Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(9)

Huck head-butted my thigh and padded to the door. He was right. It was a gorgeous late-May evening and perfect for sitting in the garden oasis. I uncorked a bottle of cheap red wine and grabbed a glass.

Setting myself up at the bistro table, I poured a generous serving, and cracked open the book I’d brought down.

Huck rolled in the grass, all four long legs in the air. His head arched to the side as he tried to bite his tail. Crazy mutt. I shoved the book aside and dropped onto the ground beside him, scratching his chest and belly as I polished off my first glass of wine.

I was lying next to Huck when I heard one of my most favorite sounds of the Quarter—the sousaphone, drums, and brass band that signaled a wedding parade. It was quiet at first, the beats rumbling through the still evening, and it grew louder and louder. I actually felt giddy when I realized they were coming down my street. I pushed off the ground and ran up to my apartment to get my keys for the gate. Pausing by the table, I splashed more wine in my glass.

I wanted to watch like a goddamn tourist.

I slipped down the narrow brick walkway that led to the gate with Huck on my heels. I squeezed out, locking him inside. He growled his displeasure, but I was already entranced by the large crowd of wedding guests marching and dancing down the street toward me. Neighbors and tourists lined the sidewalks, snapping pictures and cheering on the crowd. The bride’s parasol bounced in the air, delicate white feathers floating from the edges. The band stopped and broke into a raucous tune. The wedding party and guests grabbed partners and danced with abandon, handkerchiefs flying. The groom swept the bride up in his arms and spun her in dizzying circles.

It was my own secret fantasy—one that I’d never admit. I swallowed back the regret for what would never be and focused on the happy couple. The groom … he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I sipped my wine and tried to recall where I’d seen him before. It hit me as soon as I saw him.

Simon.

He was leading a gray-haired woman in a jaunty waltz in the middle of the street, dressed in a black tux tailored to perfection. Gone were the jeans and simple T-shirt that he’d worn the last time I’d seen him. He looked every inch the Southern gentlemen-politician in black tie. Several women in matching seafoam green dresses watched him like he was last Versace dress in creation designed by Gianni himself. Bridesmaids. A surge of jealousy ripped through me to think about Simon as the stereotypical groomsman who would, by the end of the night, undoubtedly have the opportunity to nail one—or more—of them. I suddenly felt ridiculous. I looked down at the nine dollar wine in my glass, my wife beater, tight, pale gray skinny jeans, and two dollar flip-flops. For a split second I wished I still had some of the wardrobe that would put those bitches to shame. I gave myself a mental shake. No. That’s not me. And it’ll never be me again.

I shouldn’t have called him. Shouldn’t have left that stupid message. I’d never belong in his world. And what’s more, I didn’t want to belong there. I didn’t.

I turned away from the parade, spirits doused, and struggled to fit my key into the lock. My hand shook, and I kept missing the tiny keyhole. A large, tanned hand closed over mine. A second hand gripped the bars and trapped me in the circle of his arms.


I stared down at the white dress shirt and monogrammed silver cufflink peeking out from the sleeve of his black jacket.

He spoke into my ear, his voice low and gravelly. “If I keep seeing you, I’m going to take it as a sign.”

I swallowed and squeezed my eyes shut. Huck growled, but I reached out a hand and patted his head through the bars. He quieted and lay down against the gate. I turned in Simon’s arms, careful to avoid spilling my wine, and stared up at him. At five-four, I wasn’t exactly short, but he dwarfed me, especially when we were this close. He had to be almost a foot taller than me, and with his broad shoulders filling my view, I couldn’t see anything but him.

Rather than his face, I focused on the black studs in his pristine white tux shirt, and cleared my throat.

“A sign of what exactly?”

He released the bars of the gate and tilted my chin up so I was forced to meet his eyes.

“I’m not sure. Maybe just my own good luck because I wanted to see you again.” He paused before adding, “Have dinner with me.”

I forced a humorless laugh. “I think you’re a little busy right now.” The crowd had started to move again, although slowly, but he was going to be left behind if he didn’t rejoin the wedding party.

He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Later. After the reception. Meet me somewhere.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Charlie—”

His words were cut off when someone yelled, “Duchesne, let’s go!”

I spun and shoved my key into the lock. Simon’s heat melted away as he stepped back.

“I’m guessing, based on the monster dog, this is where you live?”

I didn’t reply. I pulled the gate open and slipped inside. Simon didn’t try to stop me as I maneuvered around Huck and shut the gate in his face.

From behind the safety of my iron bars, I finally found the courage to look up at him again. His hazel eyes burned into me.

“I want to see you again. Just dinner. Or drinks. Your choice.”

“I think you should go. You’re losing your friends.”