Page 48 of Devil's Queen
I watch as Mama moves toward her desk, grabbing a bag off the top of it. “Sorry, honey. I forgot the pralines I picked up on my lunch break. We’ll be out of your hair here sooner than a June bug flies. I’m making étouffée for dinner, that okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer back. “Sounds great, Mama.”
“You sound funny.” Mama doesn’t miss a beat.
“I’m fine,” I lie. I’d be fine if Rex weren’t here, breathing down my neck. Far too close for my comfort. “Meeting with a client.”
“A client at this hour?” I hear Mama’s footsteps grow closer to the open door. “You didn’t have a meeting on your calendar tonight.”
“You must not have seen it.” I clear my throat, composing myself.
“Are you going to be working late?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.
“No, Mama.” I shake my head. “I’ll see you for supper.”
“Mimi, you coming? I wanna go see the street performers in the square before we go home.”
The sound of Beaux’s voice stops my heart. My hands press hard against the door as I try to shut it. The last thing I need is for my son to come charging in here. But I don’t close it in time before my worst nightmare happens as Beaux pops his head inside. He spots me immediately.
“Why are you hiding behind the door?”
“No reason.” I shrug, trying to play it off. “I thought you had soccer practice today.”
“Canceled. Coach is sick.” Beaux steps back, looking at Rex who looms behind me. His eyes narrow the longer he stares at him. “Who’s he?”
“Client,” I tell him. “Why don’t you get on back out there with Mimi? I need to finish my meeting.”
“Can you help me with my math again tonight, Mom?”
Rex stiffens next to me the second Beaux calls me mom.
I take a deep breath, trying to hide the panic rising inside me. This is bad. So fucking bad.
“Of course, sweetheart,” I reply, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Now, you go on with Mimi.” The waver in my voice is noticeable not only to me but to Rex.
Beaux’s eyes light up with excitement, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. He glances curiously at Rex but doesn’t say anything.
“Beaux Alexander Laveau. What are you doing in there? You leave your mom alone while she’s working. You know better than that,” Mama chastises him from the outer office.
“Better get going. I’ll see you when I get home.”
Beaux heads off without a second thought. Rex and I are silent until the door downstairs shuts with a heavy, echoing thud.
“You have a son?” he forces out through gritted teeth. “When were you going to tell me?”
“You didn’t need to know.” The acrid taste of the lie recoils in my belly as soon as I say it.
“How old is he?”
“Does it matter?” I answer back.
Rex’s eyebrows furrow into a deep scowl as he presses his body against the door, arms crossed in front of him like a barricade. The anger radiating from him is palpable, searing through every inch of the room.
“Of course, it matters, Rem. That boy looks just like me, with the audacity to bear my name as his middle name. How old is he?” His voice drips with venom and betrayal.
I can feel my anger rising again, but it pales in comparison to the storm brewing inside Rex.
“Seven. Beaux is seven.”