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“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.
