“Mom’s curse.” He pointed to it again, a way of reiterating his point.
Vittorio looked impressed. Frankly, aside from the vampirism, their mother hadn’t been much good at her other supernatural pursuits.
“So what is the curse?”
Ren took another deep breath. “If anyone falls in love with me, they will die.”
Vittorio immediately looked dubious. “Are you sure that’s the curse? That doesn’t sound like a Mom curse.”
Ren nodded. He was sure. Far too sure.
“Remember Nancy? She was in love with me, and she died.”
“She had the pox. Which she had long before she hooked up with you.”
Ren tilted his head, trying to recall. “Did she?”
“Yeah,” Vittorio said, as if Ren was the dumbest person on the face of the earth. Which he’d already decided he was.
“Wow. I didn’t remember that. I guess it was a good thing I was already dead before I started shagging her.”
Vittorio nodded.
“Okay, well maybe my curse didn’t bring on the demise of Nancy. But what about Annalise? She died in that freak fire at the Opera House.”
Vittorio actually seemed to pale at the mention of the long-dead opera singer.
“You didn’t have anything to do with her death.”
“You can’t be sure.” Ren pointed to his eye again. “Huh? Huh?”
Vittorio stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, a dry laugh escaping him. “I really cannot believe that you have believed this for years. Based decisions in your life on this cockamamie idea.”
“It’s true,” Ren stated, reaching for his drink, but Vittorio lifted his arm to block him.
Ren grimaced at the drink—so close, yet so far away.
“Ren, Annalise didn’t love you. She came on to any man who got in a hundred-foot radius of her.”
Ren stopped grimacing at the drink and frowned at his brother instead. “No, she didn’t.”
Vittorio laughed again, another humorous bark. “She did. She hit on me on a regular basis. She hit on dozens of men while you were together. She was just like our mother, for God’s sake.
Greedy, shallow, narcissistic.”
Ren considered that, then shuddered.
“Was I really attracted to someone like our mother?”
Vittorio gave him a remorseful look, then nodded.
Ren made a gagging noise. “Good God.”
“Ren, I really don’t think that is the curse Mother put on you.”
Ren considered that, then actually felt ill. Had he really hurt Maggie that deeply, that intensely, for no good reason? He swiped a trembling hand through his hair.
Vittorio reached out and touched his arm. “Are you okay?”
Ren shook his head. “No. No, not at all.” He tried to calm the swell of pain rising in his chest. “I hurt Maggie. I hurt her very badly.”
“What did you do?”
Ren relayed the whole story to his brother, including the part about how she’d been left at the altar by her fiancé.
“I knew this would be unforgivable to her. It would absolutely kill any love she might feel for me.”
Vittorio looked appalled. “Well, if that had been your curse, that certainly would have done the trick.”
Ren nodded. “She’s gone, Vittorio. I can’t fix that.”
Vittorio was silent for a moment. “You have to try. Drinking sure as hell isn’t doing you any good.”
They sat there silent for a while.
“You know, I think you are cursed, too,” Vittorio finally said. “But I know it isn’t the curse you thought.”
“Oh yeah. What do you think the curse is?”
Vittorio took a drink from Ren’s glass. “I remember Mother, when she was on one of her benders
—something she passed on to you, by the way.”
Ren grimaced.
“She said that you would never be a success. She’d seen to that. What if her curse had something to do with your music?”
Ren considered the idea. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t composed anything new in decades. Was that his curse?
“What if you are cursed to never write your own music again?”
“Cursed to only play other people’s music,” Ren said, mulling over the idea. It made sense.
And in retrospect, seemed far more like something his mother would wish on him, since she’d always envied his talent.
“Brother, you are cursed to play “Jessie’s Girl” for all eternity.”
Ren stared at him, suddenly realizing Vittorio was right. He’d destroyed his only chance at true love for nothing.
M aggie hung up the phone. Just her luck—she hadn’t been able to change her airline ticket for less than $312 dollars. And 57 cents. Which was money she was willing to part with—but not when the first flight she could get on wasn’t until the next morning anyway.
She might as well stay the extra day, save the money, and just avoid Bourbon. It wasn’t as if Ren was going to come looking for her. And she now knew she was utterly safe in the daylight. No chance of meeting him then. So she just had to survive tonight and the next. No big deal.
Except New Orleans had really lost its charm for her.
She lounged on the bed and considered staying in for the next two days. Then her stomach growled—a reminder that she did need to eat, even if she didn’t feel hungry.
She rolled over and grabbed the room-service menu off the nightstand. Absently, she flipped through the meager menu, finding nothing the least bit appealing.
She tossed the menu on the mattress and stared at the ceiling—a portion of the room she’d nearly committed to memory.
Suddenly the walls seemed to be closing in on her. She pulled in a deep breath and looked at the windows. The sun was setting. She should just stay here.
Then she thought of Peter, of how she’d reacted after his announcement to all of their friends and family that he was dumping her for someone else. She’d gone to her apartment and hid, buried herself in her work. She’d cut herself off from the world, from life.
She sat up and flung her legs over the side of her bed. She wasn’t going to do that now. She’d loved New Orleans from the moment she’d stepped into the city. She was going to take her time here and enjoy it. She wasn’t going to hide anymore. Or ever again.
She walked to the bathroom and checked her hair. Sure, she was wearing the same clothes as the day before. Sure, she had on no makeup. But she wouldn’t let that stop her, either. She was tired of feeling bad.
She pulled in another deep breath, gathering her determination. She was heartbroken—far more so from Ren’s betrayal than anything Peter could have done to her. But more than that, she was disappointed in Ren. Because they could have been happy, if he’d allowed it.
She still believed that, and she knew that alone showed how much she’d changed. She wouldn’t take the blame for what Ren had done. He should have trusted her the way she trusted him. He should have seen what they could have had.
Oh, part of her wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. And she knew the ache in her chest wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. How could she feel this much pain after a five-day relationship?
This ache also made her realize that Peter had wounded her ego more than he’d broken her heart. Ren had definitely broken her heart. Shattered it.
But she also learned from the very man who devastated her that she was worthy of true love and loyalty, and nothing less than both.
She used her fingers to brush out the tangles in her wavy hair, then went to grab her purse. She left the hotel, glancing up and down the street, deciding which way she wanted to go. Getting her bearings—which was a little difficult, since she wasn’t quite sure where she was—she decided that Bourbon was probably to her right. She went left.
She wandered down the street, peering into windows, absently admiring artwork, jewelry, and the other wares in the shops. A painting of a view of Bourbon done in broad, thick brushstrokes and vivid colors caught her attention. She stopped and stared at it. Pain welled in her belly, rising up to her chest.
She closed her eyes, breathing in slowly, suppressing the tears that threatened to slip from beneath her closed lids. Shake it off. Be tough.
She opened her eyes and turned to keep walking, not even sure where she was going. She took several steps only to realize she was looking at Ren’s brother.
Vittorio leaned on a signpost at the corner. Maggie stumbled to a stop, staring at him. He nodded, and Maggie still couldn’t react.
He took a step toward her, and somehow his motion seemed to spur her into movement too. She pivoted and headed away from him, walking quickly, trying to decide where to go, wondering why he was there.
Vittorio easily caught up to her, falling into step beside her.
“Maggie—”
“What are you doing here?” They both kept walking, probably looking for all the world like professional speed walkers in the heat of competition.
“Please come with me to see Ren.”
“No.” She wasn’t going to hide, but she was not going to put herself back out there to be hurt again. She was trying to be strong, not masochistic.
“I know what he did.”
Maggie stumbled to a stop, glaring at Vittorio. “Then you know full well why I never want to see him again. Ever.”
“Yes, I do understand that. Completely.”
Maggie’s eyes roamed over Vittorio’s beautiful face. His dark eyes were filled with pain and disgust. Pain for her, disgust for his brother. But mixed with that was love.
And suddenly she was remembering Ren kneeling on that filthy bathroom floor. Again she wasn’t seeing the scene in its entirety, she was seeing Ren’s eyes. He’d had the very same look as he’d watched her.
Her own gaze dropped to the ground. She wanted to see Ren, but she had to admit she was scared. Terrified. Ren had the power to devastate her—even more.
“Maggie,” Vittorio said, “he did what he did for a good reason.”
Maggie’s head snapped up. “There could be no good reason for what I saw.”
Vittorio sighed, then ran a hand through his hair, long and thick and several shades lighter than Ren’s. But the gesture was so reminiscent of Ren that Maggie’s heart seemed to constrict.
“I know it looks that way, but…” Again Vittorio swiped his fingers through his hair, a helpless expression on his face. “Hell, my brother can be a huge idiot, and in this case, he was a colossal idiot, but he really did hurt you to help you.”
She gave him a disbelieving look.
“He did. He’s dying over what he did. He’d dying to see you.”
“He’s already dead,” Maggie said, trying not to be moved by Vittorio’s words.
“No, he isn’t. He just happens to have all of eternity to feel this pain over you. To regret losing you.”
Maggie stared at him, wanting to believe him. Before she even really understood what she was going to do, how she was going to react, she nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay, I will go see him.”
Vittorio, even though he didn’t move, seemed to sag with relief. “Thank you.”
She just hoped she wasn’t setting herself up for more pain. She’d learned she could take a lot, but she knew she couldn’t take much more.
If Drake thought having Maggie in the bar was messing up Ren’s concentration, not having her there tonight was really wreaking havoc on his focus. God, he hoped Vittorio had found her and convinced her to come here tonight. Ren had mangled pretty much every song he sang tonight.
And frankly he didn’t care. All he cared about was Maggie coming back, and somehow making her believe that he loved her. And that he’d never hurt her again.
He’d told his bandmates about what he would be doing if she came in. That was probably the most of himself that he’d ever shared with the guys…that he was going to grovel for the woman he loved.
And honestly, given that they lived a life of meaningless one-night stands and endless partying, they actually seemed hopeful for him. He noted they all seemed to be watching the doors of the bar. And they all were ignoring his horrible performance tonight. Who knew you could totally botch the lyrics of “You Give Love A Bad Name”?
Apparently what he’d done to himself was far worse than his mother’s curse. And he’d verified that Vittorio was probably right. He hadn’t been able to write a thing last night. He’d tried to write a sonata for Maggie, but nothing would come. The notes sounded discordant, unnatural.
He hoped his second choice at an apology would work. If he got the chance.
He turned to talk to Dave, asking him if he’d be willing to step in for the next couple of songs. He really owed the other musician. Dave had been covering for him for half the week.
As they discussed which song to do next, and Dave prepared to take off his guitar to hand it over to Ren, Ren felt a tap on his shoulder. Almost simultaneously, his skin, his whole body, prickled with awareness.
“She’s here,” Wyatt said, his voice low and full of anxiety.
Ren would have smiled if he wasn’t so anxious himself. Who would have guessed Wyatt, the gunfighter, once a wanted man, could be so anxious about repairing a romance.
Ren turned to see Maggie walking toward one of the back tables with Vittorio. She didn’t look at the stage until she was seated, and even through the milling people and the distance, Ren could clearly see the doubt and distrust in her eyes. And the pain.
His chest tightened, because he knew he had put those emotions there. He handed the bass back to Dave and headed up to the front of the stage.
His fingers actually trembled as he curled his hand around the microphone. He’d performed for princes, for dukes, for other esteemed composers. None of them had shaken him. Maggie had him terrified. But then, Maggie held his life, his heart, in her hands. And he’d actually used her past, her biggest heartbreak, against her. Maggie could forgive a lot. Hell, she could forgive his being a two-century-old lampir. But he just didn’t know if she’d ever forgive him for cheating.
“Hi there,” he said, his voice hoarse, catching like a nervous schoolboy’s. He cleared his throat, then took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He had to make this good. He had to make her believe him.
“I’m going to play a song for you tonight that isn’t the usual fare. Please bear with me.” He spoke to the audience, but his eyes never left Maggie. He stared at her a moment longer, taking in her pale skin, the smudges of exhaustion under her eyes.