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“My dear, you look exquisite.”
“Thank you, Marguerite.” We hugged briefly.
“Your table and your champagne are waiting.”
I peered at Knight. He still hadn’t let on to what this was about. I didn’t want to argue that we had plenty of good French champagne at the Crescent Towers. Instead, I followed him to the table. Our table. The first place we ever sat down together.
“There’s no one else here,” I whispered.
“No. That’s the plan. I rented it out for the night.”
I glanced at Marguerite. She had turned off the light at the piano and locked the door. She walked behind the bar and pressed play on a speaker.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Do you remember that first night we met?” he tested.
“Yes. Very well.” I smiled. “You scared me to death in the pool house.”
He chuckled. “Well, yes, that was first. But do you remember coming here?”
I nodded. “Ever single second of it.”
“Then you remember we danced to this song?”
I listened closely. “I do.”
He offered his palm. “Dance with me like the first night we heard it.”
Our bodies aligned and rocked to the soulful music. That night we met I felt connected to him in a way I’d never been able to explain. Maybe it did have something to do with the love lines on our palms. Maybe we were just good dancers.
“Where did you come from Kennedy Martin?” he whispered in my ear.
“Philadelphia.” I winked.
“Smartass.” He chuckled.
I looked up at him. His eyes of obsidian saw everything. He knew me. He saw all the hues and layers of my heart and my soul. He knew the girl I used to be. He knew the woman I was now. And through all of that, he loved me. Maybe it was in despite of all of it, he loved me.
PartTwo
Epilogue
I held her close. I almost lost my damn mind when I saw her step out of the honeymoon suite in that dress. She looked like a goddess. My goddess. Her hourglass shape, highlighted by the soft fit of the fabric made me lose my breath every time. Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves of gold. It was hard not to trace my fingertips over her skin. It always called to me. Beckoned to be worshipped. After all we had been through, the night had been perfect. A perfect grand opening. This moment. This dance at Marguerite’s. This was ours and ours alone.
The music began to fade before the next song played. I reached into the tux jacket. After all this time, the timing was finally perfect.
“Knight.” She exhaled as I knelt in front of her.
The candles flickered. The ice in the champagne bucket sloshed under the weight of the bottle. It was almost exactly like the first night we met.
Five years ago, I was enthralled with her beauty. She was funny. Witty. And her god damn innocence drew me to her even when I knew it was dangerous. There were so many reasons I had fallen in love with that girl.
She wasn’t here anymore. The woman standing in front of me was more beautiful and sexier than she’d ever looked. She was powerful. She was smart. She was compassionate. She had built an empire and slayed the demons of New Orleans to do it. She was my partner. Tonight, I was going to ask her to be my wife.
I took her hand, but Kennedy sank to the floor with me.
“What are you doing? You’re going to get the dress dirty.”
