The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(18)
Author: Karen White

 

Can’t wait to see you! I’ll be bringing gifts for your team—I hope that’s okay. I had to ask Rich Kobylt how to spell Thibaut and am bringing him suspenders just in case he has more in common with Rich than their last name. Also, Sarah wants to stay all week instead of just the weekend. JJ does, too, but he’s got a bake-off competition. It’s fine with your dad and me. I’ll let you decide. Love you!

 

Instead of the kiss emoji to end her text, a brown pile of poop smiled at me from the screen. I assumed that was a mistake.

 

My little sister, so open about her psychic abilities when she was younger, had grown to be a lot more secretive about them once she realized that none of her friends or classmates had entourages of imaginary friends and deceased relatives trailing them wherever they went.

 

The final blow had come when Sarah’s best friend, Lollie, had burst into tears on class picture day when Sarah said that Lollie’s grandmother thought Lollie should have worn the bow in her hair like her mother had suggested. This wouldn’t have been so upsetting except for the fact that Lollie’s grandmother had died the week before.

 

I’d bent to my phone to respond when another text popped onto my screen. It was from Beau: Are you in or not?

 

Before I could type my reply, two more texts came in, one from Sunny and one from Sam, both similar messages. Did you see Michael?

 

My thumbs flew over the screen as I responded to the last two. No

 

I hit Send, and then thought a moment before sending another message. Is there a plan b

 

I opened Beau’s text again but hesitated before typing anything. It was bad enough that I was conspiring with Sunny and Sam to rekindle my relationship with Michael so I could eke out a revenge I wasn’t sure I wanted. But to play double agent and pretend to be helping Beau while actually hiding any useful information made me physically sick. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, willing the nausea to pass. I would make a terrible spy.

 

“Nola?”

 

I kept my eyes closed, unsure if I’d imagined Michael’s voice.

 

“Nola?”

 

This time Michael’s voice was accompanied by a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You okay? Do you need some water?”

 

I opened my eyes to see Michael Hebert’s suntanned face, his hazel eyes full of concern. He placed a purple water bottle sporting the Saints logo into my hand and helped me lift it to my mouth. I took several long gulps, not because I was thirsty but because I had no idea what I wanted to say. Or was supposed to say.

 

When I’d reached the end of the bottle, I handed it back to him. “Thanks.” Well, that was a start.

 

“Do you need to lie down? You don’t look well.”

 

I shook my head. “I’m okay. I didn’t pace myself. Thanks for the water.”

 

He looked at me, forcing me to focus my attention on the outstretched arm of the sculpture of the woman in the fountain, a bird perched on her hand.

 

I felt him sit next to me on the bench. “This is the first time I’ve come to run in the park since . . .” He stopped. “I figured you wouldn’t want to see me, and I know how you love to run in the park, so I stayed away.”

 

I finally met his eyes, and they were the same eyes of the man I’d once thought I was falling in love with. Until the real Michael Hebert had been exposed, and I’d learned that everything had been a lie, his feelings for me manufactured just so he could have access to whatever secrets he thought were hidden inside my house.

 

“Me, too,” I said, my reality check giving me a firm grip on my emotions, helping me remember what I was supposed to be doing. I resisted the need to move away from him on the bench despite the humiliation that hummed right beneath my skin. Facing him now was a lot like I imagined it would feel to walk into a crowded room and fall flat on my face, then have to get up and keep talking as if nothing had happened.

 

“My jaw still hurts where Beau punched me.” He brushed the stubble on the side of his cheek.

 

“Good.”

 

He smiled. “I guess I deserved that. And the punch.”

 

“You won’t get any argument from me. My only regret is that I didn’t think to do it first.”

 

He leaned toward me with serious eyes. “Give it your best shot. Whatever it takes to make you understand that I am truly sorry.”

 

“Sorry?” My voice rose. My first impulse was to give him what he was asking for, which reassured me that I still clung to at least a bit of self-respect.

 

He sat up, his palms facing me in a gesture of surrender. “I know. It’s a pathetic word. Not even barely adequate to describe how I feel.”

 

“Then why did you do it?” I wasn’t sure if that played into the game set up by Sunny and Sam, but I didn’t really care. If I was being forced to head down the path of revenge, I had to get something out of it just for myself. Like an answer.

 

He took a deep breath, as if trying to figure out where to start, and when he did start, his words surprised me. “You come from a nice, normal family.”

 

I wanted to interrupt to explain that there was nothing normal about a stepmother who could speak to the dead, but I needed him to continue.

 

“I don’t,” he said. “I mean, what sort of parents suddenly take off to the other side of the world and leave behind their kids to be raised by relatives? That’s not normal. I’ve seen them about five times in the last two decades, and only because they needed to sign some paperwork for the company or negotiate for more supplies for whatever part of the world they were headed for next.”

 

A snowy egret landed on the edge of the fountain and we watched its yellow feet goose-step around the perimeter, the bird ignoring us. I felt a moment of envy at its confidence.

 

He looked down at his hands again. “My great-grandfather Antoine Broussard passed down the story of how my grandaunt Jeanne had been murdered by Beau’s grandfather, Charles Ryan.” He held up his hand when he heard my intake of breath. “I now know that’s not true. I think my uncle truly believed it, which made it easier for me to go along with whatever he wanted me to do. And after I met you, it smoothed away some of the guilt I’d begun to feel.”

 

“So why didn’t you tell me when you realized what was going on?”

 

“Because I’m a jerk. Because my family . . .” He paused, then started again. “Since I last saw you, I’ve been doing research. About my great-grandfather Antoine. About some of the things he was rumored to have been involved in. Most of them are true. He was a really bad guy whose influence is still felt not only in the business he started, but also in my family.”