“Here you are.” Delfina set the dessert plate in front of me and stepped back, tucking her hands primly behind her. The dessert looked wonderful, fancy shavings and flakes of chocolate dotted around the plate like artwork. Almost too pretty to eat.

One of the waiters arrived, placing a tiny bowl of whipped cream beside my plate.

“Thank you,” I said, breathing in the heavenly smells of cocoa and cream.

“And not just that! You have to try all these, too!” Mara exclaimed. She was scooping dessert for herself onto a clean plate. I spotted ice cream and a bright lemon cake, and a colored ring cake that showed off the traditional colors of New Orleans: purple, green, and gold.

Even Bri and Elizabeth were keen, reaching for their own sweet helpings with spoons.

“Wait a second. That’s not a king cake, is it?” Tinsley gasped, leaning up on her elbows to see the colorful ringed dessert in the middle.

“As a matter of fact, it is!” Mara said, ripping it apart to get a piece. “These are a staple of New Orleans, and if it’s made right, there might even be a little plastic baby inside. Baby Jesus…”

“No, no, no. It’s not baby Jesus. And you’re not supposed to eat king cake after Fat Tuesday!” Tinsley exclaimed.

Her face was so serious, eyes hard and round with fear. I placed a hand over my mouth, suddenly feeling drunk again as I tried to stifle a giggle. All of these little squabbles seemed ridiculous now that I wasn’t sober.

“And why ever not?” Elizabeth said, forkful of colorful cake poised in the air by her perfectly lined lips.

“It’s very bad luck to eat king cake now; it’s only for carnival season. The people in New Orleans are superstitious about this. We can’t eat it,” Tinsley warned.

I stared at her face, trying to determine if she was being serious. She certainly looked serious to me.

Mara snorted with laughter. “I’m guessing you read that in one of your books! This isn’t the 1900s, Tinsley! It’s okay to eat the cake. Go on, everyone. Try it! It wasn’t cheap,” Mara said, filling her mouth and raising her brows in triumph at Tinsley.

“Jesus. Like you would know.” Tinsley dropped her fork, rattling her plate, and pushed back her chair.

Something was going on between her and Mara, something more than a silly cake.

“Well, I for one am not superstitious. I believe in making my own luck,” Bri slurred, reaching for the platter of cake and pulling it toward her.

“Me too,” Georgia said, giving Tinsley an apologetic smile as she stood and made her way to the end of the table to reach the desserts more easily. She began filling her plate with an assortment of desserts.

Delfina was back, carrying a small gold basket in her hands.