Dev didn’t make it far before he ran into Lucian. His brother took one look at what Dev held in his hands and frowned.

“Do I even want to know why you’re carrying a photo album, a bracelet, and an iPad?” he asked.

“No. You don’t.”

“Kind of looks like you’re up to some MacGyver shit right there.” Lucian fell into step beside him. Several moments of surprising silence passed. “I like her.”

Dev stopped and looked at Lucian.

“I’m talking about Rosie, just in case you’re wondering.”

“You spoke to her for how long and you know you like her?”

“I spoke to her long enough to know she’s nothing like Sabrina.”

“That doesn’t say much, you know that, right?”

Lucian laughed. “It doesn’t and does.”

He eyed his brother and then asked, “What do you think of her?”

“Are you asking me that as a serious question?”

“Yes.”

Lucian blinked once and then twice. “You never ask for my opinion nor do you ever care what I think—”

“I care about what you think,” Dev interrupted, and waited until his brother looked up at him. He hated the look of surprise he saw in his brother’s eyes. “I do.”

“That’s not . . . what you usually say to me.”

That was the truth and Dev wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I mean what I just said.”

“And I . . . I believe you.” Lucian looked like a feather could knock him on his ass. “Nikki has nothing but good things to say about her. She’s quick-witted and funny as hell. Beautiful, too.”

Dev took a breath, but it didn’t go very far. “She is . . . very beautiful, but she—”

“She introduced Nikki to Ross. So what? What else has she done?”

He couldn’t really answer that. God, he couldn’t. Everything else was suspicious, but these weren’t things she had done.

“You can trust me.”

He hadn’t trusted her, but she had trusted him—trusted him enough to bring him the evidence that in Ross’s hands could bring the entire family down, even though his brothers didn’t know what had been happening.

“I’ve done crazier and less trustworthy things in my life, as you know.”

The corner of Dev’s lips twitched. “God, don’t I ever.”

“I like her,” he repeated. “Most of all, I like the way you are with her.”

“What?” Dev frowned. “You haven’t—”

“You forget that I did see you with her at the Masquerade. I saw you step in front of her to block her from me. I saw you goad me away from the door so she could come out,” Lucian said, grinning when Dev’s eyes narrowed. “And I just saw you walk into a room that she was in without stopping to shower and put appropriate clothes on. You, Devlin de Vincent, who is always the definition of put together, was decidedly . . . unkempt.”

“Unkempt?”

“Sweaty. Half-naked. That’s unkempt. I’ve never seen you like that. Not even when we were boys,” Lucian pointed out. “And I’ve never seen you like that with a woman. Ever. So yes, I like her and I like how you are with her.”

And with that, Lucian clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t let what Sabrina did or what Lawrence did screw up any more than they already have. Now, I have a woman to go annoy the ever-loving crap out of. She likes it when I do that, though.”

Dev watched Lucian go, once again reminded that his youngest brother was far more observant than anyone, including he himself, gave him credit for.

Rosie was in the kitchen of the bakery the next morning, placing the sheets of pralines on the counters to cool, currently doing everything in her ability to not think about what she’d found in her closet, what Ross had said, or how Devlin had responded to it.

She wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Instead, she was focused on what she was going to do from here. Restlessness had invaded her senses again, and that usually ended with her enrolling in college yet again, but seriously, she already owed enough in financial aid that she’d be paying for that crap well into retirement.

So no more college for her. Duh.

Which meant she either needed to put one of those degrees to use in some way or . . . or maybe it was time to move. Tossing the oven mitts aside, she glanced up toward the front of the bakery. She hated the idea of leaving her family, but Bella was going to inherit this bakery, as it should be. She’d put the time and effort into it, and besides, Rosie wouldn’t go far. Maybe—

Her entire body locked up.

Who was she kidding? She didn’t want to leave New Orleans. This bizarre, crazy, cultured city was her home—her only home. But this restlessness? It was an itch that came every so many years. She hadn’t felt this way before Ian, but she’d been young then and—

Her sister appeared in the doorway, and her black Pradine’s shirt didn’t have a single fleck of flour on it. Whatever magical ability her mother had that made her resistant to flour had passed on to Bella.

Rosie was covered in it.

She probably even accidentally snorted some of it.

“Hey,” she said.

“You busy?” Bella asked.

“Nope. They just need to cool.” Rosie stepped back from the counter. “You need help up front?”

“Not exactly.” A smile appeared. “You have a visitor. Perfect timing, too, since Mom and Dad are coming in later today and aren’t here right now.”

She lifted her brows. “Why would . . . ?” She trailed off as a someone joined Bella in the doorway of the kitchen. Her breath caught as she watched Devlin step around her sister. “All righty. I understand why you would say that.”

Bella smirked and then pinned a look on her that said, yet again, that Rosie had a lot of explaining to do.

At that moment, Rosie felt like God had a lot of explaining to do.

Devlin nodded at Bella as she left the kitchen and then that intense gaze landed on her. He was dressed like she normally saw him, like he was leaving an important business meeting, but all she saw was the white shirt that had clung to his muscles, leaving little to the imagination.

She would never be able to forget that. Nope. Not as long as she lived.

“Making pralines?” Devlin asked, looking down at the counter. His presence was so odd in the kitchen and it seemed like he took up the entire space.

“Yep.” Picking up a damp towel, she wiped her hands off and then tossed the towel onto the counter. She figured he was here over what she’d brought to him yesterday. “Do you want to step out back? It’s more private.”

He looked at her strangely and then nodded once more.

Wondering why her heart was racing, she turned to lead him out the narrow back door and into a small courtyard her parents had placed plastic table and chairs in for the workers during breaks. The tall, ivy-covered brick walls afforded a level of privacy from the alley in the back and when the rosebushes were in bloom, it was quite beautiful back here.

Sitting down in one of the old chairs, she clasped her hands together. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

Devlin didn’t sit, but stood in front of her, and when she asked that question, he cocked his head. “That’s a loaded question, Rosie.”

A lick of heat curled low in her stomach. “Not really.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, turning from her.

She drew in a shallow breath. “Why are you here? I’m assuming it has something to do with what I brought you yesterday.”

“It doesn’t.” Devlin picked up the white plastic chair with one hand. “Not really.”

“Okay,” she drew the word out as she watched him carry it to where she was sitting.

He placed the chair in front of her and sat down. “We need to talk.”

She thought he looked rather strange sitting in the old plastic chair, dressed like he was. Her gaze lifted to his face. “About what, Devlin?”

“About a lot of things.” He leaned toward her, resting his arms on his knees. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Congratulations.”

One side of his lips kicked up. “I’ve been thinking about us .”

“Us?” Rosie squeaked. “There isn’t an us.”

“There is most definitely an us.”

Dumbfounded, all she could do was stare for several moments. “What is there to talk about when it comes to us?”

“A lot.”

Her expression was pinched as she stared at him. “Okay. You’re going to have to be way more detailed than that, because I tried talking to you, Devlin. Did you not get that? When you came over to my apartment and after what we did, I tried talking to you. Do you realize that?”

Thick lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “Yes. I do.”

“I don’t think you do.” She tipped forward, keeping her voice low. “And there really isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone, and I don’t even know how someone can build a friendship out of that.”

“What do you think we’re building here, Rosie?” His voice was now just as low as hers.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Nothing—we are building nothing.”

“That’s not true. We’ve been building toward something since you brought me peonies in the cemetery.” He moved slightly, pushing one leg out so his knee pressed against hers. “We’re not working on a friendship.”

Her eyes widened. “Wow, Devlin. You could’ve just texted that to me or kept that to yourself.”

“You’re not getting what I’m saying.” A small grin appeared. Not a big one. Just a tiny hint of emotion. “Look, I’m not good at this, at . . .”

“Talking?” she suggested. “Acting like a human?”

His lips thinned. “I guess both.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Placing her hands on the arms of the chair, she started to rise. “I need to get back to work.”

“I was wrong about you.”

Rosie halted.

Eyes the color of the sea in winter focused on hers. “And I judged you unfairly. I thought the worst about you, because I . . .” He sat straight and looked away. “I’ve seen the worst in people. That’s not an excuse. Not at all. But I know that I misjudged you and I . . . I want to make that up to you.”

“Make it up to me?” she repeated dumbly. “What? Do you want to buy me a new car? Fix my closet for me? Because I really do need to fix that.”

That small, lopsided grin appeared again. “I meant something more along the lines of dinner at Firestones.”

“Firestones,” she whispered. “The Firestones?”

“There is only one of them.”

“But . . .” Rosie trailed off. She’d never eaten at Firestones, because it was so expensive you felt like you had to give them money when you passed the restaurant. Everyone in the city knew of their food. They were legendary, with melt-in-your-mouth steak and fresh, tasty seafood you never had to worry about getting a flesh-eating bacteria off of. Normally, she’d give her left arm for a chance to go to Firestones, but she couldn’t fathom eating dinner with Devlin anywhere. “You’re asking me to go to dinner with you? At Firestones?”

He reached between them and caught the curl that had fallen against her cheek. “I am.”

“We don’t even like each other.”

“I don’t think that is necessarily true. I’ve given you plenty of reasons not to want to like me, but I can change that,” he said, tucking the curl behind her ear, causing her arm to jerk. “I like you, Rosie.”

“You have a really terrible way of showing someone you like them.”

“I’m trying to fix that,” he replied with an arch of his brow. A moment passed. “I want to fix that.”

She laughed, but the sound died among the dead rosebushes as her gaze searched his face. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

All she could do was stare at Devlin. She was not expecting this. Not after he’d walked out on her when she told him he could trust her, when she tried to start things over between them. Hit rewind. Devlin had made it abundantly clear, but here he was, sitting in front of her, asking her on . . .

“Is this a date?” she asked, and her heart did a silly little jump. “Like a date date?”

“I am under the impression there is only one kind of date.”

“No. Not true. There are all kinds of dates. There are friend dates. Getting-to-know-you dates. Dates where you take someone out only because you want to hook up. There are dates—”

“It’s a date , Rosie. Between two people who are undeniably interested in being more than just friends,” he cut in. “That’s the kind of date I’m talking about.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again with no success. No words. She had absolutely no words. She’d be less shocked if a full-bodied apparition appeared directly in front of her.

“I know I’ve been . . . difficult—”

Rosie laughed. She couldn’t hold it back. “I’m sorry? You’ve been ‘difficult’? That is not the word I’d use.”

“You probably have a lot of words you’d use and I’d deserve every one of them, but . . .” He drew in a deep breath. “But I shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea of us. If you had any idea of what was going in my life, you’d understand why I’d be hesitant to start anything.”

“I think I know some of it, obviously, but you haven’t told me anything about your life, Devlin. Nothing.”

“That’s not exactly true. I’ve told you stuff I haven’t shared with anyone.”

“You’ve given me the CliffsNotes version, Devlin. Telling me that you believe your house is haunted isn’t exactly sharing your life with me. You told me you had a near-death experience, but you gave me no details about how that happened. You’ve told me your father was a horrible man, but it wasn’t something that apparently other people didn’t know. You’ve shared with me, but you’ve held back on everything you’ve shared.”

“And I want to change that. For the first time in my life, I want to change that, because I . . . I can’t stop thinking about you.” Pink flushed his cheekbones, but he didn’t look away. “I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried, but I can’t, and I’ve never experienced that. Not like this.”

Rosie sucked in a sharp breath. Was he being for real? Everything about him screamed that he was, but Devlin . . . He was gorgeous and he was complicated and he was . . . a little broken. She’d already realized all of that about him, and that was a lot. He was a lot.

A riot of emotions roared through her. There was sweet anticipation mixing with hesitation. Anger swirling itself around confusion. Hope tinged with doubt. Rosie wanted Devlin. Obviously. And that want went beyond the physical. Obviously. She wanted to like him, and a huge part of her did, but Rosie couldn’t help but hold back.

“Devlin, I want to say yes, but . . .”

“But that’s not a yes.”

“No,” she whispered, feeling a burn crawl up her throat. “You don’t trust me.”

“I was wrong about that. I should’ve trusted you from the beginning. I know better now.”

A sad smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head, looking away. “But I don’t trust you, Devlin.”

“You brought that stuff to me yesterday. You have to trust me.”

“With that stuff? Sure. But not with what’s really important,” she admitted. Pushing the curl that had fallen free once more out her face, she sighed as she looked around the courtyard. “You asked me the night of the Masquerade how my husband died and I didn’t answer. I don’t even know why. I guess it was something I just didn’t want to talk about then.”

He leaned toward her again. “And it’s something you can talk about now?”

Rosie drew in a deep breath as she reached for the necklace and pulled it out from underneath her shirt. Her fingers closed around the ring. “Ian and I were high school sweethearts. Married as soon as we graduated. Cliché, right? But it was real. We loved each other. He worked long, hard-as-hell days while I went to college. He supported me and I wanted nothing more than to be the best freaking wife ever. He liked my weirdness and I liked his . . . quiet. It wasn’t perfect. We argued and fought over stupid shit, but we never went to bed angry at one another. I thought we’d be together forever.” She laughed softly at that as she dragged her finger around the ring. “And I thought I knew everything there was about him. I was wrong.”

“How were you wrong?”

Her finger stilled, but she didn’t look away from the ring. “My husband, who was my best friend, used a gun I didn’t even know he owned and shot himself in the bathroom.”

Devlin swore softly under his breath and when he spoke, his voice was soft. “Rosie . . .”

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. “He called the police before he did it, so I wouldn’t come home from class to find him like that. He also did it in the bathroom so it . . . it would be easier to clean up. You know, we had just begun looking for our first home, and I had no idea that he was suffering like that. Looking back, were there signs? Yes. But he hid it well. And I think he hid it because he didn’t want me to be upset.” She lifted a shoulder as she dragged her teeth over her lower lip. “It’s been ten years and as long as I live, I’ll never really understand what led him to that point and I’ll never stop feeling a little guilty, like there could’ve been something I should’ve done or seen. Even knowing that what he did wasn’t my fault doesn’t change how the human mind works. So, I know what it’s like to live with someone I thought I knew. I know what it’s like to lose someone that was your entire world. And I know what it’s like to be so damn mad at someone while still missing and loving them. I can’t even tell you how many times I wished he’d shared what he was going through with me, but all that wishing isn’t ever going to change the past.”

Letting go of the ring, she took another deep breath. “I’m telling you this because you don’t know me, Devlin. You don’t know what I’ve lived. Just like I don’t know what you’ve lived and are living and you’ve used your past to judge everyone you’ve come into contact with. If I did that, I’d never open myself up to anyone again. I wouldn’t even want friends after going through losing someone the way I did. But that’s not me. That hasn’t been my choice. That’s your choice.

“And I guess I’m telling you this because I . . . I want to like you.” Rosie looked at him then, and she found that he was watching her. “I think that underneath it all, there’s something really good here, but I thought I knew my husband and I didn’t. And I don’t even know what to think or feel when I think about you. One minute you’re making me laugh, even if you’re not trying to, and the next you make me want to ninja kick you in your face. If someone had said you’d come here today wanting to take me out on a date and prove that there is an us, I would’ve laughed in their face. Hell, I did laugh in your face. I’ve never in my life met someone so infuriating and confusing as you, and I . . . I just don’t know, Devlin. You want to trust someone and you’re saying that you want to try that with me, but are you really willing to do that? Really?”

Devlin looked away and a muscle thrummed in his jaw. “Damn, you really did get a bachelor’s degree in psychology, didn’t you?”

She grinned at that. “I did.” Her grin faded. “And I have to be willing to take that risk with you. Because it would be a huge risk.”

His gaze came back to hers.

“I could really like you, Devlin. And I know nothing in life is guaranteed, but I thought I knew my husband and I didn’t. With you? I already know I don’t know the real you. I don’t know what makes you tick. What secrets you haven’t shared yet or why you’re the way you are.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m so sorry. No one should have to experience that. I cannot even imagine what you went through.”

“But you have,” she whispered.

“None of us believe Lawrence killed himself,” he admitted quietly, and saying those words out loud seemed to have some kind of effect on him. His shoulders seemed to loosen. “Not Gabe. Definitely not Lucian.”

She was thrown by the statement. “So, you do think he was murdered?”

“All I know is that whatever happened to him, he brought it on himself.”

Rosie didn’t know what to think of that. What he’d said about his father was enough for her to know that he wasn’t a good man, but as his son, wouldn’t he care to seek justice? Wouldn’t the brothers? Or was Lawrence that bad? “But your mother?”

“She didn’t kill herself, Rosie.”

At first, she didn’t think she heard him right. “What?”

He didn’t look away. “My brothers and I believed that she’d killed herself. So, I do understand in a little way what you went through, but it’s not the same. I don’t think any two losses are the same, but what we always believed about our mother’s death wasn’t true.”

Rosie’s thoughts raced as she stared back at him. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember my sister? Madeline?” When she nodded, he drew in a deep breath that lifted his shoulders. “This is something that only my brothers, Julia, and Nikki’s parents know. Nikki may know if Gabe shared it with her, but very few people know the truth. If it ever got out, it would be a media circus.” He wasn’t speaking loud enough to be overheard by a cricket as he said, “Our sister went missing the same night as our mother died. Lucian always thought that Madeline found Mom and had flipped out. Gabe and I . . . well, we weren’t as close with Madeline as Lucian was. We had no idea why she disappeared that night. Not at first. So, we always believed that she saw our mother and maybe she couldn’t handle it. Madeline was always . . . a little unstable. She was proof that the de Vincent curse could very well be accurate.”

“The whole thing about de Vincent women either dying mysteriously or not being exactly the sanest people in the room?”

“Exactly.” He dipped his chin, staring at his hands. “Anyway, come to find out our sister had run off and hooked up with our cousin Daniel. Lived with him this entire time. He kept her hidden.”

“Holy moly,” Rosie whispered. “For real?”

“For real. Nice, right? Cousins. She reappeared this spring. We found her in the pool, facedown and unresponsive. Lucian thought that she’d been held by someone against her will and she’d escaped. Truth was, she and Daniel ran out of money and they plotted to kill Lawrence. It was a terrible plot.”

“Wait.” Rosie rocked backward. “Did she . . . ?”

“She did a lot of things, Rosie. A lot. Daniel, who was never the sharpest tool in the shed, blew his cover and endangered Julia, who’d been hired to take care of Madeline. There was a horrible fight that night. Daniel tried to shoot me, and he died in the process, and Madeline slipped from the roof. Died this time, for sure.” He swallowed, and Rosie was absolutely thunderstruck. “Come to find out our mother caught her with Daniel. They’d gotten into a fight over him and Madeline . . . she pushed our mother, causing her to fall. That’s why she ran away that night.”

“Oh my God . . .” Rosie placed her hands on his forearms. If his sister had killed their mother, then it was quite possible she’d killed Lawrence, with the help of the cousin, and Devlin just didn’t want to say it. “Good God, Devlin . . .”

“We kept it quiet. There’s no reason for anyone to know what really happened. What justice would come from all of it? Madeline had been missing for a decade as it was, and she was definitely gone now. We buried her in a private ceremony in our tomb and . . . and those skeletons returned to the closets.” A wry grin appeared. “And to never be spoken about again.”

She was shocked that he was telling her this. My God, she could make a fortune if she sold this story to the tabloids since it was more dramalicious than a soap opera. Not that she’d ever do that, but she was surprised that Devlin would share this with her without forcing her to sign a non-disclosure in blood.

“Sometimes we’ve got to wonder if that curse is true. I mean, you know the stories about the accidental deaths and crazy ways people have died on our property. But there’s another part of the curse. It’s not a bad part, but people only ever focus on the bad.”

“I know everything there is about that curse. I’ve never heard there was another part.”

His gaze lifted to hers. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you what the other part is if you go to dinner with me.”

Her stupid heart did another happy jump. It felt a little less stupid now but still. Even as big as what he’d just shared was, it didn’t mean he was going to do a one-eighty. “Devlin . . .”

“Give me a chance, Rosie. Just one chance.”

“I don’t know. You’ve just shared something pretty major and completely scandalous.” She laughed dryly, still processing what he’d shared. “So, yeah, you’re trying, but—”

“A chance, Rosie,” he repeated. “One night. Dinner. Tonight.”

Her stomach dipped like she was on a roller coaster. “I can’t tonight.”

“Then tomorrow night.”

She opened her mouth, but Devlin leaned forward suddenly, curling his fingers around her chin. The contact was like touching a live wire. “Just dinner, Rosie. Please.” Please.

Rosie had the distinct feeling he didn’t say please a lot, if ever, and that one word, so softly spoken, punched a truck-sized hole through the wall she was desperately trying to build up between them. “Okay.”

“Okay?” His eyes widened.

“Okay.”

“I was prepared to get on my knees and beg.”

She grinned. “You can still do that if you want.”

He let out a low chuckle. “I would, but I have a feeling if I got on my knees, I’d end up doing something your sister would not want to walk in on.”

Oh dear.

Her entire body flushed hotly. “You’re probably going to regret this dinner.”

“There are few things I regret. This would definitely not be one of them.”

“We’ll see,” she murmured.

“You’re right. We will. I’ll pick you up at seven Saturday night. Wear something formal.” He touched the tip of his thumb to her bottom lip, startling her. She sucked in a sharp breath. The touch was as soft as velvet and light as air, barely there, but her entire body felt it. A frisson curled low in her stomach as her heart lodged itself somewhere in her throat.

“You have beautiful eyes, Rosie.” His thumb smoothed along her lower lip and then his hand was gone. “Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night,” she repeated, and she had the distinct feeling she had just made a deal with the Devil.