Valeria catches my arm and pulls me towards the door. “Come with me.”
We go outside, and my arms cross automatically. Valeria looks at me and shakes her head. “Don’t be like that.”
“I’ve said all I have to say about this.”
“You’re acting like Lola.”
“I’m not acting like Lola. I didn’t come to your house looking for a reason to criticize you, yet here you are.”
She exhales heavily and rubs her forehead. “You need to go back to Beto’s. He needs you.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Why?” She extends her hand, then slaps it down against her thigh. “Why are you doing this to your brother? He’s weak. He’s been shot—”
“For his own actions.” I can’t listen to her defend my brother anymore. “Where’s Mateo?”
“Mateo?” Her brow furrows. “Why do you care where he is?”
“He has a gun, and he told me he’s looking for Deacon.”
“A gun?” Valeria shakes her head dismissively. “Boys get heated up during fights. I’m sure he’s cooled off by now.”
“How well do you know him?”
She shrugs, walking towards the house. “He came here with Beto. I don’t know him very well.”
“Then you can’t say he’s cooled off.” I step forward pointing my finger. “You say my behavior causes problems. He’s the problem.”
Her lips part like she’s about to say more, but I’m not interested in more. I’ve got my phone out, and I’m calling a Lyft to take me downtown to Deacon. I can’t stand here and listen to any more of this ignorance.
The app is ticking, and I’m not looking at her. Still, she speaks quietly. “You’re a beautiful artist, Carmelita. You’re like your mother. Your family misses you. We want you with us. We love you, Carm.”
Her words hurt, but I’m not letting her pull me into her web. My phone dings, and the black Ford Escort is here. I don’t say goodbye as I step inside.
27
Deacon
Stepping into the twinkle-lit foyer of the Palace Casino, I can’t help tugging at the neck of my tuxedo. I hate shit like this.
Angel wanted us to meet here. She wanted to surprise me. I huff a laugh and shake my head, going to the bar and ordering a scotch neat.
“Deacon!” Aunt Winnie comes up to me and puts her arm on my shoulder. “What are you doing here alone? Haven and I are just dying to meet this mystery date of yours.”
“Hi, Ms. Wells.” I step forward to kiss Rich’s mother’s cheek. “Where’s Rich?”
“Oh, you know Rich.” She shakes her white-blonde hair. “He does whatever the hell he wants.”
“It’s true.” As entrenched as she is in Plano society, Rich’s mother was changed by their brief foray into white poverty.
It made her a more decent human being than most of my aunt’s friends. Most of them are bored old biddies with too much money waiting for the next scandal.
“I’ll be sure to find you when my date arrives.” I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes her gifted artist is my fiancée.
“You do that.” Winnie kisses my cheek. “Cecilia and I have been taking bets.”
My eyebrow arches. “On what?”
“Blonde or brunette, darling.” She waves her hand as if I’m being ridiculous. “What else?”
I’m not even going to answer that one. I take a hit of my scotch and watch as couples file through the double glass doors at the bottom of the stairs. I’m just slipping on my felt mask when I see her. My mouth goes dry, and the blood races below my belt.
Her eyes are downcast, watching her feet as she climbs the marble staircase in a floor-length, long-sleeved black dress that flows in silky waves around her slender, hourglass figure. She’s surrounded by couples—men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns—but they all fade to black and white as she rises higher.
A smooth, tanned leg appears through the thigh-high slit in the front of her dress, and the neckline dips daringly low, showing off the soft peaks of her breasts. Her hair is parted in the middle and sleek in a bun at the base of her neck, and a silver belt accentuates her small waist.
Even with a black feathered mask covering her beautiful face, I’d know her anywhere. I’m off my seat closing the space between us as she reaches the top step.
“You are so beautiful.” I take her hand, pulling her close to my chest. “Remind me to send a thank you to the sales clerks at Nieman’s.”
Amber eyes behind the elegant mask blink up at me, and a hint of a grin teases her full, berry-stained lips. “Do I know you?”
“Probably not.” I lift her fingers to my lips and kiss them, gratified to see my engagement ring perched on her finger. “I’m a party crasher, here to steal your heart.”
“You’ll have to excuse me.” She lifts her chin to speak near my ear. “I’m meeting my husband.”
The warmth of her breath, the tickle of her lips causes the muscles around my cock to tighten.
“Husband?” I pretend to disapprove. “You’re much too young and beautiful to be married.”
“Oh, no. I’m very happily married.”
“Well, he’s a very lucky man.”
She blinks up at me. “You’re wrong. I’m the lucky one.”
Leaning closer, I study her full lips. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“Maybe we can step out on the balcony where no one will see.”
“I suppose we ought to make an appearance before I smear your lipstick.” Pulling her hand into the crook of my arm, we enter the main casino.
For the fundraiser, the roulette wheels and blackjack tables have been moved to the perimeter, leaving a large, open dance floor. A gold-embroidered banner encouraging us to “Feed Texas” spans the top of a stage where a brass band plays standards.
Walking to the floor, I pull her into my arms and slow dance to “Irreplaceable You.” She feels so good. She’s the only thing that matters to me. I kiss her lightly on the forehead. Her eyes close, and the pull between us is so intense. I close my eyes, and it’s just us…
Until the song ends.
The band cranks up a fast-paced ska-type song I don’t recognize, and my hand slides down to Angel’s. Our fingers thread, and I lead her off the floor—straight to Winnie. She’s holding a white mask on a stick in front of her eyes. It has yellow feathers to match her yellow silk evening gown. Cecilia Westbrook is in a cornflower blue dress with an elaborate feathered mask attached to her face.
They’re cats ready to pounce.
“Deacon, my dear.” She smiles, holding out a hand to Angel. “And who might this be.”
My hand is on Angel’s waist, and I feel her body stiffen. I slide my arm around her, pulling her closer. “Winnie, let me present Angelica Maria del Carmen Treviño. Angel, this is my aunt Winona Clarke.”
The mask moves from in front of my aunt’s face midway through my introduction, and I watch her gleeful smile morph into something between shock and horror.