Page 32 of Phantom
“Wait, what?”
“We were childhood sweethearts, Lettie. I’m the boy you ate beignets with while people-watching on Bourbon Street. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our epic love story,” he teases.
“Oh.” I laugh and wave a powdered sugar–covered hand. “Childhood crushes are so silly, right?”
“And why do you think that? Hm?” He smirks and trails a finger down my hand. “Don’t you remember those hot summer nights together? I don’t think I could ever forget your touch…”
My smile grows brittle at the edges and I move my hand to take another bite of beignet, trying to hide my discomfort. Ever since I realized thosetouchesback then were wrong, I’ve tried hard to forget those confusing nights. I’d had a crush on him, sure, but at twelve, I wasn’t mentally or emotionally ready to act on it like he apparently was.
“Well, you were sixteen and I… wasn’t. I guess looking back I see it a little differently.”
He scowls and sits up straighter before sipping his chicory coffee. That’s all the man got. Whoever goes to Café du Monde anddoesn’torder beignets has a screw loose somewhere.
Takes a crazy to know a crazy, right?
I blanch, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Well, I was a kid, too, y’know. But it’s a good thing we’re older now, right? No societal standards to hold us back.”
His brilliant smile is back and I try to meet it. My heart is pounding as I search for what to say. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I’d rather not think about that particular part of our past.
“We’ve definitely both grown. Now I know that you were meant to be more like the brother I always wanted.”
That grin disappears again and I’m sure I’ve annoyed him. Or maybe I’m just reading into things.
I have been paranoid…
I swallow a sugary gulp and close my eyes, knowing the truth. I’m going to have to suck it up and call my doctor for an earlier appointment or things could get much worse from here.
“Are you enjoying your beignet?” Rand asks and I nod, thankful for the small talk.
“Yup, almost finished actually—”
Rand reaches out and brushes powdered sugar from my lip with his thumb. I jolt back. I can’t help it. My admittedly messy fingers swipe my lip, no doubt making it much worse, but I have a real need to get his touch off of my skin.
“Shit, Scarlett, you don’t have to act like I’m diseased. I’m not some Bordeaux.” Hurt mars his handsome face and I wince.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just wasn’t expecting—”
“For a friend to help you when you have something on your face? Jesus Christ.”
For you to touch me at all.
He glances around as if he’s checking to make sure no one noticed my embarrassing reaction. Seemingly satisfied by the lack of nosy onlookers, he clears his throat.
“Well, I think you should get used to me helping you out.”
“Um… why?”
“I’m going to be around more. I’ve moved back home from New York to finally take over the family business. I’ve put off my responsibilities for long enough.”
“Oh. That’s exciting.” I bite my lip as I try to think of how to broach my next question. “How are you holding up? You know, with Jacques…”
His neutral expression darkens. “What do you know about Jacques?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all, really,” I reply hastily, not liking his change in mood. “Just that he worked as a stagehand at Bordeaux Conservatory and he also worked for you in some capacity—”
“How do you know that?”
