Page 23

She wore all black with a long black fur hanging from her shoulders and a pencil dress hugging a body I remembered too damn well. Her naturally curly hair looked healthier now that she was off the streets, but a dark veil covered her face.

Seeing her brought Vegas back to me immediately. My grip around the glass became harder before I caught myself.

Marcel kissed my mother and grandmother before giving me a quick hug.

“Tu as mauvaise mine,” he murmured. You look exhausted.

“Je le suis.” I am.

Introductions started in French and English. Devon Laveau was introduced as Azaria’s father, a Louisiana Creole man who taught all his children to speak Kouri-Vini. It was Louisiana Creole, and there was enough French influence for me to catch pieces of it when I heard them speak.

Then came Madam Shayla Laveau, Azaria’s mother. She was a full-blooded Romanian woman with the type of posture that made her look cold before she ever opened her mouth. I already knew both of Azaria’s parents through Zay. I had sat at their dinner table and been around their family without knowing they were the infamous Laveaus nobody could ever get much information on.

Marcel finally turned toward Azaria.

“And their daughter, Azaria Laveau.”

She lifted her veil.

A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it.

“Well,” I said. “Look at you, ma belle.”

Her mouth moved, but she refused to give me a smile.

Madam Laveau gripped her arm.

“My daughter will not be speaking today. She is here to listen.”

I kept my attention on Azaria.

“She knows me, and she knows I’ll treat her right. Shall I say more?”

Marcel cleared his throat.

“Bon. Let us begin.”

We moved to the table, and Azaria sat across from me before putting sunglasses over her eyes. Her mother stayed close and kept whispering to her while the lawyers got everything in order.

I could tell Azaria was crying behind those glasses.

I hated seeing her that way.

The lawyer started reading through the agreement. We were expected to marry within eight months, maintain public unity, avoid scandals, combine certain assets between the United States and France, and have children within three years. Every part of our future had been written down like they were negotiating a business merger instead of two people’s lives.

Azaria barely moved while they talked. She looked like she was using everything in her to sit there and make it through the meeting.

Nico spoke low beside me. “Could be worse.”

I ignored him.

Eventually, the contracts were pushed toward us. Marcel looked directly at me.

“Le temps des garçons est fini.” The time of boys is over.

“Je sais.” I know.

I picked up the pen, but I didn’t sign.