Secret Shared

21 CASSIE

DESPITE THE FACT that Will and I had known each other for the better part of a decade and had seen each other naked (at least three more times since that glorious afternoon, once at his place, once at mine and again on that mattress before he hauled it to the trash when the new chairs arrived), the night he came to fetch me for the S.E.C.R.E.T. event at Latrobe’s was, technically, our first date ever.

The weeks leading up to that fateful night were the happiest I’d ever had in my life. There was no more hiding, no sneaking around. With Tracina away from the restaurant and off building a new life, we were free to start ours, the restaurant turned into our discreet proving ground, a kiss here, an open embrace there, a hot look around every corner. And I didn’t care that Dell rolled her eyes or Claire was a little confused, too young to be a confidante but old enough to know some “heavy adult shit just went down,” as I caught her saying to her friends over smokes in the back.

After he said yes to my invitation, I took Will to the Funky Monkey to buy his first tux and to see Dauphine, so radiant with newfound love herself that it was like looking in a mirror. We kept our overwhelming joy at seeing each other to a normal level in front of Will, saying only that our acquaintance was the result of membership in this women’s group whose formal event we were both attending.

He stood in front of a mirror in the changing area, handsome in his tux, as Dauphine pinned the hem of his pants.

“I’m glad I kept this one,” she said. “It’s too big for Mark. Though I have a feeling even getting that boy in a tux that fits him will be a lot harder than I expect.”

A week later, the night of the event, after a clumsy attempt to assemble the damn bow tie, Will asked why I’d never mentioned I belonged to this charitable organization, especially one flush enough to give away fifteen million dollars.

“Because, it’s a secret. It’s sort of part of the whole schtick, the anonymity, the quiet servitude, that sort of thing. But you’ve seen me with Matilda a thousand times. I wasn’t hiding anything.”

Oh my god, was I becoming a liar? Or more comfortable with the truth? It was becoming difficult to tell the difference.

“But now this group wants the whole city to know it’s giving away millions?”

It was a question I had put to Matilda too, but she said in her experience it was best to hide in plain sight. A donation that big, to that many organizations would hardly remain anonymous, so why not openly celebrate it? And S.E.C.R.E.T., under its other name, desperately needed the tax deduction to keep afloat a little longer.

“If you don’t want anyone to know about your underground group dedicated to female sexual fulfillment and exploration,” she said, “house it in a mansion in the middle of the city. Why? Because no one would believe you even if you told them the truth.”

Absently fastening my charm bracelet to my wrist, forgoing his assistance, I suddenly felt nervous to bring Will to such a strange event. But I trusted the women, especially Matilda, not to blow my secret. Also, it was the last bit of solidarity I could show, before leaving S.E.C.R.E.T., for these women who’d done so much for me and asked for so little in return. I even bought a beautiful black dress for the occasion, a long backless, strappy number, in luscious sateen.

I backed out of my bedroom wearing it, so Will could pull up the zipper—a bad idea. No sooner had he secured his fingers to the clasp than the damn thing was around my ankles and I was being carried, naked again, kicking and screaming to my bed. “Pick up the dress, don’t leave it on the floor like that, Will! It’ll wrinkle! That cost me a fortune!” I laughed as he collapsed on top of me, telling me, “Fuck that dress,” while bunching his own beautifully tailored tuxedo pants down around his ankles, sheathing himself, then entering me sharply enough to stop the giggling altogether. God, the look in his eyes that night, burning and fierce while he drove into me again and again, my head cradled in his strong hands; I never wanted to lose that gaze.

Yet I was also looking forward to a time when just being alone with him didn’t make me want to rip my clothes off. I actually longed in some strange way to be a little bored by all this, for a time when his skin brushing mine in the Café wouldn’t make me damp with desire.

It was love, yes, but it was more than that. He was my deepest, closest friend. I felt like he was the only person on the planet (besides Matilda) who really, truly knew me. And now, moving on top of me with the grace of a man who understood my body as well as his own, searching my face, almost studying it, smoothing my hair back and thrusting, thrusting, my nails digging into his skin, his eyes closing, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. I couldn’t remember other men. He pressed my knees back and up, pushing both our limits, mine of exquisite pain, his of pleasure, his body clenched and straining, on the verge of another orgasm that I was giving him, while I tightened and writhed beneath him, finding my perfect spot, until, pleasure undulating through us and over us, we finally brought each other over the edge, calling each other’s name, both our bodies a greedy blur, and we were left gasping and laughing—because that’s what you do when you’re utterly astonished by love.

“Holy hell, Cassie,” he said, lying beside me, clasping my hand until his breathing steadied.

I rose to take a quick shower, but he held my hand down into the bed, rolling up on an elbow next to me.

“You know what? It’s all been worth it.”

“What’s been worth it?”

“All the bullshit of the past year, all that stuff, the lies that kept us apart. It’s been worth it. A few weeks ago I was so fucking angry. I said to myself no more women. I wanted nothing to do with love. I was going to take a good long break. And today, now … now I feel like I’m out of some long tunnel. I feel light. I feel brand-new. Like my faith’s been restored.”

“Me too,” I said, pulling his face in for a kiss.

He fondled my bracelet. “I haven’t seen this on you in a while.”

“I wear it only on special occasions,” I said, letting him examine it, knowing there was nothing to hide anymore.

“So let me get this straight—for every sort of good deed or challenge, or whatever, you get one of these charms?” he asked, reading some of the Steps under his breath, Generosity, Bravery, Trust. “Reminds me of Girl Scouts.”

“Ha. Sort of,” I said, sliding out of bed.

“What kind of charm do you get for having a restaurant named after you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’ve decided to call the new place Cassie’s. A sign’s going to be delivered tomorrow—and here,” he said, fishing a piece of paper from his jacket, which he’d retrieved from the floor where it was tossed with the rest of our clothes. He presented me with a folded-up prototype of the new menu, Cassie’s printed on a pretty scroll across the top. I gasped, speechless, fat tears falling down my cheeks.

“Are you serious?”

“Never more so,” he said, kissing me.

“I don’t … I can’t … no one has ever …”

“Cassie, just say thank you. And let’s get dressed and get this event over with.”

“I’m not going to say thank you now. I’m going to say thank you later, when I get you back here alone.”

“So I take it we’re not staying late?”

“Hell no.”

We showered, one after the other as my tub was too small for two, and later as he zipped me tenderly into my dress. I felt blessed, and, dare I say it … very loved. Had I known it would be the last time we’d be together, I would never have left that bed or that apartment, and I certainly wouldn’t have washed him off my body so quickly, before slipping back into that beautiful, cursed dress.

Latrobe’s was an intimate corner building, made of cream stucco, tucked in the heart of the French Quarter. With its curved Moorish ceilings and dim interiors, it was the perfect place to hold a private party or a small elegant wedding, something discreet and un-showy. So it was unusual to see a boisterous crowd of reporters lining the entrance. But fifteen million dollars was going to be donated to at least eight different local charities that worked to help women and children who were abused, hungry, neglected or who were in any other way disadvantaged. It was the kind of money that could change lives. So it was a big deal, deserving of big coverage.

Matilda was handling all the press, all the questions and all the follow-up. We were told to relax, mingle and eat. A Committee meeting was struck for the following day. That’s when we’d find out how much money was left in the S.E.C.R.E.T. coffers. That’s also when I planned to formally resign, but not before profusely thanking each and every one them for my good fortune and my lovely life.

We ducked past a throng with clacking cameras and into the narrow foyer that led to the main dining area. The room was filled with the highest echelons of New Orleans society, including, much to our shock, a very solo and newly re-elected District Attorney Carruthers Johnstone, mopping his brow and greeting guests in a too-snug tux, his PR person hovering close by, fielding questions.

“Are you going to be okay with him here?” I asked, pulling Will away from the greeting line, avoiding Carruthers. It had been almost a month, and while I’d been several times to see the sweet baby, and a very humbled Tracina, Will still felt like a chump. He still harbored some ill feelings I hoped would fade soon so Tracina could freely bring the baby to the café she was named after.

Eyeing Carruthers, Will said, “It’s okay. Mostly I feel sorry for the poor bastard. He has to take on all that crying and screaming … and a new baby on top of it all.”

News of Carruthers’ dalliance had come too late to affect his re-election, but its consequences were trickling in. There were a lot of questions, of course, most of which he was avoiding while his wife moved his things out of their mansion in the Garden District and into a lovely cottage on Exposition Boulevard, facing Audubon, where he and Tracina could raise the baby in relative privacy until the worst of the scandal blew over.

City councilwoman Kay Ladoucer was also there. She had chaired last year’s Revitalization Ball, and tonight she was behaving like a queen bee, greeting guests and posing for pictures, even though this was Matilda’s event. Will made a point of saying hello to her, knowing his final building inspection was soon, after which, assuming he’d pass with flying colors, the only things stopping us from opening Cassie’s (Cassie’s!) were securing the liquor license and cutting the ribbon. Kay had blocked every attempt he’d made in the past to expand upstairs, citing too much growth on Frenchmen Street. So he was taking no chances now, and even went so far as to compliment her hair and her dress, feeling my elbow in his side when he started in on her shoes.

We gathered with Dauphine and Mark for a minute, she in a stunning jet blue off-the-shoulder cocktail dress, her hair a Veronica Lake tribute; he in a tux, with jeans, of course, both wearing dopey grins, a match made in heaven if there ever was one.

“Cassie! So fucking good to see you,” Mark said, throwing his arms around me and lifting me off the ground. In my ear, he whispered, “I owe you big-time.”

I had long reassured Will of my “friends only” status with the “skinny boy” who had stopped into the Café that day to invite me to hear him play. And I think he believed me. But Mark’s enthusiastic greeting had Will instinctually putting a warm hand on my back.

“You look gorgeous, Cassie,” said Dauphine, leaning towards me and out of Will’s earshot. “And promise me you’ll come by the store more often. This isn’t goodbye. You changed my life.”

“And you two better be regulars in my restaurant,” I said, announcing its new name. Will looked as chuffed as I felt. “Congratulations,” they both said. And after Mark promised to hold court in the corner with a guitar on opening night, they left to navigate the crowd back to the bar. I turned to slide my arms through Will’s jacket, wending them behind his back in an embrace.

“You have nothing to worry about,” I said, looking up at him, my chin on his chest.

“What? I know that,” he said, moving a strand of stray hair behind my ear.

“I never thought you were the jealous type, Will.”

“I’m not. I’m just … I guess I’m a little sensitive these days. I’ll get over. And soon, I’ll start taking you completely for granted.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” I said, kind of meaning it.

The evening was unfolding so beautifully. Even after Angela Rejean strolled by in a criminally short silver mini-dress that tilted the attention of the entire room in her direction, including Will’s. Her legs had me spellbound, so much so, I didn’t notice the light hand on my shoulder. I assumed it was Will again, his touch becoming such a lovely constant, I almost noticed it more when he didn’t have a hand on me.

“Cassie Robichaud, how nice it is to see you again. And looking ravishing in black satin.”

I turned around and there he was, Pierre Castille, holding a glass of red wine, his frustratingly handsome face lighting up when I met his gaze. With his free hand he clasped an upper arm to kiss my two cheeks, my skin beneath his touch becoming goose-fleshed and chilled. He’d been drinking. Quite a bit. Oh God, what is he doing here?

“Hello, Pierre,” I said, my voice faltering. I looked around for Dauphine, suddenly worried for her.

“And that dress. Oh, and if it isn’t my old childhood pal, Will Foret. Seeing you in a tux—now that’s worth the price of admission!”

“Pierre, I see you’re still always happy to attend the opening of any old envelope,” Will said, giving me a what the fuck is he doing here? kind of look.

I shrugged, looking around frantically for Matilda.

“I could hardly miss tonight, Will, my man. After all, it is—or rather was my fifteen million that this organization is giving away.”

Will turned to me. “His money?”

“But what can you do?” Pierre continued, doing his best to camouflage a slight slur. “You try to support causes you care about and sometimes they just don’t want your help. Women! Am I right? A man can only deal with so much bullshit from them … Speaking of which, here’s our lovely Matilda Greene now.”

Thank God, I thought, as Matilda stiffly approached us.

“Mr. Castille, what a surprise to see you here,” she said. Her voice was steady, but I knew her; I could tell by the way she fussed with her charms that this was throwing her for a loop. Sweat broke out across my brow.

“I bet it is. I can only assume my invitation was lost in the mail. I don’t think, considering my passionate patronage of S.E.C.R.E.T., that you’d have deliberately left my name off the guest list.”

“You’re kind to forgive the oversight,” she said, wincing at the smell of his breath when he leaned close to kiss her cheek.

She turned to Will. “And it is so nice to see you again, Will. And Cassie … why I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you do look a little flushed. Forgive me, but you might have the same thing Dauphine has. Poor thing just left. I hope it wasn’t the shrimp.”

Matilda’s face was imploring, her words sounding as though she were pressing them into firm clay. She placed her hand on my forehead.

“In fact, you’re quite clammy. I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you wanted to duck out of this shindig a little early too, before all the boring speeches. I know how much you hate these things.”

That’s what she said instead of Pierre’s here to do damage, serious damage, not just to S.E.C.R.E.T., but to you. Leave now. Take Will.

“Are you okay?” Will asked, picking up on Matilda’s concern. “If you’re not feeling well we can—”

“Yes, let’s. I am a little—”

“Thirsty?” Pierre said, grabbing a glass of ice water from a passing waiter’s tray and handing it to me. “If you leave now, you’ll miss the best part, Cassie. And I know you,” he said, poking Will in the chest, “you will be very interested in how the night unfolds. No more secrets. No more lies. They’re so toxic, wouldn’t you say, Will?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Pierre?”

But before I had a chance to say, Will, please take me home now before you hear something that might kill you, kill us, Pierre drained his wineglass and deposited it on another passing tray.

“What am I talking about? I’m talking about the sexy little group these ladies belong to. Has Cassie told you how it’s financed? They sell off paintings. Valuable ones. I bought one recently for fifteen million dollars. But turns out they don’t want my money. And I’m not giving them the painting back. So they’re donating all of it. So generous. So magnanimous. So sanctimonious.”

“Pierre, you’ve said enough,” Matilda said, trying to signal Security. We were a small group, just Matilda, Will, Pierre and me, but ears around us were pricking up, and not those belonging to members of S.E.C.R.E.T.

“And they need the money. Sex fantasies are not cheap, Will. Especially when they come with little prizes in little boxes,” he said, snatching my wrist and holding my bracelet up in front of Will’s face. “Did Cassie ever tell you how she earned these charms? Or where? Wasn’t this one with me, in the back of my limo?”

His fingers were roughly digging through my charms, trying to find the one he was talking about. I wrenched free of his grip.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Will hissed.

“Will, let’s just get out of here,” I said, my whole body now pressing him away from our little circle, this awful place. He must have felt it, me vibrating with anger and fear.

Matilda tried to calm Pierre, to shut him up, as though there were time to rescue the evening, as though the damage hadn’t already been done. But Will’s eyes were wild with confusion. Angela and Kit sidled over, using their bodies as shields to prevent onlookers from watching the drama, to keep more details from leaking beyond our group into the party at large.

“Sometimes at events like this, Pierre,” Matilda said, grabbing his elbow, “when the drinks flow more freely than the food, we say things we don’t mean, and we hurt people terribly, people who don’t deserve it.”

“And sometimes, Matilda, we tell the truth,” he spat, releasing his arm. Turning to Will, he said, “I hear the truth’s been in short supply in your life lately, buddy. Heard about old Carruthers and your little girlfriend, or rather, ex-girlfriend. Again my money backed the wrong candidate. Family values my ass. Not that you suffered for long. Must have been the happiest day of your life, Cassie, when you found out that his ex was a bigger slut than even you.”

Wham came the punch, which sailed over my shoulder, landing hard, then sealed with a good kick to his ribs even before Pierre hit the ground. Will’s arm was cocked, loaded, about to launch, or so I thought. But when I got over my shock, I realized I wasn’t looking at the back of Will’s tux standing over Pierre’s writhing body, but rather chef whites belonging to Jesse Turnbull.

Time seemed to stop in that instant, allowing me to feel for a brief second like an observer, hovering eerily over the events, watching Angela and Kit holding Will back from completing the job that Jesse had started, seeing two burly bodyguards scoop up a bleeding Pierre, still yelling, despite the blood and the missing front tooth, “Just ask her, Will! Ask how she got those charms, how all of them did!” “Asked” sounded more like “asstht,” something that would have been funny, might one day, in some faraway future, still be funny, to other people unaffected by his drunken tirade. Even after he shook his arms free of the security guards, Pierre wouldn’t stop.

“Because they just use men, Will, they use them for their pleasure and then throw them away and she’ll do that to you too, buddy! So goodbye, whores,” he said, giving a flaccid salute, before getting hustled out the door and thrown into the back of his own waiting limo.

Everyone heard that, heard a drunken Pierre Castille sounding more like a jealous ex than a bitter man rejected by a group of women he now deeply resented. So beyond some whispers and stares, the party instantly recognized the sight, then healed over when the limo drove away and returned to their drinking and hors d’oeuvres. I silently thanked Jesse with teary eyes, then took hold of Will’s lapels, pushing him gently away from the crowd, down a dim hallway leading to the washrooms. There I pressed him up against the wall, holding him upright with my forehead in the middle of his chest for a second, where I left a little prayer, something to help him better listen while I desperately tried to explain things.

He was breathless.

“I’m very confused, Cassie,” he said, his voice up an octave. “I’m confused by some of the things that were just said by that asshole. Can you … enlighten me?”

“I don’t know. I think, I guess … Pierre wants to ruin us.”

“Ruin who?”

“Ruin S.E.C.R.E.T., our organization, me, us.”

“Why? What does he fucking care?”

“Because … I rejected him. We rejected him.”

Will laughed, genuinely laughed.

“Sorry. Let me get this straight. You rejected the richest man in the city, so he bought a fifteen-million-dollar painting from your … group. But you don’t want the money because he’s a bad man. So he’s mad and called you sluts and whores—”

“I know it sounds like a ludicrous story.”

“Not ludicrous, just incomplete,” he said. “You know, Tracina once said Angela and Kit did some freaky-deaky things in some mansion in the Garden District. Those were her words—freaky-deaky. I never pressed her because we’d been out and she was drinking. And I never thought it was any of my business. But tonight I see that Kit and Angela and you all belong to this same little group, this S.E.C.R.E.T. thing. Is that what Tracina was talking about?”

Tears that felt like shame started streaming down my cheeks. Why? I had done nothing wrong. But there it was in Will’s eyes: disgust.

“Will, don’t look at me like that.”

“Tell me, Cassie? Because I’m telling you this: one more fucking lie, one more secret, and I will snap directly in half. Yes or no. Do you belong to some kind of … sex group?”

Mortification set in, starting at my feet and inching up my body. I hadn’t lied to him. I had only shaded away parts of the truth that weren’t his to know, or that were beyond my ability to explain to him. In that moment I made a decision. If Will couldn’t accept the whole of S.E.C.R.E.T., what it did for me, how it brought me back to me, then it was better I know that now. I opened and closed my fists, pulling in the courage to tell the truth. I grabbed his hand and looked into his dark blue eyes, now churning with bewilderment.

“Will you promise to listen?”

“All ears, baby. I’m all ears.”

“Well … I have told you the truth. S.E.C.R.E.T. is a group that helps women. That part is true. But it helps them … sexually … by granting them a series of sexual fantasies, the kind that help them develop things like courage and trust and … confidence. Things I always lacked,” I said. His face remained still, but I could tell his brain couldn’t process the information fast enough.

“Throughout the year, I experienced several … scenarios. I felt terrified, I felt overjoyed. I was lost and I was found. And by the end of it, I was a different person, but the same too, just stronger, more myself. Even you said last year when we first slept together that I seemed different, yet very much the same. That was it exactly. That’s what S.E.C.R.E.T. gave me.”

I paused, waiting for him to chime in, waiting for him to say something, anything, but his face remained as implacable as an Easter Island statue.

“So after my fantasies, I was offered an opportunity to stay in the group and help other women, or I was free to leave if I wanted to pursue something else, something real. After I was with you, I chose to leave S.E.C.R.E.T. Until I found out about the baby and you returning to Tracina. I was bereft. Belonging to S.E.C.R.E.T. offered me solace, distraction, a sense of purpose. Then when the truth came out about the baby’s father, I decided it was time to leave S.E.C.R.E.T. Because I could finally be with you.”

I hoped my words would fill him with some measure of understanding, but they seemed to have taken the light right out of his eyes.

“So …” he said, blinking hard. “Let me get this straight. You joined a secret sex group. You had sex fantasies with … how many men last year?”

I took a deep breath. “Nine. Including you.”

“Including me. And how many this year? Do you, like, try to double that number? Is that how it works?”

“No, there’s so much more to it than that. It’s not about numbers. You’re making it sound—”

“How many men? Do you get a little charm for each guy? Is that how it works? Collect all ten?”

I slid my bracelet, my beautiful bracelet, behind my back, catching it on my black satin dress, which minutes ago had felt so sexy against my skin and now felt skimpy, wanton. I heard a voice down the hall, one tinged with kindness.

“Are you okay, Cassie?”

At the end of the dim hall, I made out Jesse’s silhouette. He stepped closer to us and into the light.

“Oh hey!” said Will. “It’s coffee guy with the excellent left hook! Which one was he, Cassie? Was he from this year’s roster or was he last year’s model? Did you two swing from chandeliers? Something tells me no. Ropes and chains, I bet.”

“Will, stop it.”

“Or maybe you’re into having him spank you.”

“Will!”

“Hey, listen, man,” Jesse said, his hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to interrupt a personal discussion. I’m just a friend coming to see if she’s all right.”

“I bet you did. Cassie, you interested in going home with your fantasy friend here, or plain old me?” His voice cracked. “A guy who never fucking knows when he’s being played for a complete chump.”

He gave his head a vigorous shake and shoved his hair back in the way he does when words need his hands’ help to come out.

“Will, I’m sorry you heard about it like this. And I know this is a lot to process, but here’s the truth that matters most: I love you. And I’m sorry I never told you everything before, but I was worried you’d react like this,” I said, realizing I was probably hurting Jesse in the process of trying to comfort Will.

“Know what? Before I say something I regret or that I don’t mean, I’m out of here. Because this … this is all a bit too freaky-deaky for me. I’m just a regular guy, who likes sex with regular women, nothing too weird or out there. No big group thing. Sorry to disappoint, Cassie, but it’s probably best I tell you now that I’d bore the shit out of you. So I’d prefer it if we keep things strictly professional between us from now on, okay? That way what you do after hours is your own fucking business. Because me? I have had enough bedroom drama to last me a fucking lifetime. So, enjoy yourselves. Enjoy each other, for all I care.”

“Will!” I yelled as he walked away, Jesse gently holding me back from chasing him.

“It might not be the best time to reason with him, Cassie. Might wanna let him sleep on this.”

I flung my back against the wall, unable to look Jesse in the eye.

“He’ll see it differently after a few days, Cassie. Just give him a bit of time,” he said.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.

“The event was last-minute. Matilda needed a caterer.”

“I didn’t mean … of course you’re here. Thank God you were here. Way to give it to Pierre,” I said. Then it came, a cascade of tears. “I’m so sorry, Jesse. I am so sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey. You don’t need to say sorry to me, Cass. You’ve never lied to me,” he said, pulling me in for a tight embrace while I briefly, quietly, cried into the front of his chef whites.

After I stopped shuddering, he handed me a cloth napkin that was dangling from his pocket.

“Here. Let’s get you the fuck out of here.”

And that’s what he did. He carefully walked me through the main hall; the party was loud, in full effect. It was as though no lives had been ruined, no love lost, no secrets revealed. Matilda was in conversation with a journalist, her eyes locking on me as I passed. She reached out a hand, excused herself and came to me.

“Cassie,” she said, gently tugging me by the forearm to speak directly into my ear. “It will be okay. I promise you.”

“No, it won’t, Matilda. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said, my tone flat, my expression deadened.

She looked from me to Jesse. “Take good care of her.”

He nodded, his hand at my back, my own arms wrapped around my body like I was one big wound. Jesse held the door open for me and we were both hit with the first fall chill of the year. Silently, we walked down Royal to Saint Louis, where his truck was parked halfway up the block. My body, drained of all emotion, felt like flesh pressed against bone beneath a dress I couldn’t wait to rip off and burn. Will knew my secret and he didn’t want me anymore. I could hardly take the new job at the new restaurant named after me. How would we cope, him knowing what he knew, me feeling how I felt?

Jesse and I didn’t say a word to each other as he drove the narrow streets of the French Quarter, drunk tourists tumbling in front of our slow-moving truck. We crossed Esplanade and Elysian Fields, and pulled up next to the Spinster Hotel on the corner of Mandeville and Chartres, where the Delmonte sisters were still up, no doubt, watching and waiting for me to come home. Would they notice that the man dropping me off was different from the one with whom I had left? And indeed, what did this say about me? It said nothing, I decided. It said that I had accepted help when I needed it the most, and in doing so changed my life. I forged real bonds, including with men, and definitely with the one sitting next to me now, looking at me with soft eyes.

“Here you are. Want me to come up? Make you a cup of tea? Tuck you in? I promise that’s all I’ll do. I know where your head’s at.”

I wanted to say, Yeah, it’s where my heart is, with a very hurt man who left me feeling broken and dirty. A man I loved who I thought loved me, unconditionally. But I was wrong. Of course there were conditions. There are always conditions when it comes to men and women and love and sex. But if for Will to love me like he once did, I’d have to be like the old me, then Will could keep his love. I would never again go back to being that tiny, chaste, timid woman. Never.

I looked at Jesse’s face, his eyes mellow in the dark of the truck’s cab.

“Well? What say you, Miss Robichaud?”

That’s when I felt it; it started behind my belly button and worked its way up, settling around my heart: defiance. The necessary kind, the kind that pushed back on whatever judgment I’d seen in Will’s eyes, a look that had made me feel undesirable, unworthy of love. That wasn’t coming from him; that feeling was in me already, and it was time, time to let all of that go: No more judgment, no more limits and no more shame, Cassie. Starting now.

I turned to Jesse. I turned to face the man who knew my darkest parts, my fears and desires, and wasn’t turning away.

“Actually, I would like it if you came up, Jesse. I’ve had a hell of a night … and I think I could really use a friend tonight.”

He wet his thumb with his tongue and rubbed stray mascara off my cheek.

“Then use me, darlin’,” he said. “Use me.”