L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

F
or days after the Ball, my mood careened from ecstatic to morose. I’d ash back to
scenes with Pierre in the limousine, and I’d have to squeeze my legs together to
contain my longing. Other times, I’d plummet, because the ip side of a fantasy is that
despite how real it feels, and how fantastically it’s executed, it is not, in fact, real.
Still, it was hard to resist poring over the society pages in the Times-Picayune, one of
those New Orleans mainstays in a city that loved its benets and balls. There I was,
photographed in the background, of course, because Pierre Castille was the focus of the
evening. The caption described me as the “Cinderella Seductress” who “captivated the
Bayou Bachelor.” This provided endless fodder even for Dell, who seemed more
impatient with me than she was with Tracina.
“Hey, Cinderella Seductress,” Dell teased, “any chance you could look after table ten
for me? I got a prince picking me up tonight in a giant pumpkin. Pulling up right here
on Frenchmen Street. Got any shoes I can borrow?”
Tracina, on the other hand, had grown more subdued. She seemed withdrawn, though I
often got the feeling she was coiling up, storing her venom until a future opportunity to
sting me presented itself.
I was admittedly occupied with thoughts of Pierre. When I met Matilda for one of our
post-fantasy talks, I immediately asked about him: would I see him again? Had he asked
about me? But before she opened her mouth, I already knew she’d advise against seeing
him again for fear that I’d reignite something. Because by this time, we were both aware
my body was drawn to men my mind knew were not necessarily right for me.
“It’s not that he’s a bad man, Cassie,” she said. “He’s generous and intelligent. But he
can also be dangerous to any woman who believes him to be capable of more intimacy
than he is.”
“If Pierre’s so dangerous, why did you recruit him?”
“Because he was perfect for that particular fantasy. I was thrilled when he called me
and said yes. We’ve been trying to recruit him for years. And I knew you wouldn’t be
disappointed. Isn’t that the fantasy you wanted to experience?”
“Yes, I did. But—”
“No buts.”
I nodded, on the brink of tears. Oh God, I thought, don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about.
It was just a little fling. Some sex, great sex, but that’s it. Yet the tears flowed.
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of thing,” I said, sniing. I looked around
Tracey’s to see if any of the men, the ones watching the game on TV, the ones eating
their po’ boy sandwiches, had noticed. None had.
“Nonsense,” Matilda said, handing me a tissue. “Have your feelings—they’re normal
ones. Pierre’s a powerful man. Any woman would swoon. To be honest, I was almost
hoping he wouldn’t participate because there was a part of me that knew he’d have
some kind of hold over you. But, Cassie, I can’t stress this enough. This is a fantasy, and