“Right this way. Your suite is waiting,” he says, turning around, and I hold out my hand to gesture Vivienne ahead, then put my hand on the small of her back. He takes us into the marble lobby and straight to a private elevator. “This is exclusive for you during your stay.” He turns and puts his key in, and it takes us straight to our floor. We walk out, following him, and he takes us to the end of the hall. “Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton suite,” he says, opening both doors. He gives us tour of the room, and I look over at Vivienne who doesn’t say anything. He leaves us on the outside terrace with a view of New Orleans and the sound of a saxophone off in the distance. I walk to the concrete railing and look down at Bourbon Street, turning to see her sitting on the outside couch.

Her shoes already off, she’s tossed her hat on the table right next to the champagne she’s already drinking. “Santé,” she says, holding her glass up and taking a sip. “We definitely have to have sex out here.”

I laugh and lean back on the railing, crossing my ankles and then my arms over my chest. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” she says, looking at me, and I can’t get over her beauty. It’s always like the first time when she’s around, always making my heart speed up. “Nighttime. Us up here, quiet while the party roars down there.”

“Shall we get out and do some sightseeing?” I ask. “I also want to stop by the shop and see how it’s coming along.”

“All I have to do is get my sneakers, and I’m good to go,” she says. Getting up, she finishes her drink and then comes over to me. “Laissez les bon temps rouler.” She smiles and put her hands around my waist, my arms opening for her. I pull her to me and kiss the top of her head. We stand like this for a couple of minutes, and then she lets me go to grab her shoes and her hat to go inside and open her luggage. “I have to hang up my outfit for tomorrow,” she says, and I nod, watching her take out the pink jacket and skirt and hanging it in the empty closet.

“The butler can do all that. Just get your shoes,” I tell her, and she grabs a pair of white sneakers and puts them on. “How do you make everything you wear sexy?”

She looks at me. “I’m just all that and a piece of cake.” She winks at me. I grab her hand, and she links her fingers with mine. She never does this in New York. I tried once, and she let me go as soon as someone came up to me and asked for a picture.