by Lux Miller
I know that he’s close, so I slide my hands onto his back and gently drag my fingernails down his skin, murmuring, “Let go of everything. Give it all to me. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Ti amo Luca...”
TWELVE
As I lower the delicately detailed mask over my face, I shudder at the thought that for the first time in my life, I will be among New Orleans royalty for the biggest party in the city. New Orleans starts celebrating Mardi Gras practically the moment Epiphany has passed. Leave it to the staunch Catholics to put on a show of complete debauchery in the name of religious celebration.
Here in the Sin City of the South, every night leading up to Ash Wednesday is more raunchy than the last, and the party doesn’t stop for over a month. Parades roll through the day and into the night, and elaborate balls take over the reins from the witching hour to dawn. Alcohol and love flow freely, and the war cry is “Throw me Something, Mister!”
Massive floats in a rainbow of electric and neon shades roll through the streets while masked revelers that belong to Krewes throw handfuls of trinkets to the crowds that gather to watch the parade. Each Krewe is unique and membership is exclusive, but the entire city is invited to bear witness to their party. All kinds of things can be tossed off of floats including coins bearing the name of the parading Krewe, snacks, stuffed animals, and more. The most common and the most coveted prize is beads.
All lengths, colors, and, ahem, shapes appear during the month of festivities, and the citizens of the city wear them with pride. Since we first arrived in the Sin City of the South, I would watch from the wings as every parade rolled past the dingy apartment in the French Quarter that my father and I called home. Once the crowds had dispersed, I would sneak outside and collect discarded strands of beads from the low hanging trees.
Later, once the dust had settled and I belonged to Andre, I would work the parades from our home base in Piacere. I’d slip unnoticed through the drunken revelry of Bourbon Street up to Saint Charles Street and blend in with the crowds. Then I’d slip from person to person, picking the pockets of the idiot tourists who would carry cash in their pockets to pay street vendors.
Shaking away the memories, I remind myself that this year will be different. So many things have changed in my life. For one, I’m not going to be wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie. Royce has outdone himself yet again and dressed me in the most unique dress I’ve ever seen, much less worn. It’s definitely a one-off original by the fashion guru that’s at my beck and call.
Exquisite crepe fabric in the softest cream-colored silk hugs my body in a form fitting sheath that leave little to the imagination. Even though my curves are completely concealed beneath the delicate design that includes white ostrich feathers along the off-the shoulder neckline and shin-length hem, I feel incredibly exposed.
Across the bodice and halfway down one side, delicate flowers and scrollwork are embroidered in gold-colored thread. Who are we kidding? This is Royce we’re talking about. He doesn’t do halfway. The thread’s probably made from real gold. Maybe I should start calling him Rumplestiltskin? He probably spun the thread himself.
I’ve stopped asking how much the creations he dresses me in cost. He wouldn’t tell me anyway. I’m sure that’s a direct order from Luca. The jewelry he’s draped on my body is worth at least a thousand dollars by itself. Dangling gold feathers hang from my ears and an illusion necklace of diamonds wraps around my neck.
The ostrich feathers and gold sequins of my handmade mask obscure most of my face, giving me a sense of anonymity that I haven’t enjoyed in months. I know that I won’t escape the scrutiny of the socialites who will no doubt whisper about me the moment we arrive at the ball. On Luca’s arm, my identity won’t be secret for long. For some reason, Royce enjoys evoking jealousy in the New Orleans upper crust. He says he has to remind them that they can be upstaged by anyone with a high-limit credit card.
Since becoming Luca’s girlfriend, privacy is a thing of the past. Every time I appear on his arm, the gossip begins almost instantly. Dirty looks and whispers are the norm when Luca appears at charity galas and balls. And we’re splashed across the front page the next day. Everyone is enamored with the brooding Italian man with the strange grey eyes.
How the paparazzi knows nothing of Luca’s underground life, I’ll never know. The glitzy lifestyle pieces that run multiple times a month have never once mentioned his mob ties. Maybe it’s an unspoken rule that anyone who dares to paint him in a negative light will earn his ire.
Maybe the wealthy citizens of the city turn a blind eye to his underground dealings because he’s keeping the petty criminals in check? Those with money tend to want to keep it, and Luca’s version of policing New Orleans’ sketchy characters tends to have better outcomes where money is involved.
Whatever the reasons, his public persona and his private life are miles apart. Both are pieces of the whole, but they’re also masks that he wears to hide behind. Neither tells the whole story, though both command a room the moment the he walks into it. Whether because of fear or fancy, Luca walks the streets of New Orleans as a King, and every King has enemies.
I understand why he hides behind false faces, but my favorite face isn’t the mafia kingpin or the playboy prince. My favorite face is the man who stands across the room from me right now with his mouth gaping open as he sees my attire for the Mardi Gras parade and ball tonight.
He’s half-dressed himself, having had to call Royce over to make last-minute alterations to the shoulder of his jacket. Right now, he’s wearing black suit trousers and a gold-toned silk button down shirt that’s still hanging open as he adjusts his sleeves. But his eyes aren’t on his shirt, hands, buttons or anything else at the moment. His eyes are locked on me as he stops suddenly and his gaze darkens.
Swallowing slightly, I clear my throat and walk over to him barefoot, trying to pretend that he isn’t undressing me with his eyes. I lean up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over his cheek, scrunching my nose when his beard tickles it. “You missed a couple buttons,” I muse as I take a step back from him and start to straighten his shirt so I can button it for him.
He stands motionless in front of me as I button the bottom two. I cut my eyes up at him from behind my mask, then over his shoulder as I hear Royce’s distinct giggling laugh behind him. “He’s been struck stupid by the very sight of you. Goodie! Stick a fork in me as my job here is done. Here’s his jacket, honey. ”
I chuckle softly as Royce lays Luca’s jacket on the edge of the bed and turns on his heel to leave. Before he waltzes out of the room, he steps behind Luca and admonishes him as he pats his hand against Luca’s ass, “Stand up straight, Barresi. That shirt will not look professional if it’s wrinkled.”
Luca rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told. I brush my hand over the delicate silk and cut my eyes to Royce, “Is this gold?”
Royce’s face twists into a sardonic grin as he shrugs his shoulders. “Beautiful, you know I don’t tell my secrets, but it sure isn’t silver. And Royce doesn’t deal with fakeries…”
He steps around Luca and brushes his hand over my waist, his slender fingers brushing over the gold embroidery along my hip. Then he drops a bombshell that snaps Luca out of his daze. “Oh girl… if he thinks he likes the dress, wait until he sees the gold that’s under it.” He claps and steps out into the hallway and Luca groans.
I smile and finish buttoning Luca’s shirt. “Where’s your tie? We’re going to be late if we don’t get you dressed.”
Luca’s eyes wander down my body and back up to my face. His hand follows behind, pausing over where Royce touched my hip. I roll my eyes and gently pull the mask off, being careful not to disturb my hair where Royce has sold another piece of his soul to the devil and managed to tame my mane into soft, elegant curls that brush my shoulders.
Luca clears his throat and asks, “Are you wearing a gold chain under your dress?”
I pat his shoulders and walk over to the bed where I find his tie
looped over the same hanger that his jacket is on. I pull it loose, and walk back over to Luca and quickly tie it on him. “You know anything’s possible when Royce dresses me. You can see it tonight if you promise to be a good boy.”
Luca growls as I fasten his tie. “I don’t do...good. I am not a good man, but I’ll behave myself as long as every man there knows that you are not available, and that this dress is not an advertisement.”
I giggle and shake my head. “Luca, this dress is the most covered I’ve been in any of Royce’s creations. Besides, you can’t stop people from looking. Isn’t that why you pay Royce top dollar, anyway? To parade me around like a well-dressed trophy?”
His eyes narrow at me as he lowers his lips to my ear. “As long as it’s only their eyes appreciating your beauty, then I’ll let them live.”
Shuddering, I cut my eyes up at him. It’s impossible to tell if he’s joking, but his tone of voice tells me he’s not. I pat his chest, then drop my hands to tuck in his shirt. “You will not be killing anyone on my behalf, do you understand me?”
Luca’s face flinches at the demand in my voice, and he avoids my gaze. I don’t back down, stepping up on my tiptoes so that I’m closer to his eye level. I brush my hand along his chiseled jaw and turn his face so that he has no choice but to look at me. “I mean it Luca… nobody dies because of me. I am not worth a man’s life.”
Luca face is stone still as he focuses on me, making eye contact with me that makes me shiver from head to toe. “You are mine and I am yours, Emily. If anybody threatens that, I cannot promise that I’ll be able to keep my inner beast caged. I’ll defend what’s mine… at any cost.”
I can feel the warmth pooling in my belly and rising though my body from there, and it has gotten suddenly warm in the room. I’m not itching to jump his bones, but I do long to kiss him. I’m scared I’ll mess up my makeup until I hear Royce’s cheerful voice from the hallway, “Words, words, words… Come on lovebirds. Time is ticking. Suck face already. The lipstick’s waterproof… won’t even come off on his, well… let’s just say that after the two of you party the night away like true New Orleanians, your lipstick will still be perfect.”
Luca grunts at the interruption, but he doesn’t hesitate to follow Royce’s advice, sealing his lips over mine in a possessive kiss that makes my knees weak. By the time he pulls away, my cheeks are flushed, and I’m grateful that Royce didn’t make me wear panties. Anything between my legs wouldn’t stay dry for long.
Luca smirks at my rosy cheeks and grabs his jacket off the bed, pulling it on over the gold shirt. He looks like a debonair man on a mission. He bows before me with a grand sweeping gesture of his hand and takes mine, gently tugging me out of the room.
Royce gives Luca a nod of reverence and me a wink as he hands me a pair of gold heels that I strap to my ankles. They lift me off the floor by a good three inches, and I’m thankful that Royce didn’t try to make me wear neck-breakers tonight. He’s had me in six inch heels before, and I simply don’t have the grace to stay upright for long in them.
With the long night ahead of us, at least Royce is thinking ahead and ensuring I’ll still be able to walk tomorrow. Judging by the way Luca’s eyeing me, if he has his way, it won’t matter, because I don’t think he intends to let me out of his bed once he gets me there.
He’s quiet on the drive downtown, but I know that just means the gears in his head are grinding. I nudge him gently as the car pulls to a stop. “Luca, are you okay?”
He blinks as his attention snaps to me. He puts an easy smile on his face and nods. “Yes, I’m fine. Just getting some last minute business sorted in my head.”
I frown at him as I pull my mask back down over my face to hide my identity -- for as long as I can anyway. “You said tonight was about relaxing and enjoying the city while it celebrates. You promised no business affairs tonight…” I tilt my head to the side and add with a smirk, “...for either business.”
I jut my chin out at him pointedly, and he actually chuckles, holding both hands up in front of him. “As long as no emergencies happen, you have my word that there will be no business conducted.” He grabs my hands in his and brings them up to his mouth, kissing them one after the other. “What man in his right mind would worry himself with things that can wait when he’s the company of an ethereal beauty?”
Despite his habit of complimenting me, it still makes my cheeks burn when he says things like that. I don’t know what ‘Guide to Being Suave’ he’s been reading, but he has flattery down to an art. Granted, he’s probably used to spouting lines to get women to sleep with him.
Before we got together, just in the few weeks I was there, he had a revolving door of women waiting to jump into bed with him, so he must have been doing something right. He might be the kind of guy your mama warned you about, but he’s also bordering on giving Adonis a run for his money.
I’m happy not to share. Never was very good at sharing, and I’m not about to start now. Luca swings his legs out of the backseat of the car and stands, turning back to me to offer his hand. I take it like the proper lady he wants everyone to think I am. Royce has worked hard to make this former bottom-dwelling urchin into a respectable young lady.
Luca tugs on my hand gently, and I stand gracefully out of the backseat, inhaling a sharp breath that reeks of beer, weed, and sex. This may be the classy part of New Orleans where balconies rent out for thousands for the parades, but some things like the permanent eau du New Orleans never change.
People are here to have fun. While they’d never admit it, oftentimes the NOPD looks the other way when the people indulge on the lighter side of life. With the number of people that descend on New Orleans every year, minor substance abuse isn’t high on their list of priorities.
The biggest problem the authorities will face is going to be the prostitution that hides in plain sight, and while most people would miss the tell-tale signs, I’ve been raised in the culture. I can see at least three women at this very moment that are offering their services without saying a single word.
Luca tugs a black and gold mask down over his face, and though it hides his identity, women are still openly staring. He slides his hand onto my shoulder and trails his fingertips down the exposed skin of my arm slowly until his hand reaches mine. He threads his fingers through mine and murmurs, “I’ve never done Mardi Gras from the streets, so if we’re staying down here, you’re going to have to help me avoid any major faux pas.”
I glance up at him, a smirk tugging up the corners of my mouth. “Where else would we watch the parade from if not down here among the common folk of your kingdom?”
Luca snorts and motions above my head. “From the exclusive seven-hundred-and-fifty dollar a person balcony over your head.” My eyes travel up above my head, and I gasp as I realize that the view from up there must be phenomenal. While it isn’t completely exclusive, there’s a dozen people milling about the enormous balcony while down here on the ground, there’s hundreds.
“Well, that settles it,” Luca murmurs as I finally pull my eyes away from the luxury above our heads that I’ve never even dreamed of indulging in. He grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd, entering the smallest and most hidden door I’ve ever seen.
We get two steps inside the dimly lit building when a gruff voice halts me in my tracks. Luca doesn’t stop moving though, and he approaches the enormous man without fear. I can’t glue my feet to the ground since Luca has a hold of my hand, but I keep as far back from the intimidating man as I can manage.
“Hold up there, Romeo,” booms the man as he steps into our path. “This balcony’s cash only. And we don’t want no trouble.”
Luca nods, reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out a wad of cash and pushes it into the man’s outstretched hand. “How about Franklin and forty-nine of his closest buddies speak on my behalf? And I would request that this balcony now be closed. I don’t mind the people that are already up there. If they can afford it, they can stay. You keep
this a private party, and I’ll double it at the close of the night.”
The man looks down at the rolled bills that fill his massive hand. He narrows his eyes at Luca, then cuts them at me. I can feel his scrutiny as he looks me up and down, and it sends a shiver down my spine to think that this man just checked me out in Luca’s presence. He clears his throat and comments, “We don’t allow no hanky-panky or beading here.”
Luca grips my hand tightly, but he surprisingly keeps his voice even-keeled. I don’t blame the hired thug for his comments. It’s well-known that affluent Mardi Gras goers like to sneak up onto balconies and fuck during parades because it’s more private than on the streets below. Not that the audience stops most of them anyway.
“I will double it now if you take your prying eyes off my girlfriend and restrict access to this balcony for the night. If you do as I ask… this will cash just fine in the morning.”
The man’s eyes snap back to Luca and he nods. Luca whips out his checkbook and scribbles a check out, then hands it to the man, who promptly hands the cash back to Luca, his eyes wide. He nods again and quickly moves out of the way, pushing the stair access door open. “Yes, sir.”