Page 80 of The Royal Street Witch
“Franklin wants you out tomorrow. We’ll get you packed up tonight and then you’ll just have to lie low. Stay under the fucking radar, so we can get back to our lives, okay?”
“We’re leaving. We just need some time for Aster to handle her affairs and then we’re out of here for a while. You can tell us when it’s safe to return.”
“You’re not allowed to stay with any vampire in New Orleans. You need to leave immediately.”
“I just need a few days,” I say, knowing I need so much more than that. But I’ll have to make it work.
“He can stay with you?” Cassius asks, and I nod.
“Of course, yes,” I say, and our eyes meet.
“Looks like we’re going to play house after all,” Bastian says as Cassius approaches with that disgruntled look on his face.
“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” He rolls his eyes and turns to me, producing a card. “This is Antoine. He’s a human whose family has been contracted with us for generations. Call him first thing in the morning and tell him you need to ‘childproof your home.’ He’ll know what you mean.”
I take the card, turning it between my fingers.
“Will you need a bed built?” Cassius asks, and Bastian shakes his head.
“No need. We are going to my house in Paris soon. The lightproof windows will do for a few days. But she needs some kind of security,” Bastian says, and my head shoots up.
“The fuck I do. I’m my own security.”
“She has a point,” Cassius says with the tip of his thumb in his mouth. “The way she manhandled Franklin was…impressive.”
A satisfied grin pulls on my face. “Though your approval wasn’t necessary, it is appreciated,” I say, and with a bored sigh, his eyes jump from me to Bastian.
“I think the two of you are well equipped to defend yourselves. Sunrise is upon us. I will get you a meal, and then we’ll get you packed and into bed.” He turns to me and taps the card in my hand. “He needs to get your home childproofed by this evening. He can do it.”
“Thank you,” Bastian says to his brother, then climbs out of bed and pulls a shirt over his chest. “We’ll get through this. I know I haven’t even been back very long, and you’re already helping to get rid of me.”
“I’m helping to save your life. Not seeing you for a decade or two is better than losing you completely. You’re so damn frustrating.” And at that, Cassius turns and leaves, a trail of curse words following him.
WITHIN AN HOUR OF CALLING, Antoine was at my door, taking measurements of my windows, drawing floor plans of each room and shaking his head as if this just won’t work.
“It’s quite small for my customers,” he sighs, running a calloused index finger across his perfectly groomed mustache.
“It’s temporary,” I say, squaring my shoulders and blinking slowly.
“Very well,” he says, and before the sun is even close to setting, every window in my home is shuttered closed from the inside and lightproof.
And just as Antoine packs up everything and his crew leaves, I get a text from Bastian.
Hotel Monteleone. Lobby. 9:00PM.
I dress for him. Hair in a high ponytail. Skater skirt and thigh-high boots. I don’t know what to expect but I haven’t spoken to him all day, haven’t seen him in fourteen hours, and when I walk in, he’s in a high back chair of the lobby, lips so pouty, fingers pressed against the armrests.
I sit across from him, a slow jazz song crooning low for all inbound New Orleans travelers, but all I see is him. His thumb running back and forth along his bottom lip, elbow propped on the arm of the art deco-styled chair. He smirks at me, those lips curling up toward heaven, like he could fuck me right here, but staring at me is just as satisfying.
I suck on my bottom lip, an exuberating quiet taking over me, and we sit apart yet so very connected. This is it. What my lonely life has been missing. This is what people die for, this feeling right here, something that can’t be touched yet is so palpable between us. No disguises, no hiding, no sneaking, just staring and soaking.
Quite suddenly he jolts up, offering his hand and I take it. He pulls me up and close and then we are swaying back and forth in the hotel lobby and absolutely no one is watching and that’s what I love about New Orleans.
He dips me, fingers pressing into my back, his nose running up my neck, and my chest heaves. Kisses land on my collarbone, traveling up my neck to my jaw, so sensual, so slow, and I’m a firestorm inside. It’s been so long…
“No more hiding.” His lips move closer to my ear and he whispers, “I think I love it.”
We stare at each other, soft smiles on our lips from a feeling of freedom we had only been afforded for a week in California—until now. Creating a life where anyone can see us, anyone can judge us and we will not care. We make our own rules and what a fucking feeling.
