Infatuate (5 page)

“Okay, I don’t care how long that line is, who’s with me?”

In no time, we had staked out a tall cocktail table where we stood silently tucking into the fiery gumbo. Dante had accumulated a staggering array of plates and little ramekins of other spicy, saucy dishes that he introduced us to: étouffée with its plump little shrimp and clouds of rice; chicken and sausage jambalaya that had a potent kick. Lance had stacked his small plate full of fried pickles and seemed content to eat his weight in those, while I had collected a handful of building-block-size pieces of cornbread.

After we had consumed it all and camped out in the room with the band to watch them play for a while, then investigated the various species of plant life in the greenhouse, peeked into the scores of first editions and autographed books in the study (“This Mark Twain could pay for college for all three of us,” Lance said, pointing at an open tome inside a locked cabinet), and finally wandered back into the rollicking grand hall at half an hour to midnight, it occurred to me that we had missed the whole point of this occasion.

“I guess we should be, like, getting to know people, right?” I said, a little embarrassed, food coma setting in. “I mean it’s kind of a mixer.”

“The only mixers I’m interested in are the ones that go into the virgin hurricanes out there.” Dante flicked his head toward a drink station set up near the French doors leading to the side porch. I grabbed my water-filled wineglass—I was still parched from the spicy selections we’d been scarfing down all night—and we slithered through the crowd to that bustling spot where the fruity signature concoction was being blended by the gallon.

“I wonder how many liters it takes to quench a crowd this size on New Year’s Eve, taking into account that people are especially in the mood to imbibe, and factoring in the ratio of alcohol drinkers to nondrinkers.” Lance scanned the crowd, wheels turning in his head to compute, thinking, thinking.

And it hit me again. A flash. I saw him. Across the way. It
was
him.

My head spun, keeping him in my sights. I stopped in my tracks, the crowd clearing enough for me to see without a doubt those eyes that had been burned into my memory. The eyes that I had last seen looking back at me as he fell down, reclaimed by the fiery depths below, and breaking my heart. They pierced right through me now, rooting me to my spot, looking at nothing but me for those long seconds as the bodies flowed in the vast space between us.

Chiming bells shook me out of it, and I dropped my glass. It shattered at my feet and I averted my eyes from his. Everyone near me scattered. Dante and Lance were already at the hurricane station. “Omigod, I’m so sorry,” I said to everyone around me, as glass crunched under my shoes. A black-and-white-attired waiter was already at my side with a broom.

I looked up, standing on my tiptoes to find him again. His eyes lassoed my attention once more and he beelined straight back toward the solarium. A chipper, disembodied voice then rang out, amplified from another room: “If everyone could please gather in the ballroom!” The masses surged in the opposite direction. I pushed upstream through the crowd, desperate to follow him, not thinking at all. Something else beyond even reflex or instinct took over, this animal need to not let him get away.

I made it back through to the glass-enclosed solarium, where the doors to the patio had been left open. The dark-suited figure cut across the lawn and disappeared into the maze of high hedges in the garden. I scurried down the steps, hoping to not lose my footing, and broke into a jog as I entered the labyrinth. My heels sank into the ground with each step, making me run harder. I could hear the soft crush of his quick footsteps as he slipped farther into the maze’s twists. I did my best to follow, the crisp night air chilling my sweat-slicked skin as I turned the dark corners, the prickly shoots of the hedges reaching out to me, until a light glimmered in the distance.

I ran toward it, those scars above my heart beginning to flare. But I had to keep going forward; I just couldn’t stop myself. A last burst of energy and I turned the final corner, onto a stone patio with a lit fountain trickling softly at its center.

And there was Lucian, bathed in a halo of warm light, the glow reflecting off his skin, outlining the sharpness of his jaw and giving an extra sparkle to his eyes. I had no words.

“Haven . . .” he said softly, and only then did I realize how much I had missed that voice all these months even though I shouldn’t have. I took one step forward but as I did, my world crumbled. It was as though I had set foot into a trap and had triggered a force yanking away this façade. Before my eyes, he morphed into something else. His form grew taller and filled out, his hair darkening, and the bones of his face restructuring until it wasn’t Lucian at all.

It was the Prince standing before me now, a smile on his lips telling me that I had been deceived, and so easily. I spun around to run away, but he grabbed my arm, clenching it in his hand so firmly I felt welded to him.

He tugged me so close I could feel the heat radiating from him. What little I had ever seen of him at the Lexington had always been at a distance. I had never had to feel his wrath—he had only sent his underlings to deal with me. But this level of fear I couldn’t even process. My stomach dropped, my heart throbbed, every inch of my skin crawled. In the distance I could hear the murmur of a toast going on back in the house, and then everyone joining in, counting down to the new year. If only I were in there now. If only I had paid attention to the message my scars were sending me.

This dashing, deadly monster leaned in to my ear. I could hear his breathing, so deafening. “Lucian sends his love,” he whispered in a sweet voice. “You’ll be one of us soon, Haven. No use trying to fight it.”

With that, he planted a kiss on my cheek. Though his lips barely touched my skin, it stung so hot and sharp I felt like I’d been branded.

In a flash, he disappeared, leaving me standing alone on that stone patio, in the center of a circle of fire. The sounds of cheers and noisemakers wafted from the party. Dazed, I rubbed at my aching arm, bringing it back to life after being in his death grip. I shook myself out and leapt over that low flame, running, until I found my way out of the maze, up those steps, and back inside to the safety of so many strangers.

4. Boom

I didn’t stop running until I had made it all the way back to the great hall, where the sound of applause fluttered out from the ballroom to the end notes of “Auld Lang Syne.” It didn’t occur to my legs to stop moving until I felt myself slam right into someone’s chest, my face landing flush against his white cotton dress shirt. His arm latched on to mine. Around us, party guests flowed from the direction of the ballroom, chattering spiritedly, wishing one another a Happy New Year as music cued up. I righted myself, murmuring an apology. My hand flew to my angel-wing necklace for comfort.

“Haven! Whoa! Just the girl I was looking for,” Connor said, laughing. “This is your roommate, Sabine. Sabine, Haven.”

“Hi! So great to finally meet you!” The raven-haired girl with delicate features threw her arms around me. She wore a simple black slipdress and heels that made her my height.

“Hi.” I tried to sound normal. “Great to meet you too. I—”

Connor seemed to spot someone across the way. “Hey, man!” he said over my shoulder, with a big wave, then looked at the two of us again. “Have fun. Happy New Year. I’ll catch you guys later, okay?”

“See you later!” Sabine said. I just smiled. I was still catching my breath and struggling to regulate my heartbeat. I wanted to sit down, or lie down, or just disappear and forget about the Prince and Lucian and whatever else might be coming for me.

“He’s totally hot, right?” Sabine whispered conspiratorially, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Definitely not a bad-looking guy.” I had to smile.

“Have you seen some of the other RAs? Eeek. Trolls. No, that’s terrible. Bad Sabine.” She shook her head, scanning the crowd as she sipped from her hurricane. “But, let’s just say . . . we’re lucky.”

“Agreed.” I chuckled. “No complaints here for sure. So . . . how were the beignets?” I worked hard to manufacture a tone far sunnier than I felt. “Thanks for your note and all. By the time I got in, it was late so I figured . . . But that was so nice of you—”

“Omigod, don’t worry about it. But they were to die for.” She grabbed my forearm to drive home the point. “I have to go back. We’ll have to go tomorrow. Or maybe they’re still open later tonight—Café Du Monde, do you know it?” Sabine seemed a little like a flirtatious, female Dante. She possessed a warmth I appreciated, especially at that moment. She was petite like me, but with jet-black hair, porcelain skin, and a willowy frame. I felt more athletic these days, stronger, though I don’t know if I looked to others as hearty as I felt in my skin. And, of course, right now, I was feeling more than a little fragile and powerless and . . . scared. I tried to lose myself in simple conversation.

“I don’t know it. It’s my first time in New Orleans.”

“Anyway, they were amazing. So you’re from Chicago? I love it there, my—” she launched in, but was quickly interrupted.

“Hey, there you are. What happened to you?” Lance asked, appearing at my side.

“We’ve been looking for you, like, everywhere!” Dante said. He downed the last of his drink. I wanted to send them messages with my eyes, but there was no way to communicate what I had just been through.

“Oh, hey, yeah, so this is Sabine, my roommate,” I said, ignoring Lance’s question. I made the introductions and smiles were exchanged and more hugs administered.

“Have you met Max and Brody yet?” Sabine asked us.

“No, I don’t think—”

“You’ll love them.” She stood on her tiptoes glancing around the room. “I’m going to find them. Don’t you go anywhere!” And with that she wandered off.

“So, you missed midnight. What gives?” Lance asked as soon as she left. “Happy New Year, belatedly.” He leaned in to quickly kiss me on the lips, and it made me wish I had never run outside. I wanted to rewind. I wanted midnight back and to spend the rest of the evening like this. But Dante was talking now.

“And you missed a scintillating speech, too.”

“Oh?”

“Welcome to the city, go forth and conquer, blah blah. They introduced a bunch of people.”

“You want a drink or something?” Lance asked, worry clouding his eyes.

“Um.” I looked around to be sure no one could overhear but by now the crowd was relaxed enough that they were completely immersed in their own worlds—the adults all tipsy and our peers hyped up on plates of sugary confections that must’ve been unveiled in a neighboring room.

“What he means is, were you, like, running laps or something?” Dante cut in. “You’re looking a little . . .
rough.
”

“No, I know, I know . . .” I smoothed my hair back behind my ears, patting it down, and wiped my moist brow with the back of my hand.

Dante reached for my cheek. “What is this smudge on you? Is it lipstick?”

It stung still. I held his wrist to stop him. “No, it’s just . . . he’s here,” I said, soft and serious, as though I had just placed a ticking bomb in their hands. I looked from one to the other, my eyes stabbing them with this news so there could be no mistake. “He’s here. The Prince.”

Lance took a step closer to me, his hand on my upper arm. His steady gaze flickered immediately to the space above my head and behind me, searching, a secret service agent sussing out a threat. “What do you mean? How do you know? What happened?” he demanded, his voice firm.

“Or he was here, but he’s not now. They’re here in the city, coming for us. I—we were going to get the drinks and then, you know, I thought I saw . . .” I was trying to find a way to make myself
not
sound like the complete fool I’d been.

“Hav! C’mon, what’s the deal?” Dante whispered but the desperation in his voice poked through. He shook me to get me going.

“I thought I saw . . . Lucian.” I didn’t want to tell them, Lance especially, and yet keeping it from him made it seem like it was something that needed to be hidden, which felt even more toxic.

“Lucian.” Lance snarled the name.

“Lucian? But you said—” Dante started.

“No, I know. So I saw Lucian and then I sort of followed him, because, I don’t know. I thought I was going crazy. I just had to see what . . . I don’t know, I just followed him. Outside.”

“Outside.” Lance didn’t like this either. “Of course,” he snapped. “Why would you follow him? What would ever possess—”

“Lance.” Dante stopped him. “Not productive.” He turned to me. “Tell us everything, every single thing.”

I told them what had happened, what the Prince had said, and they asked questions I had no answers to. But they didn’t have much time to absorb it all before Sabine found her way back to us, with two guys in tow. She introduced the guy who looked like a skateboarder—with a wide streak of electric blue running through his chin-length dark blond hair—as Brody and the one with the golden complexion and short black hair poking out from beneath a fedora as Max.

“So you guys are from Boston?” Dante asked.

“No, man, just her,” Brody jumped in. “I’m San Diego and he’s Phoenix.”

“We just met, you know, today,” Max clarified. It occurred to me that Sabine was one of those people who somehow instantly become friends with everyone. She rummaged through her purse and extracted a tube of lip-gloss.

“So, anyway,” she started, coating her lips and smacking them. “We have a proposition. It’s early, I mean, for New Year’s. Let’s get outta here and hit Bourbon Street for a look around before all the craziness dies down.”

“Who’s with us?” asked Brody.

In no time, we were hopping off the streetcar and winding through the French Quarter, following the roar of revelers. Bourbon Street, entirely closed off to traffic, swarmed with stumbling good-timers, many donning party hats and tiaras and dancing in the streets to the music pouring out of every bar and eatery.

Scantily clad women perched in doorways made catcalls to the men walking by. A voluptuous woman in the shortest jean shorts I’d ever seen, ice-pick-like heels, and a leopard halter-top that barely contained her waved to a pack of guys all decked out in plastic New Year’s top hats and glasses fashioned out of the numbers of the new year. “Yep, I bet she’s sorry she didn’t wear a coat out tonight too. Brrrr!” I joked, folding my arms in the crisp air.