by Olivia Ryann
I smirk. “You’ll be fine.”
I pull out a couple of hundreds from my wallet, sliding them across the bar as the bartender walks over. He looks at the money, raises a brow, and asks, “What can I get you two?”
I point to Fiore. “She’ll have a Ramos gin fizz. I’ll have a Vieux Carré.”
The bartender looks at Fiore. I can see in his face that he thinks she is too young to be drinking, but his eyes flit to the two bills I put down. He nods and turns away to begin making the drinks, no further questions asked.
He makes my Vieux Carré first, putting the finished product in a rocks glass. He then makes the gin fizz, which takes a considerably longer amount of time. When he finishes and pours the frothy confection on a highball glass, he presents it to us.
Fiore’s eyes widen as she takes in the drink before her. “What is it?”
“Gin, orange blossom, lemon juice, cream, a whole egg—”
“An egg?” she repeats, screwing up her face.
“Just try it,” I say, pushing her glass toward her. “You’ll like it.”
She grabs the straw and takes a hesitant sip, smiling as soon as the foam hits her mouth. “It’s good!”
I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t order you something that you wouldn’t like.”
I sip my cocktail, savoring the rye whiskey and cognac. Fiore takes another sip, then looks at my drink. “What’s in yours?”
“Rye whiskey, cognac, some other things. They make the best one I’ve ever had here.”
“Here, like New Orleans?” she asks.
I smile. “No, here like this particular bar.”
“Oh.” She looks around, wrinkling her nose up. “It isn’t much to look at, honestly.”
I cock my head at her. “When you are old enough to start appreciating cocktail bars, you’ll realize what a treasure this place is. That I promise you.”
She drains her drink. “Can I have another one?”
I give a huff of laughter. “Sure. But do me a favor. Take it easy on this one. There is enough gin in those to get you properly drunk if you down them fast enough.
Her cheeks flush. “Okay. I wouldn’t even realize that they have gin in them, if not for the name.”
“Can she get another?” I say to the bartender.
I see her gaze wander again. Snaking out an arm, I pull her chair closer to mine. She smiles when I put my arm around her.
“This is nice,” she says, laying her head down on my arm.
“What was your favorite part?” I ask.
She purses her lips, thinking. “Mmm…. I don’t know. Maybe getting to force your first beignet on you?”
While the dour, cynical part of me expected her to say that her favorite was the lingerie shop, the secret, lighter side of me rejoices at her answer. So simple, so uncomplicated.
Could she really be as extraordinary as the image I’m slowly building in my head?
Sure not.
And yet, she says stuff like this.
Fiore gets her second drink from the bartender and sips it slowly, obviously enjoying herself. For the first time I can ever recall, I suddenly find myself wondering what someone other than myself feels.
I look at her pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, at her blonde hair and small stature, and I wonder if she has feelings for me.
“This part is pretty good too,” she says, unbidden. She glances at me, a sly grin on her face. “It’s good to spend time with you when you’re not working. I like you like this, all relaxed. You should be this person more often.”
“Would you fall in love with me if I were more relaxed?” I tease.
She goes as red as a beet, stammering her answer. “I… I don’t know…”
My smile widens to a grin. “You feel something for me. I know you do.”
She looks away, toying with the straw in her drink. “Maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. Half the time I hate you. Half the time…”
“You what? You love me?” I ask, surprised.
“No!” she protests. Then she takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what I even feel the rest of the time. All I know is that I don’t want you to be gone for too long. I… I start to miss you, you know?”
I sip my drink, enjoying her bashfulness. She is surprising, my Fiore. I pull her closer, enjoying this moment. She leans her head against my chest and I know a moment of happiness.
11
Arsen
After that day in the French Quarter, I find myself wanting Fiore’s company again. Needing it. Not just her body… no, I want her mind. Her soul.
I want it all.
This causes me no end of turmoil.
I think of Anna, whose presence I used to miss so badly that I could almost feel her here, even after she was dead. What would Anna think of how weak Fiore makes me?
Would she judge me, as I fear? Turn her face away from me, sneering?
More likely, she would ask when her next fix was. See, with Anna, I could never be her master because of her addiction to opiates. That came first. Heroin would always be her choice, hands down.
So, why do I keep coming back to Anna and what Anna would think, time and again?
Probably because I imagine her expression as a mirror for what I feel inside, about myself. I hate the weakness that I feel, loathe the sad suffering part of myself.
I make a sound that is part rage, part sadness. Ultimately, I bring it back to Fiore. How can a girl so small be the source of an emotion so large that it threatens to drown me?
Unfortunately, I have to work the next couple of days, putting in long hours on the Columbia deal. We are so close to closing this thing, I can practically taste it… but because it’s in its final stages, my guidance is required for half a week before I can break away. I’m stuck in meeting after meeting, staring out the window.
I think of nothing but Fiore if I am honest with myself. The softness of her hair, the color of her lips, the hope I feel as handily she fits in the groove of my body after we have fucked.
I’m besotted, I realize. And that makes me angry, more than anything.
How dare she be so light and happy when I am so tortured?
When I come across an invitation to a ball, I immediately picture Fiore in a white ballgown, my band of white gold glinting at her neck. Without fully realizing what I’m even doing, I command an assistant to order the dress and let the event organizers know to expect us.
The Serpent’s Society of New Orleans will get their wish to see Fiore and me at their ball. I’ll be damned if I am not going to see exactly what I envisioned to take place in the real world. I even let Fiore know a day early so that she can prepare.
I head home on the day of the event, only to find Fiore gone. A note from her lists some errands she has to do. It’s as well she isn’t home, because I’m in a mood.
My mood darkens considerably when Damen texts me, only a few minutes away. I think of the last time I saw him, just after he almost raped Fiore. My fists bunch, thinking of how he almost had what was mine.
I head to the front door, opening it just as he pulls up. I stride out toward him, my eyes narrowing on him, trying to gauge what he’s up to.
“Brother,” I say simply, inclining my head. “This is pretty last minute. You could’ve let me know you were arriving.”
“I could have,” he agrees with a smirk. “Where is your girl?”
I fold my arms across my chest and gives me a level look. “She’s none of your concern, Damen.”
“Still angry about the run-in we had in Columbia?”
“I’m not angry about anything.” My expression says otherwise, though. “What are you here for?”
“I’m here to introduce you to my new bride.” He drops the words casually as if my marriage was an expected affair.
I am honestly surprised. “Your new what?”
“Can we go inside?” he suggests, motioning to the house. “I don
’t want the details of my life broadcast everywhere. I’m certain you don’t either.”
I look at him for a second, my eyes narrowing. Then I back up, turning and leading the way into my house. I head into the kitchen, where I motion to a seat at the kitchen island. He sits as I grab a big bottle of mineral water and two glasses from the fridge.
“What, no alcohol?” He asks although it’s only early afternoon.
I look at him and shake my head. “No. I have a social engagement later that I need to be ready for. I can have someone get you something if you want it.”
“A social engagement? My, my, how the girl has changed you.” I smile as he accepts the chilled sparkling water.
My brother is unamused. “What the fuck did you mean by your new bride?” I ask.
“I mean exactly what I said. She’s at the Belvedere right now, getting herself settled in.”
“Who did you fucking marry, Damen?” I ask, exasperated. “And why?”
He cocks his head. “Someone I’ve known for a while. Someone who was just waiting in the wings.” He pauses. “And partly, I did it because the Tarot cards told me to. But mostly, just because she is beautiful.”
My brows rise. “And am I supposed to meet this girl? What’s her name?”
“Bianka. And yes. I’m hoping that whatever you and your girl have planned tonight, you can accommodate two more.”
My eyes narrow to slits. “You’re assuming that I am kind enough to allow you within a city block of Fiore. I left you alone with her once, and it didn’t turn out well.”
His lips turn upward into a smile. “Yes, I am assuming. But you haven’t yet met my own bride. She’s quite captivating.”
“Oh?” I ask. “What are you saying, Damen? Are you offering a trade? Because I’m not interested.”
I give a low chuckle. “I’m saying that I will have my hands full with my new girl. In fact, I feel like a new man with her at my side. Just like the Tarot cards promised.”
I give a huff of laughter. “Again, with that? Damen, really.”
He shrugs. “When it’s in the cards, it’s in the cards. There’s nothing you can do or say.”
I take a sip of my water, looking pensive. After almost a full minute, I speak. “We are scheduled to go to a ball tonight. A masquerade ball. Do you think you two can be ready for that?”
His lips twitch. “Of course. This is New Orleans, after all. You can get anything at a moment’s notice, for the right price.”
I am amused. “You’re right about that, at least. That is what our business is all about.”
Sliding off his bar stool, he stands. “When and where should we meet you?”
I consider that. “The ball begins at nine. It’s at the Balconnet, just above the Treme neighborhood. I’ll call and make sure your name is on the guest list.”
“Very well. Bianka and I will see you then.”
I watch as he leaves, finding myself extremely distrusting of my brother. Just what is Damen up to, exactly?
Fiore comes home soon after that, and I am too distracted by getting ready to mull it over further.
At eight thirty at night, I stand in the foyer, staring at the staircase impatiently. Checking my watch, I shift my weight and adjust my tuxedo tie.
“Fiore!” I call upstairs. Damn the woman, we are going to be late. I hate the feeling of being late, the rush that inevitably accompanies it.
I look behind me, checking that the SUV is outside. When I turn back, I’m greeted by the sight of Fiore, coming down the stairs. She’s wearing a white strapless ball down and the white gold collar I got for her, her hair piled atop her head.
My lips curve upward as she makes eye contact with me, grey pinning blue. She has a secretive smile when she sees me. She descends to stand in front of me, dropping me a curtsy.
“My lord,” she teases.
I can’t keep my hands off of her. I grab her and pull her close, bending her back to taste the sweetness of her lips. Her hand comes up to grip my lapel. She sighs into my mouth.
When I release her mouth, she grins up at me. “Are you still mad about being late?”
I smirk. “Somehow, I am not.”
Tucking her under my arm, I am in no rush as we go to the car. We ride to the Treme together, me admiring the way she looks wearing my collar.
“What?” she says, blushing.
Smiling, I shrug. “I’m just looking at you. Admiring you, and how good you look on my arm. Is there a crime in that?”
She blushes redder. “No, I suppose not.”
I cock my head, putting my arm around her. “I like the way you look in that collar. I’m sure that I will like it more when it’s the only thing you’re wearing.”
She gives a laugh. “You are so…”
“Intriguing? Sexy?” I grin as I lean down, putting my lips to her ear. “Infuriating?”
I place a gentle kiss on the shell of her ear, a promise of what is to come later. She shivers. I love that she is so responsive to every little touch.
I plan to take full advantage of that later.
“No,” she says, her voice coming out breathy. “I was going to say that you’re so bad. But I think you know that, don’t you?”
I give her my most wicked grin. “That I do.”
She eyes me. “You haven’t told me what to expect tonight.”
“After the ball? You should expect to be trussed and fucked, I think.”
Fiore slaps my hand, which creeps onto her knee. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
I sigh, settling back in my seat. “Actually, I’m not sure. This group that’s throwing the ball, the Serpent’s Society? I don’t know that much about them, outside of the rumors.”
She cants her head. “What rumors?”
“They are swingers, I guess. Or most of their members are pansexual. Something like that.”
She raises a delicate brow. “I’m sorry? They’re… what, pansexual?”
“They’re very open, sexually,” I say, reframing it. “And they’re supposed to throw a hell of a party.”
She casts a doubtful eye over me. “I don’t want to share you. I want to be the only one that you take home.”
Something deep inside me is pleased with her declaration. I reach for her hand, stroking the back of it. “No?”
She bites her lower lip and shakes her head, coloring. “No.”
Reaching up to her collar, I pull on it gently with a fingertip. “I think that can be arranged. After all, you do wear my collar, do you not?”
She gives me an uncertain smile. “I do.”
I clear my throat. “I should probably tell you now that we have some guests this evening, attending the ball with us.”
“Oh?” she says, her clever fingers straightening my pocket square.
“Damen is here,” I intone, grasping her fingers before she can withdraw them from my chest. I see her scowl, and I’m ready for it. “Before you say anything, he has been married since the last time you saw him.”
Once a bastard, always a bastard. I can divine her thoughts from here, see the change is her body language. Her brow hunches down and she looks away, her posture going stiff.
“I see.”
“He’s my brother,” I say as if that makes any difference to her. “You have to forgive him eventually. Besides, I promise you won’t be alone with him for even a second.”
She looks out the window. “Forgive him for what, exactly? For trying to force himself on a girl you bought at a slave auction?”
“You’re more than that,” I say.
She turns her head, her eyes bluer than ever. “Am I, though?”
As I try to think of the right thing to say, the SUV pulls up to the curb. We’ve arrived, in either the best or worst moment of timing I’ve ever experienced.
Fiore makes a soft sound of disgust and scoots over, opening the door and letting herself out. And I’m left trailing behind, berating myself for not know what to say.
/> 12
Fiore
I’m out of the car like a shot, practically kicking the doors of the Balconnet down. The doors close behind us, and Monster and I are ensconced in a dark little room. I can hear the faint throb of music coming from beyond the doors before us.
A party rages within, it seems.
I seethe silently as we’re handed masks by a footman. Of course, I should mostly be mad at myself for what happened in the car.
I slipped and forgot my place, lulled by a false sense of growing emotion. But just because I feel something for Monster, doesn’t mean he has to feel anything at all for me. I forgot that for a while, but no longer.
Monster doesn’t say anything as we both slip on the plain silver masks. The footman opens the door before us, and we look out into the foggy dimness. Monster puts his hand on my lower back as I step forward.
Then a second set of doors opens, showcasing the entirety of the club’s main room. Though dimly lit, the room sparkles and glints with strobe lights and mirror balls overhead. The music blares, a version of I Put A Spell on You set to a frenzied dubstep beat.
Everywhere I look, elegant people in ballroom dresses and tuxedoes gyrate in their masks. Monster puts his hand on the small of my back again, guiding me down a few steps and right into the fray.
There is a long wooden bar lining one wall, and he steers me toward it. My eyes widen when I see two women dancing together, grinding ecstatically. They’re both partially naked, their fancy dresses pushed down in the front, baring their breasts.
What kind of ball is this? I glance at Monster, moving closer to him despite being angry with him. I don’t feel safe here. A couple of men writhe in time, tongues down each other's throats.
At the bar, I have a drink, something Monster calls an amaretto sour. It’s actually pretty good, so I sip it while Monster looks around. I stiffen when I recognize his brother Damen coming our way, leading a waifishly thin young brunette by the hand.
Monster and Damen make eye contact, both nodding. Then Monster begins pushing me through the crowd, propelling me toward the back wall. He finds a room that’s set off the main one, leading me inside. Damen and his girlfriend come in right after me, which makes me stiffen.
