Page 20 of Vapor

“Thank you, Claude.”

I hesitate for a moment, weighing my options. Since I don’t want to risk Justin lying to my father, I reluctantly climb into the back seat. Justin slides in beside me, pressing me against the far door. I glare at him as Claude shuts the door.

“Smile, darling. You don’t want to get premature wrinkles.”

Shaking my head, I cross my arms under my chest. When I notice his eyes dropping to my cleavage, I drop my hands to my lap. I crack my knuckles to release some of the tension in my body.

When we arrive at Broussard’s home, another Greek Revival monstrosity, a butler pulls open the car door. Justin gets out then holds his hand out to help me. I ignore it and climb out without his assistance. As I try to pass him, he wraps his arm around mine and squeezes like a snake until I yelp.

“Smile, darling. You don’t want any of the society pages printing a questionable photograph of us, do you?”

I summon my best high society smile, which involves shutting down the voice in my head that’s screaming at me to run and never stop. Photographers turn toward us. Their cameras flash as they call out for me to smile. I’m already doing my best, so they’ll just have to work with what I’m giving them.

Once we’re inside, Broussard is pulled away by someone who is running the gala. Apparently, they’ve run out of mini crawfish beignets, which is a major issue. I hope he finds more and then chokes to death on one.

I follow the crowd into the ballroom, searching for my father. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when I find him. How dare he let Broussard go up to my room! What was he thinking?

The grand ballroom is stunning. Even I can appreciate its beauty. As guests enter the room, they are greeted by high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork and crystal chandeliers. The walls are painted in a creamy white, accented by gold-leaf trim.

Large, arched windows draped with rich, velvet curtains in deep shades of burgundy and gold frame views of the sprawling, manicured gardens outside. The windows are flanked by ornate mirrors that reflect the shimmering light from the chandeliers, making the room seem even more expansive.

On one side of the ballroom, a string quartet plays soft, classical music, their harmonious melodies adding to the refined ambiance. A dance floor occupies the center of the room, its polished wooden surface gleaming under the light. Couples waltz gracefully, their movements fluid and elegant, adding to the air of sophistication that permeates the event.

Elegant round tables are scattered about, each covered with crisp white linens and adorned with elaborate floral arrangements featuring roses, magnolias, and jasmine, all native to the South. The centerpieces are interspersed with flickering candlelight, creating an intimate and romantic atmosphere. Fine china, polished silverware, and crystal glassware are meticulously arranged at each place setting, ready for the evening’s gourmet offerings.

Waitstaff in crisp, white uniforms glide silently between guests, offering trays of Champagne and wine, ensuring that no glass remains empty for long. Additional staff pass trays of pecan-crusted brie, Cajun deviled eggs, Boudin balls, mini muffulettas, and andouille sausage stuffed mushrooms. My mouth waters as I reach for a muffuletta.

“Blue,” Father’s voice carries a warning.

“I thought the best way to find you was to try to eat something forbidden,” I snark.

“The wedding is less than three months away.”

“Trust me. I know. Speaking of which, why on earth did you let Justin go up to my room?”

“He wanted to escort you to the gala.”

“That’s not all he wanted,” I grumble.

“What do you mean by that?”

“He wants me, Dad.” When his face remains passive, I add,“In bed with him.”

“So?”

“You don’t see a problem with that?” I gasp, stepping back.

“Give him a sample of what’s to come. Your sister certainly did that with Xavier.” He chuckles as if it’s all one big joke.

“I can’t believe you’d condone it.”

“Of course it’s not typical, but who cares? You’ll be married and giving him children soon enough.”

“I need some air.” I press my hand to my belly because I feel as if I’m going to be sick.

“Blue!” Margaret Hebert’s sing-song voice carries over the music.“Come join us. You remember Charlotte Fontenot and Evelyn Richards, don’t you? I’m so glad you could make it tonight. Isn’t it a beautiful evening?”

I reluctantly stop when she steps into my path.“Stunning.”

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