“I am happy. Do I not look happy? Because I am. I’m finally getting to go to the Masquerade, so I’m actually freaking thrilled.”
“I know, but that’s not what I meant.” She smoothed her thumb over Rosie’s cheek. “I want you to find that happiness you had with Ian.”
Rosie’s breath caught. “Mom. . . .”
“I know, baby. I know it’s been ten years and you’ve moved on. I know this, but I . . . I worry about you. You’re my daughter, and I worry that you’re not going to let yourself find that kind of love again, and really, what is the point of all of this, of life, when you don’t have someone to share it with?”
The back of her throat burned. “I do have people to share it with. You. Dad. Bella. My friends.”
“That’s not the kind of sharing I’m talking about.”
Drawing in a shallow breath, Rosie withdrew from her mother’s grasp and stepped back. “Maybe . . . maybe I’m not going to find that kind of love again,” she said, lifting her gaze to her mother’s. “Maybe he was it for me. Maybe he was the one, and I’m not someone who gets to have multiple ‘the ones.’ And I’m okay with that.”
Her eyes turned sad. “Are you really, Rosie?”
Did it really matter if she was? Because if Ian was the one and only for her, it didn’t matter if she was okay or not with it. Real life wasn’t always full of happily-ever-afters, and a lot of people never got to experience that. Often it was the exact opposite of happily-ever-after.
And maybe that was it for Rosie. Her happily-ever-after wasn’t going to be found in a man or a woman. It was going to have to be found within herself.
She’d thought that was already true for her, but after moments like this, she wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 12
“I have a strange feeling about tonight.”
Clutching the long skirt of her gown so she didn’t face-plant a sidewalk outside the private home on St. Charles, Rosie stopped midstep and turned to look at Sarah. Rosie had just been dropped off and had found Sarah waiting for her near the corner of the street.
Sarah looked amazing in the similar costume. Being that she was a good head taller than Rosie, had the quintessential peaches-and-cream complexion, and had a mass of blond hair piled atop her head in an elegant updo.
She was dressed like Rosie, wearing the red mask with black lacing and the same long, black-and-red gown with the flowing sleeves and a corseted, lacy bodice so extremely low cut there was a chance the world was going to see Sarah’s girls at some point tonight.
Not that Rosie had any room to talk. If she bent over, there was a high probability she would spill out, and maybe even pass out, because the first thing Sarah did when she saw Rosie was to tighten the corset on her in such a manner she was amazed that her ribs hadn’t broken.
But when Sarah said she had a strange feeling, Rosie listened. “Like a bad, ‘let’s go home right now’ strange feeling? Or just a strange feeling in general?”
Ignoring the annoyed looks from others in period costumes having to walk around them, Sarah closed her blue eyes and stepped closer to Rosie. “It’s a fairly strong feeling.”
Rosie waited for more of an explanation, feeling a fine shiver curl around the nape of her neck. The evening air was cool, but she knew it was more than just the temperatures causing her to shiver. “I’m starting to feel like I shouldn’t have accepted your invitation.”
Laughing at that, Sarah tilted her chin to the side, and Rosie was amazed she didn’t topple over with all that hair piled up on the top of her head. “If I told you that you were going to lose a finger tonight, you’d still be here. You’ve wanted to attend the Masquerade for years.”
“True.” A man walking past them dressed like, Rosie assumed, the vampire Lestat momentarily distracted her. It was quite the authentic costume. She refocused on Sarah. “But you have a strange feeling.”
“It’s not a bad feeling. It’s just that I heard this voice.” A streetlamp flickered on, casting a dim yellow glow on the cornstalk fence that lined the front of the mansion. Sarah turned, lifting the two ivory envelopes to fan herself. Of course the Masquerade didn’t do online tickets or invites. They were old-school, paper all the way. “It was more like a whisper.”
“A whisper?” Rosie was used to this when it came to Sarah, the random whispers and feelings. “Do you know what the whisper said?”
Sarah nodded and a strand of hair slipped forward, brushing the mask. “‘If there is no risk, there is no reward.’”
“Really?” Rosie replied dryly. “Did a ghost whisper a motivational speech in your ear?”
“Funny, right?” She lifted a shoulder. “Did you ever tell any of the de Vincents what happened during our reading?”
Rosie was also used to Sarah’s rapid change of subject. “No. I don’t think they’d believe me, and well, they have their hands full with a lot of things,” she explained, thinking of Nikki. “It’s not the easiest thing to bring up in a conversation with a stranger.”
Surprise widened Sarah’s eyes. “I’m sort of shocked that you didn’t immediately find one of them and tell them.”
Rosie pressed her lips together. It was hard to explain why she hadn’t said anything. Granted, most people would understand why, because it sounded legit crazy pants and it did bother Rosie that she hadn’t shared that info, but it would require her talking to a de Vincent and possibly drawing the attention of Devlin.
Which was probably inevitable since she planned on visiting Nikki again soon.
Sarah studied her a moment and then nodded. “We should get going.”
And then with that, Sarah was walking off into the steady throng of people entering the narrow opening in the fence. It was a good thing Rosie liked weird, because damn, Sarah could be really weird sometimes.
Holding on to her dress, she caught up with Sarah and got a look at the stunning Greek Revival mansion that sat near Loyola University. Rosie had seen it a hundred thousand times it seemed, but never like this. Never on the night of the legendary Masquerade, where the most powerful and the wealthiest in New Orleans rubbed elbows and the sweet Lord knew what else. But Rosie really wasn’t interested in any of them.
She dragged her hand across the small beaded clutch, feeling the small, square voice recorder. Rosie grinned. Her one and only goal tonight was to catch the voice of the ghost of the murdered bride.
She most likely wasn’t going to get the chance again, so maybe whatever voice Sarah had heard had imparted a very important message, if not an incredibly cheesy one. There was no reward without risk.
A team of security guards stood at the gate, which was why it was taking so long to enter, but Sarah flashed their invites and they were soon through, their steps slowing as they entered the property. There was white-and-black lace everywhere, a sea of taffeta and feathered masks and elaborate hairpieces. Ladies painted with fake moles, faces powdered white as rice cakes, and necks glistening with what appeared to be real emeralds and sapphires.
The cloying scent of perfume and cologne mixed with how close everyone was left Rosie a little dizzy. Well, the corset probably had something to do with that, but she pushed through it. There was wine inside, hopefully the really expensive kind she’d never buy, because she was parched.
“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Sarah curled her arm around Rosie’s.
It truly was. The mansion sat back from the street, and it seemed like every inside light was turned on. The large front yard was lit with soft white fairy lights and paper lanterns hanging from poles. The wide walkway led up to a set of steps that were as long as the width of the house.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Rosie said, squeezing her arm. “I know I’ve thanked you already, but it bears repeating. This is an amazing experience.”
Sarah leaned into her, lowering her voice as they reached the steps. “An amazing experience to sneak upstairs into that bedroom?”
Sliding her a coy glance, she feigned an affronted gasp. “How dare you suggest such things.”
“Uh-huh.” Sarah laughed as they climbed the steps. “If you get caught, I don’t know you.”