“We can’t go home yet,” he said.
Moving deeper into the crowd, hand in hand so as not to lose each other, we let the movement of their swaying mass carry us past building after building until we broke out from the crowd to hurry down St. Charles Avenue.
The Pontchartrain Hotel welcomed us with old colonial décor and the chill of air-conditioning as we stepped inside the brightly lit foyer. Finally, I felt able to breathe. My tremors lessened.
To the concierge and probably the rest of the staff who greeted us on our way in, we would have looked like any other partying couple.
When we reached the check-in desk, the clerk advised us, “There’s only one room left, sir. ‘The Melpomene’.” He looked at us suspiciously, like two revelers suddenly needing a room for something elicit.
Cassius opened his wallet and brought out several hundred-dollar bills. “One night.”
When the staff member refused to check us in without leaving a credit card on file, Cassius slid more cash across the desk. I wasn’t sure if my father had the ability to track someone with their credit card, but he wasn’t taking that chance.
The veil hiding who my father was had lifted. Clearly, Cassius believed he had the kind of connections who might tip him off. Which is why we took the room under the name Blacksmith and kept our masquerade masks on as we made our way through the hotel.
Within minutes, we’d taken the elevator to the top floor. I couldn’t help but glance suspiciously at everyone we passed. Paranoia clung like vines suffocating everything in its wake.
“This is safe.” Cassius tried to reassure me as he slid the key card into the door. “No one knows we’re here.”
Both of us explored the room. Checking out its luxury décor of rattan furniture, velvet drapery, and even a small fridge. Within the bathroom sat a claw-foot tub, and in different circumstances, I’d have run a bath and soaked my aching limbs.
“This was a good idea.” I tried to sound calm, grateful even, but my heart was breaking, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
“It’s a miracle we got a room this time of year.”
It was a goddamn miracle we were still alive.
Cassius pointed at a portrait of Tennessee Williams. “Did you like A Streetcar Named Desire?”
“What?” I cursed him for trying to make it look like being here was anything but okay.
“Anya,” he said, his words hinting he was trying to take my mind off what had just happened. “I’ve got this.”
“I haven’t seen any plays,” I admitted.
“Not one?”
I shook my head.
He looked sad for me. “You’d like it.”
How could he be so calm after everything? So reasonable and able to think on his feet. Because this is what he expected came the harsh truth of realization. He’d always known what kind of man my father was. What he was capable of.
“Cassius.” I tugged on his sleeve. “You were almost killed.”
His lip curled in a half-smile. “I would have been if you hadn’t warned me.”
“I should have done more.”
“You were very brave.”
“I never knew him. Never knew what kind of man he really is.”
“Don’t talk about him.” He looked off, his mouth twisting in hate.
“How long will we stay here?”
“Overnight.” He led me into the bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I walked toward the window. Pulling the curtain aside to peek out. Cassius tugged the curtains closed. “Not a good idea.”
That brief glimpse beyond the window had shown the parade was still going on. People were joyfully celebrating Mardi Gras, dancing and laughing in the streets. And in here felt like an unlikely combination of a kidnapped girl who chose to stay with her captor. The man I was falling for.
Yet . . .
There was no other way of asking it. “You knew my mom would be there tonight?” He’d dangled me before her.
“I wanted to see the pain in her eyes, Anya.”
“This has to stop. Now.”
He gave a shrug that maybe I was right.
I studied his reaction. “You saw what happened?”
He strolled away from me and knelt before the fridge. Maybe he was thinking of the answer he’d give. Or maybe that was his way of ignoring the question. Opening the door, he pulled out two bottles of Perrier water and then offered one to me.
“No, thank you.” I turned my back on him. “Can you help me out of this?”
He stood behind me and unzipped the gown and helped me climb out of it. There was no sense of vulnerability at all even though I’d stripped down to my underwear in front of him. Though I’d done worse before we’d left the house, having stood naked before him. It made me wonder if he found me attractive at all. He’d kissed me at Café Du Monde, surely that meant something. Meant our connection went deeper.