who is still mad at Steve Milner for cheating on her.”
“He left me at prom to go have sex with another girl!”
“So call me when you’re over that and we’ll talk again about teenage crap I need to get over.”
Lorelei’s lips pressed into a thin line. Vivi had made her point.
“Even if I wanted to let that slide, I haven’t really seen anything in the intervening years to convince me that Connor isn’t still an arrogant, self-centered man-child. If anything, his fame has only fueled it. And since Connor is still holding on to his preadolescent grudges against me, I’m not too worried about maturity.”
It was Lorelei’s turn to rub her eyes. “I think I need more wine for this to make any sense at all.”
Vivi patted her sister’s knee. “Look at it from a different perspective. Animosity will add interest to the competition. If Connor and I suddenly bury the hatchet and become best buddies, people will be disappointed. And I’d hate to deny Bon Argent the opportunity to exploit this for a good cause’s gain.”
Lorelei sighed. “I hate it when the words you say sound perfectly reasonable even though it’s actually crazy talk. How do you even manage that?”
“It’s a gift.” Vivi looked down and noticed she was shedding glitter on the sofa cushions. The glitter reminded her of her purpose, and her personal problems with Connor weren’t it. “So you’ve got my back? I need all the help I can get.”
Lorelei nodded. “Blood—however crazy that blood is—is thicker than water, so I’ll be as saintly as possible for the duration of your reign. I await my marching orders.”
“Good.” Vivi grabbed one of the bags and dug inside for a T-shirt. “Welcome to Team Saint.”
Lorelei unfolded the powder-blue shirt and scowled at the angel wings emblazoned across the back. “Do I really have to wear this?”
“Yep. Every minute you can. And your first assignment is Tuesday. We’re going to the lower Ninth Ward for cleanup detail.”
The scowl morphed into horror. “I didn’t realize you meant for me to do manual labor.”
“It’s good for the soul, honey, if bad for your manicure.”
“I think I might have to work on Tuesday,” she grumbled.
“I think it’s safe to assume that Daddy will give you the time off.”
“Fine.” Lorelei looked at the shirt again, distaste written across her face. “This is not in my color palette. What color are the shirts for Connor’s team?”
“Don’t even joke about that. I’m already at a great disadvantage without my sister defecting to the dark side.”
“Okay, here’s the thing, Vivi. It’s ridiculous, but I’ll back off. However, I’m not going to listen to you moan about Connor for the next four weeks. It’ll ruin my whole Mardi Gras.”
Vivi just wished someone had taken that into consideration before they’d stuck her with Connor for the next month. The rest of the city may be planning on laissez le bons temps rouler, but her temps weren’t looking very bon at the moment.
Connor spent most of Sunday morning and part of the afternoon on the phone with his manager and his agent, but the chore didn’t aggravate him as much when he could sit on a balcony overlooking Royal Street with a café au lait and real beignets. The third-floor apartment had been sitting empty while Gabe was in Italy, and Connor appreciated the solitude it offered while still being in the heart of the French Quarter. The street musician below his balcony displayed more enthusiasm than talent, but it was as much a sound of home as the clop-clop and jingle of the mule-drawn carriages and the shouts of the tour guides leading groups down the street.
Sitting here in the winter sunshine, his feet propped up on the wrought-iron rail with nothing to do except let his mind wander…bliss. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how stressed he’d been.
Even the doctor’s orders to rest his hands and wrists seemed less onerous and restrictive today. The piano wasn’t calling him, and the only workout his hands were getting involved lifting his coffee cup to his mouth repeatedly. Even after hours on the phone his head felt clear, and he could feel his muscles relaxing and the pain receding—no pharmaceutical intervention necessary.
Yep, bliss. He might just sit here all day and attempt absolutely nothing more strenuous than a solid nap.
His mother was a bit irritated that he’d chosen to stay in a friend’s apartment instead of his childhood home, but this was a high-profile visit, and he didn’t want photographers or fans staking out his parents’ house and trampling Mom’s flowers. This was just easier.
He wasn’t the only celebrity to call New Orleans home, but coming straight off tour to the Saints and Sinners fundraiser right after Katy Arras and her accusations…It was best to let that all die down some first.
People would be used to having him around again soon enough, and in time, it would no longer be big news.
God, he loved this city.
Which was why he’d jumped at the chance to be this year’s Sinner. Silliness aside, it was an honor, and he felt very much the hometown boy made good. He was glad his fame guaranteed big money this year for the fundraiser, even if it created an “uneven playing field” that steamed Vivi’s oysters.
Speaking of Vivi…
The view from Gabe’s apartment balcony contained a surprise: he had a clear view to the front door to Vivi’s art gallery just a few buildings up Royal. According to Mom, who kept him fully up-to-date on all of the goings-on in New Orleans—especially those of her friends and their children—Vivi’s gallery was doing very well, walking the line between art that was accessible and sellable yet still high-end quality.
Good for Vivi. He’d had no clue that art was Vivi’s passion, but after years of hearing all about her pageant successes—Good Lord, her reign as Miss Louisiana had been one of the longest years of his life—it was good to know that she could do something other than twirl batons and look pretty. She’d always had brains; it was nice to know she’d finally decided to use them for something.
Thanks to Mom, he also knew that Vivi wasn’t a surprise choice for Saint at all. If the city could canonize her they probably would. Vivi was involved in everything; any organization that needed a face or a volunteer had Vivi on speed dial. The only surprise was that they hadn’t made her the Saint long before now. Cynically, he wondered if Max and the board had held off until his schedule had cleared so they could get the maximum impact.
The morning paper had been almost gleeful about the announcement, making sure to illustrate their “antagonistic relationship” with anecdotes that dated all the way back to their seventh-grade performance of Bye Bye Birdie, just in case there were people in town who weren’t aware that the children of two of the city’s oldest and most influential families were at odds like an alternate universe’s Romeo and Juliet.
For years he’d held out hope that everyone would move on, but it just went to show that no matter how big he got, or how many millions of records he sold,
