Page 65 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“Good…” Ezra felt a foreboding sense of doom but carried on with his plan. “I wanted to give you something.”

He’d intended to give her the present after the party; it would be the perfect ending to a night on the town. But he’d decided now was better. A gift might shake her out of her state.

“Breeze!” Hope flashed behind her eyes. “How kind of you, darlin’. What for?”

He shrugged, turning on the charm. “Do I need a reason? You’re my girl.”

“My hero.” A tear tracked down her cheek.

Walking up to her, Breeze pulled a small box out of his coat pocket and placed it in her hand. Her eyes flew open, wide. “Open it.”

She did, hungrily. It was a four-strand pearl bracelet, just like the one Adelaide Hall had been wearing earlier that day. It was the most elegant piece of jewelry he’d ever seen.

He’d thought that giving her Adelaide’s bracelet would make her the happiest girl alive, just like she’d said. But she wasn’t happy. In slow motion, her expression sharpened. Her glare speared through him, like a knife.

“A bracelet?” she spit with palpable loathing. Her voice quieted to a dangerous whisper. “I thought it’d be a ring.”

“You… you don’t like it? It’s the one…”

“I know, the one Adelaide Hall was wearing. I know.I know.But I thought… I thought you asked me up here to marry me. Breeze, you don’t bring your girl to the roof in the middle of the night saying you have a gift, and then it’s not an engagement ring.”

He sputtered, confused. They were having two different conversations, on two different planets. “But we never talked about getting married. Were you expecting—”

“Why won’t you marry me?” She shrieked this at him, pacing maniacally. “You got another woman? I see how the girls at Eden Lounge hang on you. Those vultures, hungry for what’s mine. No one respects me in this town. Including my own fella. But I ain’t Mama. I won’t let a man ruin my life.” She stopped in front of him. “You’re a liar and a cheat.”

Breeze was neither of those things. He knew exactly what he was: a man who was smitten with his lady but had certainly never promised marriage. But Felice had a thunderous, unpredictable look on her face, and he didn’t want to worsen her mood.

“Will you take the bracelet?” Gently, he held her wrist and slipped it over her hand. The glossy pearls shone in the darkness. “See? It looks beautiful on you.”

She stared down at the bracelet, bitter tears streaming from her eyes.

“Breeze…”

“Yes?” He held his breath.

“Lo fired me from the chorus line. You told me you’d tell her to get the girls on my side. But she fired me instead, Breeze. She fired me!”

“Why?”

“One of those girls who snubbed me on Lenox? She… well, she fell down the stairs. Four crushed toes. She can’t dance for months. Lo said I hexed her with voodoo, and she fired me.”

Ezra’s stomach sank, a sense of doom overtaking him. He was starting to doubt that he could turn this night around.

“Please tell me you didn’t hurt her. Did you… push her down the stairs?”

“No, I used voodoo, just like Lo said.” She gave him a withering look. “That bitch had it coming.”

Breeze exhaled all the breath in his body. For the first time, he saw Felice clearly, without the haze of good sex and glamour. She was a little out of her mind. And he was a little afraid of her. Maybe he should’ve been all along. How had he been so stupid?

“I’ll talk to Lo. Let me fix it; I’ll get you back on the line.” He had no intention of doing this, but at this point, he had to say anything to calm her.

“No. Fix it by marrying me,” she stated flatly. “And take me back home to Louisiana. We could move to New Orleans. You’re Breeze Walker, Harlem’s own. You’d do so well there. We’d be a couple of swells, hosting grand parties and getting invites to the finest homes in town. And I’d get my baby back. I miss my baby so bad.

“I thought I’d be a star by now, but it’s ruined. I hate Harlem. I miss open spaces. Swamp sounds. I can’t see the stars here. Marry me,” she pleaded. “Marry me and take me home.”

Stunned, Breeze could only shake his head. Not only was he not marrying Felice; he also didn’t want to be with her. In this moment, he clearly understood that he wanted—no, needed—to be with someone he loved. He needed a woman who’d love him back, who would take care of him just as he would take care of her.

Besides, there was zero chance of him ever returning to the South. Breeze needed the crowds, the smoke-filled dance halls, the sound he helped invent. He was allowed to be a man in Harlem. In Harlem, he was free.

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