The Beaumont estate in October looked like something out of a painting.
One that was blissfully unaware that it was cursed.
String lights bound the veranda like the lingerie I still sometimes put on. Alright, perhaps, less perversely. Lines of black cord ran along the wooden beams, so high up I had to tilt my head back to see them. I did, for a brief moment, wonder how Judah got them up there.
It was the night of the fundraiser. Another one. Judah explained to me what it was about, and that we had to appearnormal. Everything had to continue the way it had before otherwise this wouldn’t work.
I believed him. It made me sick to my stomach, but Ibelievedhim.
And I had promised myself — and him — that I wouldnotaccept jewelry from anybody. Not even him.
He’d said “good”, kissed me on the temple and had gone to meet the first guests.
I watched the cars approach through the bedroom window and thought about locking myself inside the room. He could entertain — I could fake sick. Maybe say I felt nauseous — part of the morning sickness, wasn’t it? Icouldfake it.
God, I wished I had faked it.
Instead, I went outside onto the balcony in my silk morning robe and did what all good almost-wives did. Stood and watched as the old lizards spilled out of their luxury cars and decided I would be fashionably late.
No. More than fashionably late. Whatever came after that — I would be it.
So, I stood and I watched the oaks sway in the soft breeze. String lights bound them the same way they did everything on the property, curling around the trunks in even loops. The Spanish moss sat neatly in the branches — same as it always did, and soaked up the soft glow from the warm glass bulbs.
I could smell all the expensive cologne from up here, and Iactuallygot nauseous.
With a frustrated grunt I closed the balcony doors and went back inside to put on a dress in a color I hated. Green — Judah’s choice. HeknewI hated it but he said colors had meaning in these functions.
Green meant taken.
Red meant off limits.
And blue — or ratherbabyblue — well. You get it.
I thought about the burgundy dress I had worn the last time and how Hargrove had approached me despite it.
The dress was deep emerald and made me look like royalty. The color darkened toward black in the folds, like rain-soaked moss. I wasn’t a fan of sleeves on dresses — especially in Louisiana heat — but these were alright. Lace, that sat like second skin and ended around my knuckles. The hem tickled my ankle every time I shifted, an itch I couldn't reach no matter how I twisted. And the back was bare, held together with a dainty chainlet. No way to wear a bra underneath it.
I took a deep breath and stopped to stand at the top of the main staircase, watching the latter half of the guests arrive.
Judah appeared at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a black, fitted three-piece. He looked up at me with the look that told me he was tryingvery hardnot to.
For a moment, I thought he might smile — that rare, genuine smile that transformed his face. But something moved in his eyes instead. Recognition, perhaps. Or possession. His gaze traveled from my face down the length of the emerald dress, lingering on the bare skin of my back as I turned slightly.
“You're late,” he said instead.
“I'm on time.” I came down the stairs.
His hand found the small of my back as I reached the bottom step, fingers warm against my exposed skin. I felt the pressure of his signet ring as it grazed my spine.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear as he kissed my temple. “And keep close tonight. There are men I haven’t seen before.”
“From the city?” I whispered, smiling for the crowd though my stomach knotted with dread.
“No.” His voice was barely audible beneath the string quartet playing in the corner. “Further north. Old money. Catholic.”
The warning was clear. Different rules, different appetites. I nodded slightly, refusing a champagne flute from a passing server.
“Mrs. Tureaud has been asking for you,” Judah said, guiding me toward the grand room where crystal chandeliers threw fractured light across the faces of St. Francisville's finest hypocrites. “I told her you were feeling unwell earlier.”
