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  She really, really needed to get out of here. She’d thought—hoped—that after three years, maybe she and Sylvia could find some semblance of peace and civility when it came to their relationship. She should have known that after sixty-eight years, her mother wouldn’t change. Ivana had spent the past two weeks holding her tongue while her mother offered dozens of unsolicited opinions about the state of her middle daughter’s life.

  Thank goodness the renter currently occupying her Granny Elise’s house in Bywater would be moving out next week. Her grandmother had left the house to Sienna, but Ivana knew her sister wouldn’t have a problem with her staying there. Sienna had always felt guilty about inheriting the house while Ivana and their older sister, Tosha, had been left with nothing but a few savings bonds.

  Ivana had promised to stay there only until Sienna found a new tenant. But…maybe not.

  She stifled another sigh.

  The status of her stay in New Orleans was still up in the air. So far, she’d stuck to the narrative she’d devised before leaving Haiti; that she would return to the island nation in another six weeks with the rest of the members of her team. However, during their last conversation before Ivana left the village, her supervisor at Operation: Heal had suggested she take a much longer break, no less than a year. If she chose to come back at all.

  Ivana’s breath hitched even now.

  She knew better than to brush aside the woman’s words. Patience Edwards was both a colleague and a friend, and after working with the organization for more than thirty years, she understood the strain of relief work better than most. It took a toll on one’s body.

  Patience constantly encouraged the relief workers under her tutelage to give themselves wellness breaks, but the thought of taking weeks for herself had seemed selfish to Ivana. The people they were helping didn’t have the luxury of taking a break away from their lives. Why should she?

  She’d learned the answer to that question several months ago, when she awoke in the middle of the night to what she’d thought was a heart attack. It had turned out to be a stress-induced anxiety attack, but it had put the fear of God in her.

  Pushing aside her own stubbornness—something Ivana could admit had not been easy—she’d finally given in to her supervisor’s demands and treated herself to a week on the touristy side of the island, at an all-inclusive resort in the Dominican Republic. It had been glorious, but the guilt over spending those few days in such luxury had eaten Ivana up inside. Only a month later, she found herself suffering yet another panic attack. It was then that she realized she was putting her own health at risk. She’d agreed to join Angus, Bethany and Roger Smith, and the tattooed Englishman they all called Goose, on a two-month wellness break.

  Ivana wasn’t sure the stress of being back home wasn’t as bad as what she’d endured in Haiti. If she didn’t move into Granny Elise’s house soon, she would likely suffer her third panic attack.

  A notification popped up on her phone, reminding her that the winter coat giveaway she’d volunteered to help with at the New Orleans Mission would be starting in another half hour. She stared at the message for several moments before swiping her finger across the screen and deleting it. She set the phone down on Sylvia’s spotless glass coffee table, and refused to allow guilt to overwhelm her yet again. She knew some of the other people volunteering for this afternoon’s giveaway. The event was in capable hands.

  Burnout.

  That’s what she was in the midst of. She’d spent the past fifteen years giving everything she had to others. Right now, she just didn’t have anything left to give.

  This attitude felt so different from her usual mode of operation, but she was different. There was no denying it. She just didn’t have it in her to stand there for hours, handing out overcoats and smiling a smile she didn’t feel. She’d rather put lumps in her mother’s precious throw pillow while she binged-watched the reboot of One Day at a Time on Netflix.

  Of course, if she were out with other people, experiencing their joy at receiving something they desperately needed, she wouldn’t have time to think back on the hour she’d spent in Jonathan’s office yesterday. She wouldn’t have the sultry voice of his lawyer friend resonating in her head. She wouldn’t be lying here constantly imagining just how close the two of them had gotten over the years.

  Had they started out as colleagues, or had they been in a serious relationship from the very beginning? Was it ever really serious, or had it been just a friends with benefits thing? Did he harbor feelings for this woman to this day?

  None of this was her concern, yet thoughts of Jonathan’s relationship with Serena Dayton continued to plague her. Last night, she’d succumbed to the temptation to look her up online. Unsurprisingly, the woman was gorgeous. Drop dead, stunningly gorgeous.

  And, of course, she had more than just looks going for her. Based on the dozens of articles from local news outlets and various legal trade publications, she was also outrageously successful and, if her Twitter feed was anything to go by, a true social justice warrior. Heck, she’d agreed to look into Angus’s situation without a moment’s hesitation. Ivana owed Serena Dayton a debt of gratitude.

  Gratitude was not what she felt toward the attorney at the moment. The same could be said for the woman who had been on Jonathan’s arm at the masquerade ball for the Diane Holmes Foundation a few weeks ago, and the one in that exquisite blue gown who’d accompanied him to whatever function he’d attended the other night. When she thought about any of those women, the only emotion Ivana could summon was jealousy. They, after all, had the one thing she wanted the most.

  He isn’t yours.

  The reminder was the slap in the face she needed. Jonathan Campbell had been hers at one time, but she no longer held claim to him. She could not—would not—hold it against any woman who jumped at the chance she’d so foolishly tossed away.

  The one thing yesterday’s visit to the Law Office of Campbell and Holmes had made abundantly clear was that no matter what she decided to do with her future—whether it was returning to Haiti, or changing her career direction toward something entirely different—it would be too painful to remain in New Orleans. She’d thought she could handle being near Jonathan again, but given the turmoil she’d felt since leaving his office yesterday, it was clear she’d made a faulty calculation.

  That, of course, begged another question. What was she going to do with the rest of her life?

  Goodness, could this situation be anymore pathetic? How could a woman knocking on forty still be asking herself what she wanted to do when she grew up? She had never felt so directionless. Not even a decade ago, when she quit her high-paying corporate job after suffering her very first panic attack.

  Ivana sat up straight.

  Why had it just occurred to her that what she’d experienced in Haiti was practically the same thing that happened to her before leaving her old job? Maybe it wasn’t the relief work that had brought about her near breakdown. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was just her nature to flat out lose her mind when life started to overwhelm her.

  “Great,” she muttered. “Only took you nearly four decades to figure that out.”

  Her phone chimed again, but this time with a text from Sienna.

  Get dressed. We’re going out. Pick you up in an hour.

  Ivana groaned. She’d hoped now that her sister was married with children, she wouldn’t have to worry about Sienna pestering her about her lack of a social life. Another message came through.

  Wear something hot. You’re getting lucky tonight.

  It was followed by three emojis: a dancing lady in a red dress, a glass of wine and an eggplant.

  Ivana rolled her eyes. There would be no eggplant in her immediate future, not unless they were going to an Italian restaurant that served it breaded and covered in red sauce and parmesan cheese.

  She shut off Netflix and went into her room to search through the suitcase she still hadn’t fully unpacked. It was silly not to at least put
her underwear in drawers. But other than a few skirts she’d hung in the closet out of necessity—or rather, her sheer abhorrence of having to use an iron—Ivana refused to put her clothes away. As much as she appreciated being able to stay at her mother’s home, she didn’t want to feel as if she’d moved in. She vowed to be out of here the first chance she got.

  She dropped her hands to her sides and stared up at the ceiling. She’d been having this same conversation with herself since she was fifteen years old. When it came to full-circle moments, this one sucked.

  She returned her attention to the overstuffed suitcase, picking through her clothes to find a suitable outfit for whatever her sister had in mind. She wanted to be dressed by the time she arrived. Anything to avoid a confrontation with Sienna’s pushy behind.

  It was unseasonably warm for this time of year—even for New Orleans—so Ivana opted for a turquoise tank top with beautiful, hand sewn beads along the rim of the collar, overlaid with her gauzy, sheer peach blouse, and a flowing skirt that contained both colors and about a dozen more.

  She added moisturizer to her hair in an attempt to tame it, but the volume wouldn’t decrease, no matter how much lotion she slathered on. She ran to the kitchen and put her head underneath the sink’s high, gooseneck faucet, then saturated her scalp with a variety of products for natural hair. Brushing it into a sleek, wavy ponytail, she captured her hair in a jeweled clip just behind her left ear, letting the ponytail rest on her shoulder.

  After adding just enough makeup to make her not feel like a mummy, Ivana dabbed a hint of ylang ylang behind her ears and at her wrists, then went back to the living room to finish up the episode of One Day at a Time that she had been watching while she waited for Sienna. Just as she sat down, she heard the front door opening.

  “Hey, are you ready?” Sienna called from the front of the house.

  Wait! She had a key? How had she managed that? Sylvia had made it known a long time ago that her house was her house, and once her daughters moved out they were guests. Ivana had been staying here for nearly a week before she was able to pry a key from her mother.

  “Oh, I like that top,” Sienna said as she approached. “Both of them.”

  “Thanks,” Ivana said. She pointed to her sister’s cute black dress that she’d paired with stylish red pumps. “Why are you dressed like you’re hoping to catch a man?”

  “Because my man will be there tonight and I want to look good for him.” She shook her hips. “And make every other man fawn over me, of course.”

  Ivana couldn’t help but laugh. Her baby sister’s confidence had shot into the stratosphere after she’d gotten married, which was a very good thing. She cherished her brother-in-law for a number of reasons, but most of all for making her sister so damn happy.

  Ivana grabbed her purse before following Sienna toward the front door. “So, where are we going?”

  “Out,” her sister replied.

  “I know that.” Ivana locked the door behind them. “Where to?”

  She turned to find Sienna standing at the base of the concrete steps leading up to her mother’s front door, a pensive frown marring her forehead.

  Ivana narrowed her eyes. “Cee Cee, where are you taking me?”

  “The Hard Court,” she finally answered. She put her hands up. “I know it’s probably the last place you want to go, but this is a huge night for Toby. This new Kpop group he discovered on YouTube is debuting there tonight. He needs as much love and support as possible.”

  Ivana had no idea what a Kpop was, but her sister was right about one thing: The Hard Court was the absolute last place she wanted to be right now. Her emotions were still raw following yesterday’s visit to Jonathan’s office. She could use a couple of days before she had to see him again.

  But would a couple of days make much of a difference? She was here for another six weeks at the very least—possibly much, much longer. It was unrealistic to think she could avoid Jonathan.

  That doesn’t mean you have to walk directly into the lion’s den.

  Although, when she thought about it, she realized she had a good chance of avoiding him tonight. Based on what she remembered, he tended to move around the club, going from table to table, checking in on patrons. When he wasn’t on the floor, he spent much of his time in his personal suite upstairs, with its smoke gray windows that allowed him to look out over the entire main floor of the club. If her luck was worth anything at all, that’s where he would be tonight.

  “It’s fine,” Ivana said. “Let’s go.”

  Her sister’s eyes widened into huge brown orbs, which told Ivana that Sienna hadn’t expected her to capitulate so easily. She hoped she didn’t live to regret it.

  She climbed into the massive SUV and tossed a crocheted baby rabbit into one of the three car seats lined up in the middle row. Ivana sat through two solid minutes of a song about a baby shark before reminding her sister that her kids weren’t in the car, so they didn’t have to listen to their music.

  They hopped onto the Pontchartrain Expressway and then exited a few minutes later. As they drove through Treme, toward Jonathan’s club just on the edge of the French Quarter, Ivana could still remember the visceral reaction she’d had after learning a nightclub would be coming to such a historic part of the city. As was the case so many times when it came to Jonathan in those earlier days, she’d prejudged both him and his club. The Hard Court fit right in with the neighborhood. It brought life to the area, along with a significant boost to local businesses.

  Despite the mental pep talk she’d given herself before leaving the house, she became more anxious the closer they inched toward the club. Tonight would be a test of her strength. If she could get through this evening without wanting to lock herself in the ladies room and hurl, maybe she could consider moving back to New Orleans permanently.

  Surviving in this city without Jonathan as her significant other would be hard. Having to see him with other women would be even harder. But if she passed tonight’s test, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  The lies we tell ourselves.

  “This is new,” Ivana said as they turned onto the side street. A two-story parking structure sat directly behind the club. Instead of the typical, drab concrete, the parking garage was made of sleek steel. Thick green foliage cascaded from flower boxes that peppered the facade, transforming the otherwise cold structure into a work of art.

  “Jonathan had it built about a year ago,” Sienna said, pulling into a spot marked Reserved. “Trying to find street parking turned into a nightmare with all the new shops and restaurants that have opened in this area. This has helped to alleviate some of it. The residents here sure are grateful.”

  “I guess he really has made a positive impact on the city,” Ivana murmured.

  She worked hard to manage the regret that tried to suffocate her whenever she thought about what she’d missed out on by leaving three years ago, but losing the opportunity to witness all Jonathan had done for both of his businesses and, in turn, for the city of New Orleans, was a regret she would hold for as long as she walked this earth.

  A covered walkway led from the new parking garage to the front entrance. As she entered through the glass doors, Ivana was pummeled with a tidal wave of nostalgia. Unlike his law office, very little had changed here.

  Of course, it was hard to improve upon perfection. Toby’s cousin, interior designer Indina Holmes, had nailed Jonathan’s vision of an upscale, basketball-themed sports bar. The polished wood of the main dance floor glistened like that of a spanking new basketball court. An array of seating areas occupied the perimeter, with several private booths tucked into cozy alcoves. The second floor housed the bistro, with more tables set around the open balcony that overlooked the first floor.

  Ivana took a moment to collect herself. The energy of the crowd, the thumping music from the deejay, it all brought about a mélange of memories that threatened to overwhelm her. The first time Sienna dragged her to this club, it was to support
one of Toby’s musical acts, just as they were doing tonight. She had a feeling this rush of déjà vu would happen a lot over the course of the evening.

  “They’re probably over there,” Sienna said, pointing toward the right side of the club. The place seemed to be at capacity already, even though it wasn’t yet nine o’clock.

  They moved toward the massive crowd congregating near one of the intimate nooks against the far wall. There were only four such areas in the club, each bracketed by sheer curtains that could be closed for privacy. Following Sienna as she maneuvered her way through the throng, Ivana soon discovered the source of the excitement emanating from the onlookers that had converged on the secluded seating area.

  R&B superstar, Aria Jordan, sat on the edge of the U-shaped couch, posing for a selfie with a group of women wearing tiaras and satin sashes across their chests. Just five years ago, Ivana had been here at The Hard Court when Aria made her debut on a reality TV show; a still wet-behind-the-ears Toby as her manager. A Week in the Life of a Wannabe Star launched both Aria and Toby’s careers. The girl now had several gold records to her name, and would soon headline her own concert tour.

  “Ivana! Wow!” Aria jumped up from her seat. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” She greeted Ivana with a bear hug, which caused a number of the people in the crowd to start taking pictures of Ivana, as if she were a star by osmosis or something. Celebrity was an amazing and extremely weird thing these days.

  “I was hoping we could enjoy the show down here,” Toby said from his place on the opposite side of the plush bench. “But we may have to move upstairs.”

  “I think we’re good,” Aria said. “They’ll turn their attention to the stage once iKonik starts performing.”

  Ivana doubted Aria’s adoring fans would be distracted by some unknown pop band, but what did she know? She’d thought the same years ago when Aria Jordan had been the unknown, and look at her now.