Page 31 of The Killer Cupcake
"My wife. My true wife," he said softly, bringing her hand to his lips.
"Right. Youronlywife," she corrected him with quiet emphasis.
Carmelo's smile was weak but genuine. She pushed up from the bed and moved toward the washbasin. "Hurry up and finish eating so I can help you bathe. We need to be ready for our grand adventure."
CHAPTER 14
WOLF IN SHEEPS CLOTHING
Apristine 1950 Cadillac Series 62 convertible, gleaming pearl-white with luxurious tan leather interior, glided to a stop before the Boanno mansion like a chariot fit for royalty. Both girls' mouths fell open at the magnificent sight—the chrome bumpers and spoke wheels caught the Louisiana sunlight, which shone brighter than diamonds, while the soft top was folded back to reveal an interior that spoke of wealth beyond their wildest dreams.
Carmelo's eyes narrowed as he studied the driver with the calculating gaze of a man assessing potential threats. Jean-Baptiste tooted the horn melodiously, gesturing with confident charm for them to join him.
Willa squealed with unrestrained excitement, bouncing on her toes like a child on Christmas morning. Kathy caught her hand firmly and gave her a meaningful look.
"Remember what we talked about," she whispered.
Willa nodded obediently, though her eyes never left the gorgeous automobile or the man behind the wheel.
Carmelo slipped on his dark sunglasses with deliberate slowness and walked ahead to open the wrought-iron gate, every movement radiating the controlled power of a fighterpreparing for combat. Jean-Baptiste hopped effortlessly out of the convertible without bothering to open the door—a show of athletic grace—then walked around with fluid steps to open the passenger door for the ladies.
"Mesdames, your chariot awaits," he said with a sweeping bow.
The front seat was pulled forward, and the girls settled into the plush rear seats, sinking into leather that felt like butter beneath their summer dresses. Carmelo stood motionless for a long moment, his jaw working as if deciding whether this adventure would proceed at all.
"We haven't been properly introduced," Jean-Baptiste said smoothly, extending a manicured hand. "They call me JB. I'm a friend of the Boanno family, and you must be the champion everyone's talking about."
Carmelo stepped forward, his handshake firm enough to make a point. "I expect you to be a perfect gentleman with Willa. We clear on that?"
JB smiled. "Plus clair que le cristal—clearer than crystal,mon ami."
Carmelo held his gaze for another beat, then nodded curtly and walked around to slide into the front passenger seat. JB smoothed his silk tie with manicured fingers and shook his head with amused respect before returning to the driver's seat—but not before sending Willa a theatrical wink that made her smile.
The drive through New Orleans was nothing short of magical. The summer heat was oppressive, but the breeze created by their movement provided sweet relief, carrying the intoxicating scents of jasmine, café au lait, and the mysterious spices that seemed to perfume every corner of the city.
Kathy found herself mesmerized by the people they passed. Fashion and prim dressing had been important in Harlem, butthis was something else entirely—as if looking beautiful were a municipal law rather than a personal choice.
The quads’ first stop was the legendary Café du Monde, where crowds of well-dressed patrons fanned themselves with ornate paper fans while waiting for tables. JB had spoken truthfully about his family's "arrangements”. With a discreet word to the maître d' and a folded bill that changed hands like a magician's trick, they were escorted past the waiting white customers and seated at a prime table overlooking the bustling French Quarter.
The famous beignets arrived dusted with powdered sugar, like sweet snow, accompanied by café au lait so rich and perfect that it seemed almost criminal. Before long, Kathy found herself laughing freely, blooming under the pampered attention like a flower finally given proper sunlight. Even Carmelo's temperament softened enough for genuine smiles to break through his protective mask.
Jean-Baptiste proved to be more than just a pretty face—he was a natural storyteller and historian who could seamlessly transition from discussing baseball statistics to explaining the complex political divisions between the Sicilians, Irish, and Germans, who all vied for power in New Orleans, leaving the Cajuns and Blacks out of options. He positioned the Black Creoles and the broader African American population as a people who lived by their own sophisticated rules, creating their own society within the larger, segregated world that suited them fine.
And everywhere they went, they witnessed this truth in action.
Congo Square had been transformed into an impromptu street festival, a celebration of culture that made the air throb with rhythm and blues so infectious it seemed to enter through the skin. Twice, JB stopped their leisurely stroll to sweep Willainto spontaneous dances beneath the shade of ancient magnolia trees, their movements drawing appreciative murmurs from passersby who recognized the natural chemistry between the two.
Kathy lost herself completely in the rapture of absolute freedom. Here, in this magical pocket of New Orleans, she could eat jambalaya from street vendors and feed it to Carmelo without sideways glances, could be pushed high on a rope swing suspended from a massive oak tree with Carmelo's strong hands steadying her, and no one cared. She could laugh without restraint as the warm wind whipped through her hair, and his kisses and fondling didn’t draw a sideways glance.
It was Carmelo who kept them all tethered to reality. Like a hawk protecting his nest, he watched everything and everyone with unwavering vigilance. If not for his constant attention, Willa would have slipped from their sight at least twice—once when a jazz band drew her into their impromptu parade, and again when a flower vendor's son tried to lead her away to see "the prettiest courtyard in the Quarter."
Each time, Carmelo's gentle yet firm intervention brought her back to their group, his protective instincts as sharp as those of any bodyguard. He seemed to understand intuitively that in this world of beautiful surfaces, there were hidden dangers.
For one perfect afternoon, they existed in a parallel universe where love conquered prejudice, where money trumped color, and where four young people could simply be happy together under the Louisiana sun. It was a glimpse of what the world could be—if only the rest of America could learn the lessons that New Orleans had already mastered in its own complicated, imperfect way.
"Kathy, please!"Willa pleaded, her voice breaking with desperation.
"My answer is still no," Kathy said firmly, though her heart ached at the pain in her friend's eyes.
