“Why’d you have to be so mean to her?” I asked, looking over at Tisha Lewis, my mother’s only sister and my favorite aunt. She’d argue she was my only aunt, but she’d still be my favorite, I liked to tell her.

“That wasn’t mean,” she replied with a sniff. “The girl needed to get to class and not be staring at you with moon eyes.”

“Was she staring?” I thought she had been, but I didn’t mind getting a second opinion. I was the son of a doctor, after all. Second opinions weren’t bad things.

“Oh, deflate that oversize ego.” She came closer and smacked me lightly on the arm. Then she pulled me in for a quick hug. “You’re not here to see me. You would’ve called. And I just saw you at the barbecue yesterday. And why are you playing with those cards again? Lord have mercy, boy.”

“Aunt Tish…” Sighing, I straightened the deck and tucked it into my back pocket.

“Hush. I’m teasing you. Mostly. I hear you talked your father into this plan of yours. A few years of college, then you can pursue these dreams of being the next David Copperfield.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to be the first LeVan Vanderbilt, Auntie.”

“You already are.” She smiled at me, and a mirror image of the pride I always saw in the eyes of my mother gleamed in her gaze. “Since you’re not here to see me, I’m going to assume you’ll see Mr. Hastings after you drop off whatever Harry forgot. You take off for New Orleans tomorrow, don’t you?” A broad smile curved her lips. “Going to Tulane. My nephew is going to Tulane.”

My face heated at the naked delight in her eyes and I hunched my shoulders. “Aunt Tish, you’re in school, remember.”

She waved a hand at me. “Oh, you hush. Go on, now. Get down and talk to Hastings. Show off for those kids of his and get out of my school. I’ve got work to do.”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek—I had to bend down for her to do it. Then she shooed me off.

But before I’d taken two steps, she called me back.

“Oh, and honey? You see that girl?”

I waited as she moved closer, her face taking on a closed-off expression I knew too well. Aunt Tish was about ten years older than my mother was, although she didn’t look it. Her smooth, dark brown skin had no wrinkles, despite the fact that she was fifty-two years old. As she laid a hand on my arm, my gut tightened a bit. “What is it, Auntie?”

“She’s a sweet girl, but she’s not for you,” Aunt Tish said softly. “Don’t bother wasting time there.”

“Why?” I asked flatly. “Because she’s white?”

Aunt Tish’s mouth flattened, her lips nearly disappearing. “It’s not about that.”

“Good, because in case you forgot, I’m half-white—my dad is white,” I said, my tone coming out more harshly than I’d intended.

“Don’t you talk to me that way. I don’t care if you are eighteen and taking off for college tomorrow. You are still my nephew… You’ll show some respect.” She wagged a finger at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately. I might not still be sorry once she was done, but I was for now.

“For the record, before your mama and daddy got together, before he proved to be so good for her, to her…” Aunt Tish paused as though weighing whether or not to keep talking. “It might’ve been about that. But it’s not. That poor girl has enough on her plate as it is, just getting through each day. And her mother…” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I shouldn’t even mention anything, but it will save you the trouble. If you weren’t just looking at her like you wanted to ask her out, maybe I’d let it go…but…you need to go talk to your daddy before you make a move. Ask him about Melody Kent. And don’t let him brush you off, either.”

She turned and started off down the hall before I could get another word in.

* * *

“Why on earth are you asking me about her?” My father, Dr. Braxton Vanderbilt, sat behind his desk, hair mussed, eyes partially obscured behind the reading glasses he’d taken to wearing last summer.

“Because I saw Aunt Tish today and she told me to,” I replied.

Sitting in the chair across from him, I pulled out the deck of cards and slowly shuffled them.

Dad’s face lowered to my hands, his eyes lingering.

I made myself stop.

He may never understand it, but if it weren’t for how much he’d taught me about reading people, I might never have gotten as good at the “hobby” he felt had pulled me away from medicine. Mom was the one who pointed it out to me. She’d tell me that I got these clever hands and my ability to see inside people from him. She’d ask me not to be too angry when he pressured me to see things his way.

“You wouldn’t be who you are if it weren’t for him.”

It didn’t take me very long to realize she was right.

I never stayed angry for long anyway. It was a waste of energy. I preferred to spend the time thinking the problem through. There was no point being upset because, in the end, I was still going through with my dreams.

At Tulane, in New Orleans.

There were any number of places I could go to hone my craft, but I chose Tulane. My academic course load was light enough that I could balance doing both, and as I wasn’t there on the athletic scholarship the college offered me, I had the time.

Dad was pushing hard for me to do the full four years. I agreed to three years and not a minute more. Only because there actually was some logic drilled into me about how useful a degree could be—just not in the field Dad wanted me to pursue.

It would be useful, I was told, to get some classes in acting, and learn about the business of…well, business, since I didn’t want to get fucked over when I actually made it—and I was planning to.

So, I’d major in theatre and business.

It would take some work to finish both in three years, but by the time I was twenty-one, I planned to be done with college so I could spend a year working full-time and adding to my resume before I headed out West.

To Las Vegas.

Dad wasn’t too convinced. I wasn’t about to budge on my well-thought-out plan, either way. But he used to repeatedly tell me to come to him with a plan worth considering. And when I eventually did, he heard me out. Surprisingly, after I laid it all out, he nodded and agreed, dialing back his resistance a few notches. Dad was a man of his word, after all.

Now, the time was here. It was just twelve hours before he and Mom would follow his family’s tradition and drive me to New Orleans to start college. Except I was sitting here, asking him about the Kents, which somehow caused him to look at me with grim eyes and as I met them, I wondered just what it was I didn’t know. In a small town like St. Gabriel, I figured I would’ve known almost everything there was to know about him…and about anyone else important enough to put that look in his eyes.

But apparently not.

Apparently, people in St. Gabriel had the capacity for keeping secrets too.

“Melody Kent,” Dad repeated and blew out a breath, shaking his head thoughtfully. “Why did your aunt tell you to ask me about her? Just answer me that, son.”

“I don’t exactly know, sir.” Looking down at the cards, I cut them down the middle, resisting the urge to offer one to him. “We were talking in the hall, and there was this girl. Aunt Tish told me to stay away from her. When I asked her why, she said to ask you about Melody Kent.”

“Melody,” he said softly. He inclined his head. “You know who she is, son.”

“Yes, sir.” I pressed my lips together and waited. If I waited long enough, he’d open up.

My father rubbed a hand over his face, then met my eyes. “Who was the girl, LeVan?”

“Thea Kent.”

At that, my father tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I had a bad feeling you were going to say that.”

* * *

Dad said what he had to say. It took hours, but he told me everything.

And now, I didn’t just want Thea.

I had to have her.