Chapter 1
New Orleans, the Present
Juliette Charbeaux paced the hallway as police led her father out of the home in handcuffs. This was so embarrassing. For generations, the Charbeaux family had ruled New Orleans, finding power in politics, money and industry. The great Charbeaux name was known and more importantly, respected across the state.
And in reward of that birthright, Juliette was raised as a princess. Credit cards, new clothes, top of the line everything, and a beautiful red BMW. kay, so maybe she had taken it all for granted. And maybe she’d acted out a little by dating the bad boys, the ones who made her daddy’s face turn red and her mama clutch her chest while she breathed rosary prayers under her breath. Maybe they’d handed her everything and she’d come to feel as if she deserved it. But that was then Now, she was scared.
She scratched at her thigh, where her tattoo tingled. The ship and rose, were symbols of her past, her family history. And those were things she’d been proud of. Until now. Until the moment the police came to arrest her father—for corruption. How was she supposed to live without her daddy? How could she him behind bars, in handcuffs was almost too much. God. This was her life and it was falling apart.
Her mother, even more dramatic than usual, had shuffled off to a corner, sobbing and crying. If not for the wails and gasps from her spot, it wouldn’t appear that Cora Charbeaux was interested in anything more than a wayward cobweb. She was the picture of wealth and perfection, primped and coiffed, designer labels always present and accounted for.
Juliette rolled her eyes. How had she ever admired her mother? Chloe loathed every single thing about her now. Her father, Charles the V, had been her salvation, the only saving grace in her life. He’d pampered, and loved, spoiled and sheltered Juliette to the point that now, faced with losing everything she held dear, she had no idea what to do.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. We can give you a few minutes to pack a back, but the property has been seized by order of federal marshals. That means you have to leave.” The officer, a boy she’d known all her life, but whose name escaped her now, followed Juliette to her room.
She looked around the room that had felt like an expensive prison growing up. She hadn’t even been allowed to decorate it herself—her own room. So, instead of having so much of a trace of Juliette’s personality, it had the flourishes and lacy panes that spoke more of Cora. Of course, the room had to be a showpiece. No concert posters would do in a Charbeaux house.
Chloe groaned at the injustice of her entire life. Now, she couldn’t even have this rom. Where would she go? What would she do?
The officer cleared his throat, looked everywhere but at Juliette.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. From the closet, she pulled a suitcase and duffle bag. Quietly, while swallowing back her tears, Juliette packed her clothes, essentials and electronics. At the door, she turned back, a tear falling down her face.
Her house was being torn apart, pictures taken from the walls, furniture moved from its place, boxes stuffed with her father’s private papers. Juliette didn’t know what they were looking for, what evidence they hoped to collect, but she hoped they never found it. She prayed they walked out with nothing that would hurt her father, destroy her life or his reputation. She stared at the driveway, put her fingers against the window as if she could stop forward motion of the police car carrying her father away. Oh God. He was so pale, looked frightened as their eyes met. She could feel his guilt through the car window. She turned, flung open the door and stalked to her car.
“Miss,” the officer behind her didn’t meet her gaze and she knew. This was going to be bad, too. “I’m sorry, we must seize all assets.”
Spinning on her heel, she dropped her luggage, hands on hips and glared at the man.
“Excuse me? I am Juliette Charbeaux and this is my car.” Her thick Louisiana drawl came through with flashes of anger. “My granddaddy bought me this, not my daddy.” His mouth dropped open and he turned as if seeking help for how to deal with an irate southern woman.
“I- um, I have to check on that,” he stuttered.
As Juliette picked up her bags and put them in the trunk, the officer called someone and waited for an answer. She climbed in the driver’s seat, put the top down, and ignored the officer reading the VIN number from a plate inside the door frame. An answer crackled back over his speaker and he nodded as if the person on the other end could hear the rocks he had for brains rattling. “Sorry, ma’am. You’re welcome to go. Please note, though, these premises are now off limits until after the court hearing.”
Oh Lord. Leaving that house hurt. It was every memory she had, every tender cuddle with her father, every stern look of disapproval from her mother. It was heirlooms and family photos collected over centuries of her family living there. She’d taken so much for granted, ignored her heritage in favor of showing her independence. Now she had nothing. Not a single picture or memento.
She wound her BMW through the back roads of New Orleans, passing through the swamps, breathing in the musty scent of the bayou. Without an idea of anywhere else to go, she pulled up to Tammany Benoit’s family home. Once they’d been the ‘IT’ girls—beautiful, rich, one raven haired, one blonde. They’d run rough over the school, taken what they wanted, been the girls everyone had an opinion about—some loved, some hated, but all knew Tammany and Juliette.
Juliette climbed out, her black curls bouncing against her back. She slid her sunglasses on, tugging at the hem of her short yellow sun dress. She instantly wished she had changed before coming here. Much like her mother, Tammany’s family was the proper southern gentry. There were appearances to uphold, reputations to protect.
Dammit. Her tattoo peeked out from under the material on the front of her thigh. The braided rope, twirled around a massive sail boat. The French Rose, adorned the bottom of the rope. She remembered stories told down through her family. She glanced down, waiting for someone to answer her knock on the door, remembering the stories as if they were her own.
Her ancestor, Helene Charbeaux and her fiancé, Geoffery Phillipe were doomed to love and lose each other lifetime after lifetime. Each generation they came together again, only for death to part them. Her grandmother spoke of it as a curse on the women in their family never to lives full lives of love, at least not until Helene and Geoffery were reunited. Though it was a myth, a legend, a family fairy tale, the tragedy of the stories had always stayed with Juliette. She’d grown up drawing it, doodling the ship, the sails, the rose. So at eighteen, her first tattoo had been this ship, the one she dreamed of, heard of, felt was a part of her.
“Juliette,” Tammany cried out. She bounced out the door, wrapping her arms around her friend.
“I’m sorry Tam. I wasn’t sure if you were working or not, today.” Juliette followed her friend inside, carrying her bags, their large plantation almost as big as Juliette’s had been.
“No, and I’m sorry to hear about your daddy’s trouble.” That’s how it was in their circle. Word spread quickly, especially when gossip was as juicy as federal marshals and special prosecutors. A powerful family brought to its knees?
Yea, Juliette needed to hide, and hide quickly.
“Thank you, I just need somewhere to crash for a few days. I’m sure daddy and his lawyer can sort this all out.”
“No problem, sugar. You’re welcome here as long as you need, you know that. Hey,” Tammany stopped short. “I have to run by the culture center really quick to grab a sweater I left there. Wanna come? There’s this yummy guy that’s been hanging around there lately, playing music. He’s so your type.” She looked out from beneath over mascaraed lashes. “Might make you feel better?”
Juliette couldn’t find a smile if she had the money to buy one. She blew out a breath instead. “Oh yea, what’s my type?” She pushed open the guest bedroom door next to Tammany’s room. She’d spent as much time in this house as a child as she had her own.
“You know your type. Tattooed, pierced, the kind of guy who looks like a god and sings like an angel sent from God himself. New age hairdo, nothing conventional or classic. God, Jules. We all know your type.” She brushed her blonde hair over a shoulder as Juliette shook her head. Okay. She could admit he sounded like every date she’d had for the last years, but right now, she needed to be alone, and figure out what to do next.
“Thanks Tam, but I need to sleep. I’m just so drained from today, and…” Her voice cracked and she tried to not cry.
Tammany reached out, stroking her friends’ arm. “I get it JuJu.”
Juliette couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from her lips. The use of her childhood nickname helped ease the tension she felt. Giving her emotions permission to run free, she sagged to the mattress.
“Get some rest, we’ll talk later,” Tam said, closing the door quietly behind her. Juliette curled up, just as tears flowed from her eyes. She closed them, curling into a ball, and fell asleep.