“Wow,” I murmured. “This is comfortable.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “It’s not a fashion statement. It’s a disguise on top of your already terrible disguise.”
“Noted.” I tugged the hood up over my wig. “How do I look?”
“Ridiculous,” she replied, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
Hal walked up to us. “We’ve got a clean path to the car. Let’s move.”
“Thanks for the save,” I said to Anna, pausing for a moment.
She gave me a look I couldn’t quite decipher, then nodded. “Don’t mention it. Literally. Don’t.”
“Time to move,” Hal muttered, his voice low as he clapped a hand on my shoulder.
Tom flanked me on the other side, his expression deadly serious despite the ridiculous tourist sunglasses still perched on his nose. “Let’s go before they connect the dots.”
I didn’t argue. The two of them ushered me toward the front door, cutting through the crowd with surprising efficiency. I caught a glimpse of the bride craning her neck to look for me, her friends buzzing around her like a swarm of bees.
“Keep your head down,” Hal instructed, his bulk acting as a human shield as we slipped out the door.
The second the steamy night air hit my face, I exhaled a shaky breath, relief washing over me. I leaned back against the wall, trying to make sense of everything. The humid air clung to my skin, but my mind was elsewhere, still back in that chaotic bar, back on Anna.
She hadn’t just saved me. She could have walked away, let me crash and burn, but she didn’t.
Why?
I glanced back toward the bar, and there she was, framed in the doorway, scanning the street like she wanted to make sure the coast was clear before heading back inside.
She caught my eye across the alley, and the rest of the city seemed to blur.
My throat tightened. I cleared it and looked away, but my chest was still racing.
Before I could tell if she felt it too, she turned and disappeared back into the bar, and I was left staring at the empty doorway, my chest tingling with something I couldn’t quite place.
For the first time since I got to New Orleans, I didn’t feel entirely out of my depth. More and more, it seemed like having Anna show me the city, and help me figure out how to connect with real people, wasn’t just a good idea; it might be theonlyidea.
She didn’t want to be my tour guide, though. That much was clear. But I could be persuasive when it mattered. And right now, it definitely mattered.
13
ANNA
My story was practically writingitself.
Each keystroke brought the reluctant superhero to life. A man torn between the safety of his disguise and the risk of revealing his true self. It was clever, it was cunning, it had depth. This story felt like it could be something big.
And the truth? Luke Fisher was my muse.
There. I said it. I wasn’t proud of it, but there it was. Every smirk, every infuriating comment, every moment he seemed almost real—that’s what fueled my creativity. He was the blueprint for the complicated, charming disaster I was pouring into my pages. It was like he’d stepped out of the story and into my life, bringing both inspiration and chaos in equal measure.
And that was why it was so unfortunate that I’d told him I wouldn’t show him around New Orleans. I’d slammed the door on any possibility of spending more time together.
We’d agreed to part ways, and in my heart, I knew it was the right call. He was spoiled, a wealthy playboy with an ego bigger than the mansion he was staying in. He wasn’t the kind of person who stuck around, and I wasn’t the kind of person who wasted time on someone like him.
Still, I couldn’t shake the memory of the way he’d looked at me the night before outside Muses. His look was intense, almost like I was the only person in the world. It lingered in my mind, sending an unexpected warmth curling through me, the flicker of a spark I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing doorbell. My young cousins Therese and Amelia burst inside, followed by their mother, my cousin Lucy. “Aunt Anna,” the girls yelled, flinging themselves at me.
