Chapter Fifty-One
New Orleans, LA
It was well after midnight when the cab dropped them off on Canal, right at the start of Bourbon Street. A street performer danced by on stilts to the jazzy riff he played on a trombone.
Ah. Home. There was no place like it in the world.
Jean-Luc grinned as Claire marveled at the flash and color of the city he loved almost as much as he loved her.
She laughed. “You live here? Right in the middle of it all. Why am I surprised? Of course you do.”
After paying the cab driver, he took her hand and led her down Bourbon. His hand was sweating, and he hoped she didn’t notice. Merde. He hadn’t expected to be nervous about this, but his heart had grown wings and now beat frantically at the inside of his ribs. “I have a place a few blocks over. It’s where I keep my car when I’m out of town.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“No. I mean, yeah, to pick up the car, but…no. I have another place across Lake Pontchartrain. It’s my real home. My sanctuary. I’ve never taken any woman there, but it’s a place that maybe…if you like…you’d be willing to call it home, too?”
She caught her breath and pulled him to a stop. “Are you…? Jean-Luc, are you asking me to move in with you?”
He released his grip on hers to wipe his palms on his shorts. “I was gonna let you see the house first. It’s four bedrooms, three baths. Nice open kitchen. It’s kinda empty right now ’cause I’m hardly ever there, but it’s a good place to start a home. Maybe do the family thing someday. The whole living room wall is glass and looks out on the lake.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she blinked hard. “It’s sounds beautiful, but you didn’t answer my question. Do you want me to move in with you?”
Everything stopped for him. The noise of the city faded away, the people disappeared. All he saw was Claire. And he was so hopelessly in love with the woman, the thrill of it left him tongue-tied. He took her hands in his again and raised them to his lips. “Ma belle, I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Yes.”
He froze because that sounded like a heavy “yes,” full of meaning. Not that he was a language expert or anything. “Is that a yes to moving in or a yes to—”
“Everything,” she said simply. “I want everything you just described. The window. The family. Spending the rest of my life with you. Yes.”
With a happy whoop, he grabbed Claire and kissed her, nearly bending her over backward in his excitement. People around them erupted in cheers, and only then did he remember they stood on Bourbon Street, surrounded by drunks.
She laughed and swatted him until he released her. “Oh my God. I can’t believe there are still so many people out this late.”
“It’s New Orleans, cher. As long as there’s booze and music, there’ll be a party.” He led her into the teeming crowd of people on the city’s most famous street. “It’s beautiful and seedy and chaotic and…” He felt her studying him as he spoke and, as he so often did around her, he ran out of words. “And I don’t know how else to explain it, but—”
“You love it,” she finished.
“I do.” He closed his eyes and breathed in air thick with humidity, frying foods, alcohol, human, and horse, with undertones of night-blooming flowers. It wasn’t always a pleasant scent, but it smelled like home to him. “There’s something about it. A little…something extra. Magic. It sizzles in the air here. Can you feel it?”
When he looked at her, he saw her clutch the gris-gris still hanging from a cord around her neck. She’d put it back on as soon as they’d changed out of their wedding clothes. Ever since he’d given it to her, she was rarely without it. He grinned at her and she let the necklace drop back into place.
“I do feel it,” she said matter-of-factly. “The magic.”
He leaned over to kiss her, because that admission had to have cost his pragmatic scientist some dignity. Taking her hand again, he led her away from the chaos of Bourbon Street. “Allons. I want to get my car so I can show you our house.”
“Are you happy to be back?” she asked as they strolled down the quieter side street toward the condo he split with his siblings.
Jean-Luc took a moment to think about his answer. Was he happy? Yes, but that was because Claire was with him. He could be back in Nigeria or Dracula’s castle in Austria and still be happy as long as she was by his side. “Being back is…interesting.”
“Interesting?” Claire gave their joined hands a little swing. “How so?”
He looked around at the narrow street with its old-fashioned lamps and galleries decked in ivy. Music and laughter soared from a half a block away. “I do love this city. I love everything about it. The food. The music. The people. But every other time I’ve been here… Mais, I don’t know if I can explain it. I always had this manic need to experience the place. Like there was a hole inside me and the only way I could fill it was to drink and fuck and…”
He trailed off as a woman stepped out of the shadows in front of them. He recognized her instantly. The voodoo queen who had put the cunja on him during Mardi Gras. Her hair was longer now, twisted into tight dreadlocks that sprouted from a high ponytail. She was still just as gorgeous as he remembered, almost ethereal in her beauty.
She smiled, her teeth very white against her dark skin. “Heard you were back in town.”
Merde. He’d been back for all of a half hour. How had she known? No, scratch that. A powerful queen like her had her ways, and he wanted no part of them.
His first instinct was to protect Claire. He stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “What do you want?”
The woman’s smile only widened. “Came to see about my curse.” She eyed Claire. “I see you’ve broken it. I knew you would. Eventually. You just needed a little push, and the right woman. Good luck to you both. It’s a blessed match.” As she walked by, she paused and met his gaze. Her dark eyes danced, and he felt like a snake caught in the spell of a snake charmer. “Edmee says she’s proud of you.”
He felt Claire’s fingers tighten on his, but he was too stunned to move. “Isn’t Edmee your grandmother’s name?”
“Hey!” He spun around, but the woman was already gone. To the empty street, he whispered, “Thanks.”