.
“Are you friends with the Castilles?” I asked. I’d never seen her before. I’d remember legs like hers. When she sat the hem of the black dress rose along the tops of her thighs. I wondered if she was the kind of girl who ran miles with a personal trainer to have a body like that. Or was she naturally a knockout.
She shook her head. “No. Or yes? I’m not sure.”
I chuckled. “What does that mean?”
She blushed, pressing the glass to her lips. Fuck. They were full and lush. “It means I moved to New Orleans a few weeks ago. I don’t know anyone. I’ve met a few people, so I guess that’s not entirely true, but not anyone here. My father isn’t feeling well tonight, or he would have been here. I’m representing the family name. Those are the instructions he gave. ‘Kennedy you must represent the family name’,” she mimicked her father with a decent baritone voice.
“Ahh. A new family in the area? Interesting.”
“Is it that unusual?”
“This is New Orleans. Everything is unusual.”
She laughed. It was light and airy. For a second, it opened something in my chest. Her laughter pried apart some
thing I thought was sealed with darkness.
“What about you? Bride or groom?” she questioned. “Which side brings you to the party?”
“Bride,” I answered. “The bride’s brother, actually.”
“Then, I should ask you why you’re in here and not at the party with your family. I have a good excuse. I’m hiding from strangers. You’re hiding from everyone you know.”
I could see Kimble’s silhouette through the blinds. Every few seconds, he looked over his shoulder to stare through the window.
“Hiding? I don’t hide.” I took another swallow of vodka. I stared in her eyes. For a second I thought I stumbled into an abyss. I didn’t know where it could take me, and I didn’t care. I wanted to keep falling and see where I landed.
“Will your sister be upset you’re in here?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Very.” If there was one person who needed me tonight, it was her. But I couldn’t fight the wolves who surrounded her. She was lost to me. Lost to herself. Things would be different when I ran the family. But the original families couldn’t handle a revolution now.
“You should probably go then.” She licked her lips after another sip.
“Another minute.” I leaned closer. I wanted to steal minutes. I’d take seconds if that’s what I could grab. “Does Kimble go everywhere you go?” I asked.
She nodded. “Everywhere. Well, for the last two weeks he has. He’s my keeper. An unwelcome addition to my days and nights.”
“Did something happen?” I smelled her shampoo. I inhaled the lotion off her neck. The proximity made me drunker than mixing liquors.
“Not a security threat. It’s my own fault. Just something stupid I did.”
My eyebrows rose. “What was that?”
The way she looked at me made the world shift. I’d have believed there was a fucking earthquake if someone told me there was seismic activity in New Orleans.
“The worst sin of them all. I embarrassed my father.” Her gaze darted across the room. I saw the shadow too. I jumped back.
It wasn’t Kimble barging in this time.
“Mother.” I rose from the chaise. She held the train of her gown in her right hand. It draped over her wrist in cascades of rich designer fabric. It was likely she had paid thousands for the dress. It would end up in a heap at the back of her closet and never worn again.
“What are you doing out here?” She wasn’t looking at me. However, she noticed Kennedy with a deep suspicious glare.
Kennedy stood quietly, taking the brunt of my mother’s scowl.
“Having a drink. Welcoming a new resident to town.” I grinned. “Have you met Lucien Martin’s daughter?” I introduced my mother to Kennedy. “They’ve only been in the city a few weeks. We’re getting to know each other.”
“No. I haven’t.” Her chin jerked upward.
“Kennedy, this is my mother Felicia Corban, the one and only queen of New Orleans.” My mother had a love-hate relationship with the title.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Corban. Congratulations on your daughter’s wedding.”
There was tension. Pressure. They immediately disliked each other.
“We’re about to toast your sister and Brandon. You’re needed in the house. With your family. The Castilles have been asking about you.”
“Of course.” I extended my arm toward Kennedy. “Shall we? I don’t want you to miss my father’s toast. He’s known for oratorical masterpieces.” I winked and saw Kennedy cover her mouth to hide her laughter. I was pleased she wasn’t intimidated. The girl was impressive.
Kimble followed us across the lawn and into the party. His attention on us was as lethal as my mother’s.
I didn’t care. Suddenly, my night had gotten a lot more interesting.
3
Kennedy
Who was Knight Corban? Why did I take his arm and let him lead me away from the only sanctuary I had found? The pool house was boring and empty. I couldn’t make bad decisions and end up online as long as I kept a healthy distance from everyone. Why was I standing with his family during the bride’s engagement toast?
I smiled lightly while clutching a glass of champagne. The vodka had already warmed my muscles. His hand rested on my hip casually. As if it belonged there. As if we had done this a hundred times. It was exciting. Thrilling. The way he navigated my body.
A member of the band tapped out a drumroll to gather the rest of the guests to the ballroom.
A few minutes later a man in a tuxedo climbed the steps to the stage and took the microphone from the lead singer with a smile.
The audience began to clap. I heard someone whisper behind me. “Raphael worked so hard on this deal. He looks happy.”
“The Castilles offered him a lot for Seraphina. One of the highest bids I’ve ever heard. A marvelous trade.”
Knight didn’t flinch at the words. Although, I was certain he heard them as clearly as I did.
My stomach rolled. I wasn’t naïve. I knew how family weddings worked. They weren’t entered into over a candlelit dinner with a surprise proposal and a princess-cut diamond. They were crafted in the back rooms of hotels or cigar bars. They were broken down by family wealth and stock. By potential grandchildren. By property. By money. By greed.
Mr. Corban smiled at the guests. He lifted his champagne in the air. “First, Felicia and I want to thank Margaret and Louis. What a wonderful evening. Beautiful. Thank you for throwing such a wonderful party. Brandon is lucky to have you as parents. You have raised a son to be proud of. A man who will one day be the head of his own family with Seraphina by his side. Having a son is a blessing. An only son a gift from God. Cheers to Margaret and Louis Castille.”
I thought Knight’s fingers dug deeper into the fabric of my dress. I tried to pay attention to his father and not to him, but he was distracting. As distracting as any man I’d met had ever been. He’d walked into the pool house as if he lived there. As if everything around him was his to be used or enjoyed. The pieces were only coming together now. His father was Raphael Corban, the king of New Orleans. That meant Knight was the city’s prince.
“To our beautiful Seraphina. Princess, you have made us so proud.” I spotted Seraphina across the room from us on the other side of the stage. The awkward man next to her was Brandon. “Your mother and I are looking forward to your wedding day as anxiously as we waited for you to be born into this family. May you bless us with many grandchildren.” Raphael grinned at his daughter. “And to Brandon, my soon-to-be son-in-law…”
The room echoed with jabs and jeers. I had to keep my smile in place. I hated this sexist bullshit. It happened at every engagement party. At every wedding reception.
He eyed the man. “You have been given a precious gift, my Seraphina. Be the man she deserves, and you will have a happy life together. You know how the saying goes. Happy wife. Happy life. Cheers.” It was short. Sweet. A masked warning—don’t fuck over my daughter.
“Cheers!” the crowd erupted, and the band started another song when Raphael tapped the band leader on the shoulder. A horn belted out the beginning of a slow jazz number.
Knight’s hand flatted at my waist and drew me onto the dancefloor.
“We’re dancing?” I gasped.
He smiled wickedly. “Looks like it.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Didn’t think I had to.” He winked.
He spun me until I was dizzy and then suddenly my body was pressed to his and I felt the burn of his palm against the small of my back. I was afraid to look in his eyes. Afraid that he might see how breathless I was after dancing for only two minutes.
Guys were always hotter in tuxes. That was just a fact. But when Knight first barged into the pool house, I would have thought he was equally as sexy if he had been dressed as the gardener. The lines of his jaw were sharp and definite. He seemed formidable. Self-assured. He had gorgeous eyes. I didn’t think I could swoon over a stranger, but Knight Corban was a sexy specimen of beautiful masculi
nity.
His lips lowered to my ear. The blood rushed to my cheeks. My pulse raced.
“Think we could ditch Kimble?” he asked.
“Don’t you need to stay a little longer?” I searched his eyes. Damn. Why were they so dark and deep? “Your mother seemed serious about the family obligations.”
“She’s serious about everything,” he answered. Felicia Corban already scared the shit out of me.
“I don’t want to cause any problems. Really.” It was the first time I was allowed out since the pool table incident. It could be my last for a while if I screwed this up.
“I checked all the boxes tonight. I’m done with appearances.”
I nodded. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive.”
“Okay.”
His eyes lingered on my lips before tilting my chin upward. I held my breath. “You are exactly what I was looking for tonight, Kennedy.”
I smiled. “And what was that?”
“A way out.”
I didn’t think it was possible to shake Kimble. Over the past two weeks I’d tried. I’d climbed out my bedroom window as if I was still a teenager. I found Joseph already waiting for me in the garden. I’d tried to blend in with a crowd of women in the ladies’ room in a shopping boutique, but after thirty minutes Kimble barged in and cleared everyone out.
I didn’t fully believe it until I was sitting next to Knight in the front seat of his sports car and there were no headlights in the rearview mirror. I continued to look behind us.
I exhaled.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded. “You have no idea.”
“I think I probably do.”
“Oh, right. Must be hard being the royal family of New Orleans.” Did he sense my playful sarcasm? I was terrible at hiding it.
“Are you mocking me?” I saw the sexy smirk on his face.
“Absolutely not,” I giggled.
“Parker and I have ditched bodyguards since we were kids. It takes skill and practice.”
