Page 105 of Phantom
“Looks like it,” I mutter, both to myself and Rand.
I’ve barely seen Jaime since he dropped that bomb Monday. He hasn’t talked to me or looked at me during rehearsals and classes. Rand even pointed out just yesterday that the few times we’ve seen him, he turns the other way.
“What an asshole. You’re better off without him, Lettie.”
“I don’t know,” I hedge and rub a pang in my chest. “I kind of miss him.”
Rand frowns. “Well, maybe he’ll figure out whathe’smissing. And hell, it might not have anything to do with you and Sol. Maybe he’s just jealous of how much time we’ve spent together. I swear he’s into you.”
I snort. “For the hundredth time, I’m not Jaime’s type. Besides, even if he was interested,I’mnot. I don’t see him that way. He’s my friend.” I squeeze Rand’s hand across the table. “Just like you are. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you if you hadn’t warned me about Sol.”
His charming smile grows brittle and he pulls his hand out from underneath mine. He sips his scotch before sucking his teeth.
I lean forward conspiratorially. “You know… just because Laurent drank scotch doesn’t mean you have to.” The grin I receive is much smaller than I expect as he stares into his glass.
“My brother could never find his favorite brand in New Orleans. I think about that all the time. How he tried to make this city better and was never satisfied. I don’t prefer the drink, but it reminds me of why I’m here. When I rebuild the Chatelain name, we’ll take all of New Orleans, starting with the ports. It’ll be better than my brother could’ve dreamed.”
My brow furrows. “I thought… I thought you didn’t care about all that stuff. I thought you were back here because it’s your home. For the art and the culture.”
He shrugs and rolls the bottom of his drink on its edge. “I love New Orleans, but art and culture don’t make money, Scarlett.”
Frowning, I twist the rose gold opal necklace that was delivered to me this morning by a local boutique. With the necklace were earrings to match and a long, black satin dress. I debated wearing the outfit, since I have no doubt it was meant to be a gift from Sol and he just never canceled the delivery. But after realizing I had nothing else to wear besides theater costumes and leggings, I caved. Honestly, I’m glad I did because I feel gorgeous.
The dress is sleek with a plunging neckline, and an embroidered sparkling black butterfly spans my back. The design looks just like the mask I’m wearing over my eyes.
One of the reasons Iknowit was Sol who left me this dress is that the wrap skirt opens up to a slit that starts right at my right hip bone. Every now and then, I graze my hand over the sensitive skin, imagining that it’s his instead.
But no. I did this. I decided that my future would be without Sol, and I need to stick to my decision. He’s a ruthless stalker who manipulated me for months.
“I love you.”
That admission still shreds my heart and resolve to pieces. I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Hey, you okay?” Rand’s hand covers mine, prompting me to open my eyes. His thumb caresses my palm, making my skin itch under the soft touch. But concern furrows his brow, so I resist tugging away. “If this is too much for you, we can go. There will be other chances to sing somewhere like this. These places are a dime a dozen.”
“No, no. I’m fine. Just a little headache,” I lie.
The truth is, I would like to leave, but Madam G and Ziggy Miles are letting me sing, and I don’t want to pass that up.
“Okay, if you say so. I can see why you’re getting a headache though. It’s dark and musty down here and this theme is gauche. I might get a migraine from these flowers alone.” He sniffs the air for emphasis. “Definitely not freshly cut.”
He gestures around the speakeasy, at the gorgeous red, white, and black roses everywhere. Another donation from my demon of music, I’m sure. He, however, is nowhere in sight.
My head has been on a swivel looking for him all week with no reward. He probably bought an exorbitant amount of decorative bouquets just to support Miss Mabel and Madam G, but a secret part of me hopes he at least thought of me when he ordered them.
“Really? You don’t like the flowers? I think they’re gorgeous. And the lady who sells them is the kindest—”
“From Treme, though, right?” He snorts. “Sweet Lettie, I grew up in the gorgeousGardenDistrict. These look… sad in comparison.”
My jaw drops. He was never this pretentious growing up.
Or maybe I’ve just idealized him in my head? It’s certainly more comforting to remember the good than face the bad.
“The band’s pretty good though. Speaking of music… how did your audition go? If you’re the lead, I’m sure I can get you in with the best people on Broadway.”
I’m shaking my head before he even finishes. “I actually don’t want to do theater after I graduate. I think I’m going to stay here. Maybe sing at venues like this. Besides, I didn’t get the part.”
Jilliana got it after killing her audition. She owns that role now.
