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“Yes.” Her expression changed. Her smile curled like Maleficient’s would. “She’s the queen now. Taking things. Ruling them. Spitting in the faces of good families. Our families. Our people, Knight.”
“I heard.” I didn’t want to acknowledge much when my mother was like this.
“But she’s beautiful. That’s what they say. So gorgeous.” Her words ran together from the wine. “They just want to fuck her.”
“Okay. I need to get you upstairs,” I cut her off. There was a button on the desk that would ring for one of the house managers. I pressed it, counting the seconds until someone carted her out of here.
“You still can’t have her.” Her finger extended in my direction. “You can never her.”
“And why is that?” I took the bait.
“She doesn’t think you’re good enough for her.” My mother shrugged when one of the new servants entered. “Are you, Knight? Are you good enough for the queen? Do you ask yourself that? Is that what you’re wondering?”
I shook my head. “Good night. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
This was a damn nightmare. A family saga torn from a Greek tragedy.
“Good night.” She held onto the man’s arm and I was glad when I couldn’t hear her voice any longer.
I took my glass and wandered the grounds of the compound. It was aimless, pointless walking. From outside, things seemed the same as my last visit home. That had been for Seraphina’s wedding. The lawn was manicured. The fountains churned. The hedges were in neat rows. It appeared as if nothing had changed. I climbed the stairs to the pool deck. I stared at my reflection in the pool.
I couldn’t admit it to anyone. I couldn’t utter the words. Or let them see the cracks. Fuck. I wanted to jump in the deep end. Stay under a little too long. Hide under the diving board. Let pain consume my body. Make my lungs burn. My muscles ache. Anything, but to feel what I felt. I didn’t want to swim or float. I couldn’t keep treading water like this.
I crouched next to the water, skimming the top with my palm.
I walked back into the house and laid out my suit for my father’s funeral.
18
Kennedy
It had been a week since Raphael’s funeral. In that time, it felt as if another five years had passed. The door opened and I stepped into the heat. My high heel landing on a pile of crushed gravel. The air conditioning in the car hummed.
“Ms. Martin, we weren’t expecting you.” The foreman on the high-rise project gripped the blueprints under his arm.
Kimble guided me to the makeshift table where the crew gathered to go over the plans. The bobcats and forklifts made it almost impossible to hear anything they had said before they realized I had snuck up behind them.
I smiled. “Hi, boys. Just checking in on your progress.”
Harry Sallow wiped the sweat from his brow. He was the construction manager. “We’re making headway.”
“Good. Would anyone like to show me around?”
“I can, if you’d like,” he volunteered.
“Yes. I would like to see what you’ve done since my last visit.”
The shell of the building was constructed. If anyone hadn’t noticed the tallest building in New Orleans by now, they weren’t paying attention. The hotel was unlike anything the city had seen before. It was dominant. Classy. A beacon for the city.
“Right this way.” Harry stepped over a block of concrete and handed me a hard hat.
“Thank you.” It fit awkwardly on my head. I didn’t have time to adjust the strap before he had jogged into the front entrance.
“As you can s
ee, we have the wiring in for both the lobby and the casino.” I approved of the work so far.
He walked around the lower level, pointing out prominent features. “The two restaurants are this way.” I followed him through metal barricades and caution tape. “See? It’s coming along.”
