Moonlight Scandals

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  If Devlin saw her in this dress, he’d eat his words and then vomit them back up. Rosie smirked at her reflection. But alas, it was very unlikely he’d see her. Not that she wanted him to, but she didn’t think for one second that Devlin would be at the Masquerade. Costumes were a requirement, no exceptions, and there was no way she could picture him even donning a mask. He probably threw a ton of money at the event and called it a day.

  Rosie turned, checked out the back, and then twisted around. Her smile grew as she straightened the corset.

  The beads rattled suddenly. “You look beautiful, baby.”

  Rosie’s gaze lifted, and she saw her mother smiling at her in the reflection. Her mother had come over after work to help her get into the gown and the corset. Rosie looked nothing like her mother or her sister. Bella shared the same beautiful dark eyes and skin, along with the willowy, graceful frame that reminded Rosie of a graceful ballet dancer.

  “Willowy” and “graceful” were two words no one in their right mind would’ve ever used to describe her. More like “sturdy” and “awkward.”

  An older cousin of hers used to tease her mercilessly when they were children, claiming that she was found in the bayou, and because she’d been young and dumb, she’d run straight to her mom, sobbing hysterically, because she’d been convinced she’d been an unwanted and/or stolen bayou baby.

  That was probably the first time and definitely not the last time her parents wondered just how gullible she was, but kids—even family—could be so freaking mean.

  It wasn’t until Rosie grew older that she began to take after their father. But all three of the Pradine women had their great-grandmother’s hair. Big, fat curls that were a mixture of brown and auburn, with Rosie ending up with a dash more auburn and her father’s freckles. They were faint, and not even all that noticeable when she wore makeup, but they were there, proving that genetics were weird.

  “Thank you, Momma.”

  Her mom eyed the dress as she sat in the old, oversized Victorian-style chair with emerald green velvet cushions Rosie had placed in the corner, by the balcony doors. “I cannot believe that was a wedding dress.”

  “I know, right?” Rosie turned from the mirror and walked over to the dresser. She picked up the mask. “You don’t think this is too plain, do you?”

  “Honey, with that dress, you could just paint a mask on.”

  Rosie laughed. The mask was a cheap one she’d picked up in a tourist shop. It was red with black lacing around the edges, simple compared to the ones adorned with feathers and jewels. “Have you seen me try to draw a stick figure? There is no way I am painting on a mask.”

  Her mother crossed her long legs. She’d stopped by after leaving the bakery, but there wasn’t a speckle of flour on her. When Rosie left the bakery, she looked like she’d rolled around in it. “You leaving your hair down?”

  Rosie nodded. She’d let the hair part in the middle, and right now, as long as the humidity stayed in check, the curls wouldn’t look like a giant frizz ball. “I know everyone will probably have their hair up, but no matter what I do, it will look great when I walk out of here and then look like a porcupine died on top of my head within fifteen minutes tops.”

  “That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration,” her mom replied. “I like it down, though. Makes you look sexy.”

  She wrinkled her nose at her mom. “I could die a happy woman if you never refer to me as sexy again, Mom.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Is Sarah coming here or . . . ?”

  “I’m meeting her over at the house.”

  There was a pause and then, “So, do you have any other plans for this weekend besides the ball?”

  Placing the mask on the dresser, she shook her head. “Not really.”

  That could change if Jilly had any success in getting the Mendez family to allow them to do a longer investigation. There hadn’t been any more activity caught on film, and right now, Jilly was also trying to convince them to allow NOPE to bring in Sarah to see if she could communicate, but they were hesitant to do that, which both she and Lance found odd, but people were weird, even normal ones who believed their house to be haunted.

  Of course, Jilly was now convinced that the activity was coming from the house Lucian had bought and, in Jilly’s opinion, that explained why there were long gaps in activity. She was still hounding Rosie about getting access to the house. Just today, she’d left a message so long that the voice mail cut her off when she got to the tenth reason why Rosie needed to ask one of the de Vincents or Nikki about the house.

  “That’s perfect, then,” Mom said.

  Her eyes narrowed on her mother as she straightened the corset. “Why is that perfect?”

  Her mother smiled and it was that smile Rosie knew all too well. It was too eager, too helpful, and she had the glint to her brown eyes. Rosie braced herself. “Well, there is this lovely male friend I think you’d be thrilled to meet.”

  Rosie’s mouth opened as her fingers stilled around the bottom half of the corset.

  “He’s friends with Adrian,” her mom continued. Adrian was her sister’s husband. “He’s a respiratory therapist, divorced but not recently. According to Bella, he’s very—”

  “Mom,” Rosie cut her off.

  “What?” She fixed a perfect look of innocence on her face. “I’m just letting you know that there is a guy who I am pretty sure is available this weekend and would love to meet you.”

  Rosie lowered her arms. “Please tell me you did not pimp me out again.”

  “I would never do such a thing.” Her gasp of outrage wasn’t effective considering her mother had not once but three times set her up on dates without Rosie’s knowledge. “Finding you a date is not pimping you out.”

  “Well, it kind of is the same thing,” she replied, returning to the corset. “It’s not like I don’t date.”

  “Using Tinder is not dating.”

  “Mom.” Rosie wrinkled her nose. “Like you know what Tinder is.”

  “Oh I totally know what it is, and quite honestly, I’m jealous there was nothing like that back when I was single. Love your father with all my heart, but it would’ve been nice to have this neat little dating app on my phone.”

  Shaking her head, she inhaled her breath and her ribs expanded against the boning in the corset. These things were the worst, but they were sexy as hell. “You’d be swiping right nonstop.”

  Her mother snickered. “But seriously, Erick—his name is Erick—would love to meet with you. I’ll text you his number.”

  Rosie closed her eyes and said a little prayer. It wasn’t a good prayer. Started with Baby Jesus, please help me, so she doubted her prayer would be answered, but it was worth the shot. “You got this guy’s number?”

  “For you. Not me.”

  “Well, yeah, obviously.” Rosie paused. “Or at least I hope so.”

  “I didn’t agree that you’d go out with him, but I hope you do text him.” She rose from the chair and walked over to where Rosie stood. Her mother’s eyes searched hers. “I just want you to be happy, baby.”

  “I am happy. Do I not look happy? Because I am. I’m finally getting to go to the Masquerade, so I’m actually freaking thrilled.”

  “I know, but that’s not what I meant.” She smoothed her thumb over Rosie’s cheek. “I want you to find that happiness you had with Ian.”

  Rosie’s breath caught. “Mom. . . .”

  “I know, baby. I know it’s been ten years and you’ve moved on. I know this, but I . . . I worry about you. You’re my daughter, and I worry that you’re not going to let yourself find that kind of love again, and really, what is the point of all of this, of life, when you don’t have someone to share it with?”

  The back of her throat burned. “I do have people to share it with. You. Dad. Bella. My friends.”

  “That’s not the kind of sharing I’m talking about.”

  Drawing in a shallow breath, Rosie withdrew from her mother’s grasp and s
tepped back. “Maybe . . . maybe I’m not going to find that kind of love again,” she said, lifting her gaze to her mother’s. “Maybe he was it for me. Maybe he was the one, and I’m not someone who gets to have multiple ‘the ones.’ And I’m okay with that.”

  Her eyes turned sad. “Are you really, Rosie?”

  Did it really matter if she was? Because if Ian was the one and only for her, it didn’t matter if she was okay or not with it. Real life wasn’t always full of happily-ever-afters, and a lot of people never got to experience that. Often it was the exact opposite of happily-ever-after.

  And maybe that was it for Rosie. Her happily-ever-after wasn’t going to be found in a man or a woman. It was going to have to be found within herself.

  She’d thought that was already true for her, but after moments like this, she wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 12

  “I have a strange feeling about tonight.”

  Clutching the long skirt of her gown so she didn’t face-plant a sidewalk outside the private home on St. Charles, Rosie stopped midstep and turned to look at Sarah. Rosie had just been dropped off and had found Sarah waiting for her near the corner of the street.

  Sarah looked amazing in a similar costume. Being that she was a good head taller than Rosie, had the quintessential peaches-and-cream complexion, and had a mass of blond hair piled atop her head in an elegant updo.

  She was dressed like Rosie, wearing the red mask with black lacing and the same long, black-and-red gown with the flowing sleeves and a corseted, lacy bodice so extremely low cut there was a chance the world was going to see Sarah’s girls at some point tonight.

  Not that Rosie had any room to talk. If she bent over, there was a high probability she would spill out, and maybe even pass out, because the first thing Sarah did when she saw Rosie was to tighten the corset on her in such a manner she was amazed that her ribs hadn’t broken.

  But when Sarah said she had a strange feeling, Rosie listened. “Like a bad, ‘let’s go home right now’ strange feeling? Or just a strange feeling in general?”

  Ignoring the annoyed looks from others in period costumes having to walk around them, Sarah closed her blue eyes and stepped closer to Rosie. “It’s a fairly strong feeling.”

  Rosie waited for more of an explanation, feeling a fine shiver curl around the nape of her neck. The evening air was cool, but she knew it was more than just the temperatures causing her to shiver. “I’m starting to feel like I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation.”

  Laughing at that, Sarah tilted her chin to the side, and Rosie was amazed she didn’t topple over with all that hair piled up on the top of her head. “If I told you that you were going to lose a finger tonight, you’d still be here. You’ve wanted to attend the Masquerade for years.”

  “True.” A man walking past them dressed like, Rosie assumed, the vampire Lestat momentarily distracted her. It was quite the authentic costume. She refocused on Sarah. “But you have a strange feeling.”

  “It’s not a bad feeling. It’s just that I heard this voice.” A streetlamp flickered on, casting a dim yellow glow on the cornstalk fence that lined the front of the mansion. Sarah turned, lifting the two ivory envelopes to fan herself. Of course the Masquerade didn’t do online tickets or invites. They were old-school, paper all the way. “It was more like a whisper.”

  “A whisper?” Rosie was used to this when it came to Sarah, the random whispers and feelings. “Do you know what the whisper said?”

  Sarah nodded and a strand of hair slipped forward, brushing the mask. “‘If there is no risk, there is no reward.’”

  “Really?” Rosie replied dryly. “Did a ghost whisper a motivational speech in your ear?”

  “Funny, right?” She lifted a shoulder. “Did you ever tell any of the de Vincents what happened during our reading?”

  Rosie was also used to Sarah’s rapid change of subject. “No. I don’t think they’d believe me, and well, they have their hands full with a lot of things,” she explained, thinking of Nikki. “It’s not the easiest thing to bring up in a conversation with a stranger.”

  Surprise widened Sarah’s eyes. “I’m sort of shocked that you didn’t immediately find one of them and tell them.”

  Rosie pressed her lips together. It was hard to explain why she hadn’t said anything. Granted, most people would understand why, because it sounded legit crazy pants and it did bother Rosie that she hadn’t shared that info, but it would require her talking to a de Vincent and possibly drawing the attention of Devlin.

  Which was probably inevitable since she planned on visiting Nikki again soon.

  Sarah studied her a moment and then nodded. “We should get going.”

  And then with that, Sarah was walking off into the steady throng of people entering the narrow opening in the fence. It was a good thing Rosie liked weird, because damn, Sarah could be really weird sometimes.

  Holding on to her dress, she caught up with Sarah and got a look at the stunning Greek Revival mansion that sat near Loyola University. Rosie had seen it a hundred thousand times it seemed, but never like this. Never on the night of the legendary Masquerade, where the most powerful and the wealthiest in New Orleans rubbed elbows and the sweet Lord knew what else. But Rosie really wasn’t interested in any of them.

  She dragged her hand across the small beaded clutch, feeling the small, square voice recorder. Rosie grinned. Her one and only goal tonight was to catch the voice of the ghost of the murdered bride.

  She most likely wasn’t going to get the chance again, so maybe whatever voice Sarah had heard had imparted a very important message, if not an incredibly cheesy one. There was no reward without risk.

  A team of security guards stood at the gate, which was why it was taking so long to enter, but Sarah flashed their invites and they were soon through, their steps slowing as they entered the property. There was white-and-black lace everywhere, a sea of taffeta and feathered masks and elaborate hairpieces. Ladies painted with fake moles, faces powdered white as rice cakes, and necks glistening with what appeared to be real emeralds and sapphires.

  The cloying scent of perfume and cologne mixed with how close everyone was left Rosie a little dizzy. Well, the corset probably had something to do with that, but she pushed through it. There was wine inside, hopefully the really expensive kind she’d never buy, because she was parched.

  “It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Sarah curled her arm around Rosie’s.

  It truly was. The mansion sat back from the street, and it seemed like every inside light was turned on. The large front yard was lit with soft white fairy lights and paper lanterns hanging from poles. The wide walkway led up to a set of steps that were as long as the width of the house.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Rosie said, squeezing her arm. “I know I’ve thanked you already, but it bears repeating. This is an amazing experience.”

  Sarah leaned into her, lowering her voice as they reached the steps. “An amazing experience to sneak upstairs into that bedroom?”

  Sliding her a coy glance, she feigned an affronted gasp. “How dare you suggest such things.”

  “Uh-huh.” Sarah laughed as they climbed the steps. “If you get caught, I don’t know you.”

  Rosie grinned. “I’ll make sure I shout your ex-fiancé’s name from the rafters for all to hear.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Cooler air teased her heated skin as they crossed into the wide, oval foyer. Voodoo magic had to be the reason they were able to cool the inside with all the bodies crammed together and the doors left open, but she was damn grateful for it. She’d been expecting the place to feel like a sauna, but it was rather airy.

  It was hard to get a sense of the space, with the laughter, the hum of conversation, and people everywhere. There was so much to hear and see, she was a little overwhelmed, and it reminded her of trying to navigate the streets during Mardi Gras. She scanned the hidden faces and costumed bodies. If there was anyone here she knew,
which was unlikely because she didn’t hobnob with the highfalutin crowd, she wouldn’t recognize them—her eyes widened. Holy baby llamas, the men were wearing . . .

  “Breeches,” Rosie whispered, a slow grin tugging at her lips as her gaze swiveled over a lot that was on display in gray, tan, and black super-tight, super-fitted breeches. Many of those legs were paired with pretty authentic-looking riding boots. She hadn’t noticed that outside for some reason. “They’re wearing breeches.”

  “That they are.”

  Rosie couldn’t look away. “Do you think they’re wearing codpieces under their breeches?”

  Sarah snorted.

  “You know, so they’d be historically accurate?” Rosie whispered. “Because some of those . . . packages do not look real.”

  “I really hope what I am seeing is not the result of codpieces,” she replied and then added, “Some pretty nice butts in the bunch, though.”

  A woman in front of them looked over her shoulder, her bright red lips tilting into a faint smile as she blatantly checked them out, her gaze lingering below their chins. “Lots of pretty . . . things here tonight,” the woman replied and then winked before turning back around.

  Sarah and Rosie exchanged a long look.

  “We need to find something to drink stat.” Sarah kept her arm around Rosie’s. “It should be to the left, in the grand room.”

  Rosie let Sarah lead the way and as they broke away from the crowd, she could see more of the grand house. She took in the oak walls and the stunning cypress grand staircase. Rooms were adorned with plaster medallions and elaborate moldings she figured were original.

  Sarah was right. Not only was there an open bar in the grand room, the crowd was also much lighter, which was surprising since that was where the liquor was. There was a small group of women by the large window, eyeing the men who stood at the bar.

  “Let’s get some sweet, sweet moscato in you.” Sarah grinned. “And get some expensive as hell whiskey in me.”