Die for Me

When he was a few feet away, Georgia set her glass on the bar and threw her hands in the air as he picked her up by the waist.

“Georgia, my sexy Southern belle,” he said, lowering her to the floor. I smiled. The fact that we had never actually lived in the South was a moot point. Georgia had used the dozen or so holidays we spent in my mom’s home state to cultivate a molasses-thick accent that Scarlett O’Hara would have traded her petticoat for. When she was in the mood, she used her drawl, along with her name, to imply that we came from somewhere more “exotic” than Brooklyn. Foreigners, at least those who spoke English well enough to notice accents, ate it up.

The man leaned in to give her a kiss on the lips. The fact that this one lasted a whole second longer than the others she had been bestowing left and right made me suspect that this must be someone special.

Taking him by the hand, she dragged him in front of me. Finally getting a view unhampered by the crowds, I saw that he was everything that Georgia always went for, combined into one man. At least six-five, he looked like a mix between a surfer and a football player: windswept blond hair and sunta

“Finally we meet! Georgia’s little sister, Kate. I’ve heard about you. You didn’t tell me she was so pretty, Georgia.”

My sister drawled, “Now why would I go and do a thing like that?” Turning to me, she said, “Kate, this is Lucien. He owns the bar.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

He squeezed Georgia’s shoulders and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Then, stretching back to his full height, he made a signal to the bartender indicating our group.

“Sweet Georgia Brown,” whistled Lawrence from my side. “Free drinks all night. Your sister has the magic touch.”

“I know,” I admitted as I watched Lucien kiss my sister’s hand before letting himself be pulled away by a frantic-looking manager. As he disappeared into the crowd, he gri

A group of scruffy-looking guys walked into the room and headed our way. Lawrence leaned over and said, “Band alert. These guys are the hottest new group in town.”

“Then they’ve got to be friends of Georgia,” I sighed.

He smiled and nodded as they approached. One walked right up to Georgia and wordlessly pulled her out onto the dance floor. She leaned over and shouted something in his ear, and then smiled at me as one of his friends came over and took my hand. “Alex,” the guy yelled, brushing the long hair out of his eyes.

We danced next to Georgia and her friend for the next couple of songs. Alex’s flashing blue eyes and flirty grin definitely got my heart beating again. The way he smiled appreciatively at me showed me he didn’t mind being assigned as my “party boy.” He was handsome. He was human. So why wasn’t I able to relax and enjoy myself?

I finally leaned over to tell Alex I was going to get a drink. He gazed at me regretfully and mimed a sexy kiss as I walked away. I mentally kicked myself for my stupidity, but knew I couldn’t do anything else. Not tonight. Not for a while. Not until Vincent’s face left my aching brain in peace.

Lawrence had left by the time I got back to the bar, but seeing me, the bartender automatically poured another glass of Coke. I took it and went to sit on a giant leather cushion against the wall.

Leaning back against the cold stone, I squinted as I watched the wavelike movements of the teeming masses for a few minutes before closing my eyes. I let the music work its trancelike beat on my brain. A few seconds later, I heard a low, smooth voice say, “Tired?”

Opening my eyes, I saw that Lucien had grabbed a cushion and was sitting next to me. I smiled at him. He didn’t look quite as tough now that he wasn’t fighting off crowds of hangers-on, but there was a slight aura of permafrost hovering about him. Owning one of the trendiest bars in town had to have an effect on one’s ego, I told myself.

“Not really tired, just not in a dancing mood.”

“So. Does Georgia’s sister have a boyfriend?”

Okay, this guy is really direct. “Ah, no,” I said. “Not at the moment.”

“Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together for effect. “That’s good news for my friends!”

“Um. I’m . . . not really in the market.”

“But you wouldn’t be opposed to meeting people.” He raised a bushy blond eyebrow.

“Actually . . .”

Unwilling to hear my response, he stood and took my empty glass back to the bar, returning with a full one. “You’ll have to come with Georgia to a party I’m having in a couple of weeks. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.” He squatted down and handed me the glass. “And so will you!”

His playful pat on my shoulder gave me an unexpected visceral reaction: I recoiled. From the way his body tensed as he stood, I could tell that he had noticed. What is wrong with you? I chided myself, surprised by my reaction. He was just trying to be friendly—but I must be sorely out of practice at social interaction. Before I could say something to make up for my unintentional cold shoulder, he turned to talk to someone who had been impatiently waiting for his attention. I sipped my Coke and checked my phone: It wasn’t even midnight.

Rising to my feet, I threaded my way between the dancers until I reached Georgia. She gave me a concerned smile, and I shook my head. “Sorry, Georgia. Just can’t get into it. Going home,” I yelled over the music, gesturing toward the doorway in case she couldn’t hear me.

She nodded. “Are you going to be okay getting back alone?”

“I’ll take a taxi.”

Georgia gave me a hug and then said something to the guy she was dancing with. Smiling, he took my hand and led me across the floor to the entrance. While I got my coat, he pulled out a cell phone and ordered a taxi for me, walking me out to the street and waiting with me until it pulled up to the curb. “Thanks,” I called after him. He waved, already walking back toward the club.

As I opened the cab door, I glanced back down the alley and saw Lucien standing outside, talking on his cell phone. As he looked up he caught my gaze, and I raised my hand to wave good-bye. He shot me a confident smile and saluted.

A slender redheaded boy standing with him turned his head to see who Lucien was waving to but quickly looked away.

I breathed in sharply and continued to stare as the car drove away. One second had been enough for me to recognize the boy with the bitter look on his face. It was Charles.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I DIDN’T HEAR GEORGIA GET HOME THAT NIGHT, and slept late into the morning. When I awoke, it was to a feeling of expectation.

Half dreaming, Vincent’s face from the day before floated through my mind. As he sca

And then my conscious mind kicked in and my heart plunged. Vincent wasn’t mine. He was someone else’s. And I was right back into the black hole of sadness and regret that had been my prison for the past three weeks.

Resolving to get out of the house, I decided to have my breakfast at the Café Sainte-Lucie, which I noticed had reopened the previous day.

On my way past the living room, I spotted Papy in his armchair, reading a newspaper and looking every bit like an older version of my father. He still sported a full head of hair at seventy-one. His noble looks, which had been inherited by Georgia, had unfortunately skipped right over me.