Lies Agreed Upon (53 page)

“Do you want ‘true love’ from me? You don’t seem very eager,” retorted Jon.

The beat of “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” pulsed on the night air in the taut little silence that followed his remark. “I hope that’s not my theme song for tonight,” Jon muttered. “Look, I’m sorry. But your grand-opening obsession hasn’t left us many private moments together, although I see you going out of your way to make time for your photographer buddy Remy and investor Joel.”

Tess looked up at her companion. “Are you jealous?”

“Yes and no. If you were going to get more involved with those guys, it would have happened. I just hoped you would be more involved with me by now,” said Jon and corralled her gently in his arms. They were in darkness, still a short walk from the bright circle of packed, gyrating dancers. In a bold move for the publicly reticent Jon, he placed his lips at the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder and climbed the column of her throat with soft kisses. He nipped her ear lobe playfully and swiftly covered her parted lips.

Tess was surprised into
a brief sensual stupor—until the crowd noise recalled her to the present. “Enough, Jon,” she mumbled and pushed lightly against his chest. “I have to play hostess a bit longer.” Jon resignedly released her. She felt an internal wince at her confused signals. Her head and her body seemed at cross-purposes tonight.

They silently started for the dance area,
no longer touching and focused on their different disappointments. They had taken only a few steps when Tess abruptly stopped, sighed and rolled her shoulders as if to rid herself of an unseen weight. She directed Jon’s questioning gaze to the bright full moon rising over the trees.

“I
’ve been so caught up in all this business that I just noticed that it’s a lovely night. I guess I’ve been blind to other things, too. I’m sorry that I’ve neglected you,” she murmured, feeling contrite for her careless treatment of his steadfast friendship. Jon silently draped a conciliatory arm around her shoulders as they walked on, and Tess rested her head against his comforting warmth.

She mused, “You know, Jon, when I first came to New Orleans for my ‘big adventure,’ I looked up and saw a beautiful full moon like that, only over Bourbon Street. I read it as a sign I was on a lucky, destined path. Despite almost getting killed along the way, I think I was more clairvoyant than I knew. Maybe I inherited some of Solange’s powers.” She looked u
p at Jon with a teasing smile. “The founding mother of both our bloodlines was a voodoo woman after all.”

“Well, the combined powers of a voodoo woman’s descendants should create head-spinning moves on the dance floor,” smiled Jon
in reply. “And maybe in other areas, too.” He raised his eyebrows in mock suggestiveness.

Tess felt a final lifting of tension. It was time to stop overthinking and simply celebrate.

She grabbed Jon’s hand to pull him toward the dancers and then paused. She hefted the drooping rose. “What am I supposed to do with this? Hold it in my teeth?” she laughed.

“No problem,” Jon replied and pluc
ked the flower from her grasp. As a cool Laura Geyer preceded a sweating Tony off the dance floor, Jon shoved the rose into her surprised palm and towed Tess into the writhing crowd. Tess had a glimpse of Laura twirling the errant love token and running sensuously interested eyes over Jon’s departing back, until Tony pulled her away.

Jon wrapped an arm around Tess’s waist and wedged her into the wall of moving bodies, shouting, “So show me some magic. But no voodoo curses, please.”

Tess pressed her body to his. “Grampaw Sam would be upset to hear us. We both know Solange wasn’t really a voodoo priestess, and there wasn’t a curse,” she yelled in Jon’s ear, but he merely grinned.

Tess’s gaze swept over the jubilant crowd.
Only a year ago, she would have been an anonymous face in that crowd. Now everywhere she saw old friends, new friends, business associates and a sort of extended family in the spattering of now-familiar Beauvoir faces. She even had a retinue of courtiers—intense handsome Jon at her side, Remy on stage in ecstatic communion with his guitar, and Joel smiling coolly from the sidelines.

It was hard to imagine any relation to the “curse
” of their joking banter. What had Solange said exactly?

Sa
m whispered slyly in her ear, “Now my blood’s gonna rule your land and make it our garden.”

She had forgotten about the garden reference. So here she was in a garden created by Solange’s daughter, tended devotedly by Solange’s grandson, and awakened from an enchanted sleep by Solange’s many descendants. Perhaps Solange was as powerful as her legend claimed, and she truly could foresee, even control, the future. The thought was so dis
concerting that Tess stumbled and stepped on Jon’s foot. He gave an exaggerated wince.

“Sorry,” she shouted and shook her head to dislodge any lingering
shadows. In the end, what did it matter whether Solange’s magic or her own will had brought her here?  At this moment, in this place, surrounded by roses and romantic possibilities, she was happy.