Page 130 of Steal My Heart

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Following closely behind him, I peek over his shoulder to find photographs drying on a line.

“This is my makeshift darkroom. I set it up after a certain nosy woman was prowling in my box of college photographs. It reminded me that I’m a photographer.” He watches me with an amused expression. “Why? What did you think it was?”

“Where your sister hides her victims?” I whisper.

“I could see that,” he says solemnly.

“You’re not helping!” I playfully smack his arm. “Why the red light?”

“To keep the black and white paper from getting exposed to light when I’m creating the print from the film negative. And no, you can’t see my project. Out.”

He ushers me out the door, placing Nola down.

“But—”

He closes the door in both our faces.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Remi

“Wake up,” Angelo says gently, petting my hair, and I open my eyes. The bedroom has been transformed with purple and gold balloons and streamers hanging from the ceiling. “Only fitting the woman with the mostjoie de vivrewas born on Mardi Gras. Happy birthday, Remi.”

Smiling, I give him a quick peck, the taste of his morning espresso still on his lips.

He adjusts my pillow behind me as I sit, bringing the covers around myself. “What do we have here?” I ask, eyeing the domed tray.

Angelo lifts the dome. “King cake.”

I clap my hands with excitement, which causes the covers to fall.

“Flashing already, and I haven’t even thrown beads your way.” Angelo playfully chides.

I stick my tongue out at him.

He chuckles, bestowing a pair of gold beads around my neck, but not before gently tweaking my pebbled nipples.

“Let me eat cake first,” I say, my voice husky.

He tucks a strand of my crazy bed head behind my ear. “Eat cake first, and let me eat your pussy.”

“Filthy,” I tell him, my cheeks flush. Maybe one day I’ll get used to this man’s dirty mouth. Grabbing the knife, I decide on which piece I want, choosing a segment with purple sprinkles. “Let’s see if I got the baby.” I take my fork and poke around my piece, and I squeal again. “I found it!” Cutting it open, I grab the little baby figurine.

“Good luck for you,” Angelo agrees, kissing my forehead.

I take a bite. “Yum. But you have to eat a piece too; it’s a Mardi Gras birthday rule.”

“I’m not familiar with that one,” he muses.

“I just made it up.” Cutting him a piece, I notice it. “That’s weird. Why are there two babies in this cake?”

He doesn’t answer.

Moving the knife and fork around the entire cake, I find a baby in each slice.

“I may have stacked the odds in your favor,” he admits.