Page 6 of Keller

"Oh, fancy Senator Mercer, going to the exclusive Krewe of Argentum gala. Impressive."

"How about you come with me? I'd like them to meet you. Not to mention, it will be a fun night. It’s not every day you get a chance to go to that type of event.”

I slow my pace slightly, enough to look at him without breaking stride. "I don't do galas, Nate. I wear my Blundstone boots and cargos most days. I don’t care about fancy parties.”

He laughs warmly. "We can represent the foundation together. There's a good chance we could secure even more donations. Family, foundation, service, right?"

The words seamlessly fit, as though they were crafted for this specific instant. Harmless, meaningful. Something I can square with who I am and what I believe in.

Our grandfather started Southern Stars to support veterans. I've peripherally tried to keep it going, much smaller than itsglory days. Nate promises to make it bigger than it ever was, which thrills me.

God, I don't want to go. Getting dressed up is akin to going to the dentist for me, but it's hard to turn down an invite to an exclusive party, especially when he qualifies it with the foundation.

"Nate, why are you doing this to me?"

"Hey, I'm just a poor guy going through a divorce. You don't want me to do it alone after my wife left me, do you?"

Twist the knife even further. He throws in his impending divorce and the family foundation as bait, and I'm a goner.

"If I have to wear heels, you owe me a charity tax deduction."

I can't believe I'm agreeing to this.

Nate's laugh comes easily as he bumps my shoulder with his. "It's going to be amazing. I promise."

TWO

Keller

Masking Traditions: Masks are a central element of many New Orleans krewes, particularly during Carnival balls and select parades, allowing members to conceal their identities behind ritual and costume. Historically, masking reinforced exclusivity and anonymity, blurring the line between spectacle and secrecy within krewe culture.

Gas lanterns flickeralong the colonnade, throwing soft light across white marble and wrought iron older than anyone here tonight.

The Krewe of Argentum doesn't do anything half-ass, and their gala venue at the old port ballroom reflects that. Historic, grand, perched close enough to the river that you can smell the water beneath the magnolia blooms.

I adjust my white gloves and tug the mask into place. The silver filigree sits light against my face, secured just enough to stay through hours of conversation and champagne. My white tails catch the breeze.

West steps in with me, no mask, no formality beyond the black suit that makes him look like he could break a man in half without wrinkling his jacket. His hazel eyes sweep the entrance, the doormen, the clusters of guests filtering inside.

"You know," he drawls, falling into step beside me. "You think you're hot shit wearing that thing. I know it's an honor, supposedly, to have a mask. But if you ask me, you look like a douche bag."

I grin beneath the mask. "Ah, dear West, so uncultured. I pity you."

I joke with him. I'm not cultured, either. I just got lucky that my mom was so involved with preservation in the city, and then Dad's growth, that we got in.

"I work with some of the richest people in the world, and I still don't get your world. Masks and white tuxes and weird names."

We move through the entrance, past doormen who nod without asking questions. The foyer opens into a ballroom that could swallow a city block. Crystal chandeliers hang low enough to catch the light but high enough to remind you they cost more than most houses.

The crowd moves in waves, masked members of Argentum gliding through unmasked guests with the ease of people who've spent their lives knowing exactly where they stand.

This is port influence on full display, industries that shaped the city before most people's grandparents were born. That's how we became members back in the early nineties.

The mask isn't mystery here. It's hierarchy.

"How many you think will ask for an invite to your tables before midnight?" West's voice is low and amused.

"Shit. Most of these people live for exclusive invites. You could probably have a hundred of them."