An Easy Dare Read online

  Since Cort wasn’t in my line of sight yet, I conjured up a mental image of him. Blond hair. Straight nose. Pale skin. Nice body. Nice smile.

  It didn’t work.

  Maybe I needed to see him in person instead.

  But when I stepped into the church, all I saw were flowers—endless flowers. Cort’s mother must’ve hired an army of florists. I imagined dozens of them hoisting ginormous arrangements over their heads. Magnolias, dammit! We need more magnolias! There were arrangements on the end of every pew. The burdening scent of too many flowers and the peering eyes of so many unfamiliar guests overwhelmed me and did nothing to quell my nausea. It was as if I was watching a TV show of someone else’s wedding, like from one of those over-the-top reality shows. I barely felt myself floating toward the altar or my dad’s goodbye kiss as I drifted from his hand to Cort’s. There he was, in the flesh.

  I tried to eject Gabe out of my head with every syllable of the ceremony so I could focus on Cort. I didn’t want to think about how the rough stubble of Gabe’s beard felt against my skin. I didn’t want to remember when he whispered ‘I want you—now’ in my ear, whether we were in bed together or in the stockroom of the Blue Note. I wouldn’t think about the time he tore off my panties with his teeth.

  I wouldn’t think of any of that.

  Instead, I would think of how my heart ached when I read the note; how I went from one person to the next and called everyone we knew to ask them why he had to go away so suddenly—Was he in trouble? Was he sick? All the note said was that he loved me, he wanted me to know that he’d be okay, and that I shouldn’t wait around for him, because he wasn’t sure when he’d be back. And it said not to try and call him, because he canceled his cell service. I called anyway, of course—about fifty times that first day, only to hear the same recording again and again. The number you’ve called is not in service. At the time I thought it was impossible for a person to disappear—not in this day and age, when our whole lives play out for the world to see. But turns out, I was wrong. A person could disappear if they wanted to. For three years. Until they decide to come back and send a bottle of Champagne before vanishing again.

  Don’t think about this now, Cat, I thought to myself. Pay attention.

  It was time for the vows.

  I swallowed. My throat was so dry that it hurt. I felt like I was speaking through someone else’s lips. My eyes drifted around the room, looking out at all of the people staring up at us. And that’s when I saw him. Standing in the back corner of the church. Wearing a dark suit. A cluster of people blocked the man’s face, but it looked like him. It had to be him. When the cluster shifted, the man—the man who could have been my Gabe—was gone.

  I felt a slight jerk and Cort squeezed my hand—hard.

  The words of the priest dizzied over me:

  “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  It was at that moment that I realized something: The anxiety hadn’t faded when I saw Cort’s face. Not a bit.

  -4-

  Cort and I stepped onto the ballroom floor of the Belrose Crescent for our first dance as husband and wife to a band playing “Unforgettable.” Cort’s choice, not mine. I wanted something more modern, something that felt like a love song of today, but Cort was old-money New Orleans and that meant everything, from the flowers to the carriage to the wedding song, would be “sophisticated,” which was a bullshit way to say “old school.” It was their way of reminding everyone that their money stretched back generations. In case anyone forgot, which they never did.

  As a spattering of claps came from the two hundred people packed into the reception, including Cort’s parents William and Elise, who had taken to traveling the world since giving Cort management of the Blue Note, but managed to come back—briefly—for the ceremony, I searched the ballroom for him, wondering if he had dared to come here.

  Was it my imagination that I’d seen him at the church?

  Cort and I glided across the floor—a perfect photo op—just as we’d practiced for weeks, with his hand so politely cupped around my waist, while I secretly searched the crowd for Gabe, not sure if I wanted to see him here or not. Every dark head of hair suddenly belonged to him, but his face—the face that I’d loved for so long—never emerged from the crowd. Was that him, lingering in the corner with his back to us? No, that man is too short. What about the man sitting alone at table twenty-five, not standing or clapping? No, his hair has flecks of blond and his demeanor isn’t right. What about him or him or him? My mind swam as Cort and I turned in our dance.

  You’re a selfish woman to search the crowd for a man who left you, Catherine Martel. Now pay attention to your husband.

  “You look beautiful, Mrs. Belrose,” he purred in my ear, as if on cue.

  The name didn’t sound right to me. It was like wearing a dress that didn’t fit.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “How does it feel to be a Belrose?” Cort asked.

  “Wonderful.”

  “I heard a rumor that he was back in town. If he tries to contact you, you can tell him that you’re not slumming it anymore. You’re my wife now, and I’ll take care of you. You know that, right?”

  So he knew Gabe was back after all. I wondered who told him.

  “I know.”

  “I’ll always take care of you. Anything you want, you can have.” He kissed my forehead. I heard a spattering of awws in the distance as people in the crowd witnessed this public display of affection. “I’m sure he’ll try to contact you eventually. No way he’d have the balls to show up here, but when we get back from Martinique—who knows.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. Could he hear my voice quiver? “That was a long time ago.”

  Cort smiled devilishly. “Yes. Before you knew what it meant to truly be loved. In more ways than one.” He winked and brushed his eyes over my cleavage.

  Cort thought of himself as a fantastic lover. He wasn’t bad, exactly. But he wasn’t the Don Juan he thought he was. I only had one other man to compare him to, of course.

  And that was no comparison.

  “If he dares to come near you, I guarantee he’ll be sorry he did,” Cort said.

  I mustered up enough energy to smile. “I see,” I said. “Well, that’s a relief. But I can take care of myself. You should know that by now.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

  The song ended. The crowd clapped politely.

  Next was the dance of father and bride. My dad looked more polished than I’d ever seen him, wearing a fresh tux, with his silvery hair brushed back and his face clean-shaven. There was a calmness in his face that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Maybe I’d never seen it, I couldn’t be sure.

  The first thing he said was, “He’s back, it seems.”

  Funny how no one had to speak Gabe’s name for me to know who they were talking about. This was like the Gabe Augustine Power Hour. “I know.”

  “Don’t let him distract you from being a good wife.” My father always wanted what was best, but sometimes he had a shitty way of saying it.

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” I said. “I know what my responsibilities are. And besides, I haven’t even talked to him.”

  “You will.”

  Once all the dances ended and the toasts were given, I was finally free to socialize. But as I looked again over the sea of people, I didn’t know where to start.

  I was more than relieved when Cort’s Uncle Jackson—a man we all knew as Uncle Jacks—asked me to dance. I’d always liked him, even if no one else did. Apparently he and Cort’s father had been at odds since they were kids and it only got worse as adults. Cort’s father ran the empire while the free-spirited Jackson played the role of black sheep and ran a dive bar in the Quarter named Bells. Gabe used to say Uncle Jacks was born into the wrong family. The Belroses seemed to think so, too.

  Maybe dancing all night was exactly what I needed. I could talk to one person at a time and focus on mo
vement and music.

  “You look gorgeous,” Uncle Jacks said, in his thick New Orleans accent, as he led me to the dance floor. He was short, round and perpetually happy. Probably because he was tanked most of the time.

  “Thanks, Uncle Jacks.”

  “Welcome to our family of misfits.”

  “I thought you were the only misfit,” I said.

  “That’s what they’d like you to believe.”

  I laughed lightly.

  “Marty’s looking dapper,” Uncle Jacks said. “Doing well, I hope?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Very well.”

  “Good, good,” Uncle Jacks said. “I heard he’s doing a fantastic job as floor manager at the Crescent. Who’s got the job at the Blue Note?”

  “I don’t think Cort’s found anyone to replace him yet.”

  “Well, Marty’s pretty irreplaceable.”

  I was about to agree when I felt a presence behind me. A subtle scent of cologne. I shivered. And then, a voice—

  “Excuse me, Uncle Jacks. Mind if I cut in?”

  I was breathless.

  I knew without looking that it was him. That voice was a part of me—I’d heard it my entire life, through all its incantations. For three years, I’d longed for it.

  Uncle Jacks stepped aside. “Certainly.” He kissed my cheek. “Congratulations.”

  I tried to say thank you, but no words came out.

  Gabe wrapped his arm around my waist and took my hand. The feeling of his skin on mine triggered a sense of nostalgia that I hadn’t felt in a long time, like an old dream come to life. The dance was slow. I prayed the sweet old song the band was playing—La Vie en Rose—would go on forever, and I prayed that it would end right there.

  Torture.

  How had I not seen him earlier? He was usually one of the tallest men in the room, and he always had this commanding, hulking presence. Now it was even more consuming. The old Gabe was always a hottie, even in his crappy work clothes—dirty boots, torn-up jeans and stained white T-shirts—but this new version of was just short of amazing. His tailored suit hugged his body, the kind of bod that can only be built by manual labor. And he’d grown into himself since the last time I’d seen him. It was like every inch of him had evolved. His jet-black hair was trimmed, but still a little long, like the old him. A rebel lock swept over his eyes—those green eyes that gave such an intense glare. His mouth was strong and forceful and his chin still bore the mark of a childhood scar. He looked like the old Gabe, but at the same time, completely different.

  “Congratulations,” he said. His voice was deep and guarded. The music faded somewhere in the back of my mind, and now it was just his voice that I heard. His eyes shot into me again, like they saw inside my soul. I used to think they did.

  But that was then.

  A million responses ran through my mind, but the only thing I managed to say was, “What are you doing here?” The words escaped like a half-whisper.

  “I wanted to dance with the bride.”

  My throat dried.

  Get it together, Cat. He doesn’t need to know that he still gets to you. Remember, he left. He doesn’t deserve anything from you. Not after all this time. Not after coming back this way.

  I cleared my throat. “I see.”

  “You look gorgeous,” he said. “But I didn’t expect anything different.”

  “So you had expectations?”

  “Not expectations, exactly. It wasn’t a long shot that you’d look gorgeous.”

  His demeanor was still the same. The broken man who left New Orleans was still there, dancing with me, but everything about him dripped with money. His haircut. His suit. The way he talked. Even his tie.

  “You look nice,” I said, dryly. “Where’d you get that suit? Mr. Tux on Canal?”

  “Not exactly.” He paused. “I own several of them now. Do you like it?”

  I looked away. I like anything you wear. I’ve never seen a man look so gorgeous. You could wear anything—or nothing—and still make me want you. “Not really.”

  He smiled. “Well, I like your outfit.” He nodded at my dress. “Is it new?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I try.”

  I turned my eyes back on him. “Did you know I was getting married today?”

  His mouth tightened. “Yes.”

  “And you figured this would be the perfect time to reappear into my life after you left me three years ago with nothing but a stupid note?”

  “Not exactly. I—”

  “I can’t believe you.” I lowered my voice. Now that I’d started talking, I found that I wanted to start screaming. I blinked back tears. All those months and years of waiting, wondering, desperately trying to find him, came surging out. I struggled to contain them, and my voice. “Why, Gabe? Why?”

  “I can’t explain it like this. And it doesn’t matter anyway. Not anymore. Everything happened the way it should.”

  “The way it should? You disappear without a word and come back on the day I’m marrying Cort. And this is how it should be?”

  “Why did you marry him, then?” he said, so low and grumbled that it sounded like a growl.

  “You have no right to ask me questions. You haven’t answered any of mine. Why did you leave? And why did you come back, today of all days?”

  “I read in the Times-Picayune that you were getting married. That’s why I came back.”

  “Oh, to wish me congratulations and send me a bottle of expensive Champagne?”

  He looked away. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just—” He turned his eyes on me again.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Just what, Gabe?”

  “I just wanted to dance with you.”

  It was amazing how he was able to turn me from one emotion to the next. I was suddenly very aware that we were dancing, that he was standing before me, tucked into an expensive suit, but still the Gabe I knew—the Gabe who kissed me with a hunger that I’d never felt from Cort; the Gabe who had a scar across his left shoulder from a bar fight when he was seventeen; the Gabe who knew how to touch me, without fail, each and every time – and part of me didn’t care anymore what he’d done for the past three years, or where he’d gone. All I cared about was his hand on the small of my back, and the desperate thought that I never wanted him to move it.

  I was also very aware that I was wearing a wedding gown and had only been married for a few hours to another man.

  When the song ended, Gabe leaned over and kissed my cheek.

  “I know you have questions,” he said, in my ear. The feel of his breath against my skin made me shiver. “But they don’t matter now. I just wanted to see you on your wedding day, even if it was a wedding to someone else. I’ll be leaving again soon. I shouldn’t have come back and upset you. Not today. It was selfish.” He stood straight. “You really do look gorgeous, Cat. Thank you for the dance. I’ll bring you to your husband now.”

  He offered his arm, but I hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  But Cort was already watching us. Glaring. I saw him through a shift in the crowd, standing near the back with Delilah. There was nothing to do now but let Gabe walk me back to him, just as he suggested. I couldn’t appear flustered or try to escape. It would seem like I was doing something wrong. I probably was, at least in my mind.

  I braced myself as we walked toward Cort and Delilah. When we were just a few steps away, Cort came forward and pulled me toward him, gripping my waist tightly. He didn’t let go.

  “You weren’t invited,” Cort said. Delilah looked on, bored as ever and sipping a glass of bubbly.

  “I know,” Gabe replied. “My invitation must have been lost in the mail.”

  “Last I checked we didn’t deliver invitations to any trailer parks.”

  “Actually, I’m on St. Charles now,” Gabe replied. He smiled at Cort politely. “A block from the Magnolia.”

  The Magnolia was an old southern mansion owned by one of Cort�
�s aunts.

  I suddenly felt warm and dizzy. Gabe, living near the Magnolia and wearing designer suits? What the hell was going on here?

  Delilah sharply raised her eyebrow. Cort stiffened. “I suppose we know where you’ve been all this time, then,” he said. “Swindling your way into some cash? We’ll see how long it lasts. If you’re telling the truth, which I doubt.”

  Gabe shrugged nonchalantly. “I never tell a lie.”

  “In that case,” Cort said. “Why have you really come to my reception?”

  “To dance with the bride. I considered asking your permission first, but if I remember correctly, Cat was never much for gaining permission from anyone.”

  Cort tightened his grip on me. “A lot has changed since you left her.” He cleared his throat. “I guess a woman’s gotta slum it sometimes to remind herself what she’s got.”

  Delilah smirked.

  “I’m sure she doesn’t need me to remind her,” Gabe said, squaring his shoulders and adjusting his tie. I knew that move. I remembered it well—it was the way he moved just before a fight. Except he didn’t used to wear a tie, so he’d just pull at the collar of his shirt.

  I looked around and cleared my throat. I suddenly had an image of Gabe knocking Cort unconscious in the middle of the Crescent Hotel and I wasn’t sure what the hell I could do about it.

  “Maybe she does,” Cort said. He looked at me. “I’m not so sure if she’s adjusted to being with a real man.”

  Gabe pressed his lips together and stepped forward. Just one step.

  Cort stepped back.

  “I remember when you were just a whiny little pussy hiding behind your mother’s pant leg,” Gabe growled. The music and reception swirled around us. I looked at Delilah, wondering if she had any idea what we should do if they decided to throw-down. But she only stood there and grinned like she was part of a confrontation scene in a bad Lifetime movie.

  “That was a long time ago,” Cort said. His face paled. His fingers drummed nervously against his leg. He was scared. Gabe had always scared him, even though he always pretended like he was going to ‘take care of him’ one day.