The Surviving Trace (Surviving Time Series Book 1)

by Calia Read

  I strain to get a good look at the five cards placed in the middle of the table, close to the poker chips. I can’t see them all, but I see an ace and a queen in the mix, close to the burn cards.

  Serene’s gaze jumps between Ben and his cards before she flips over her hand.

  Queen and jack.

  Nathalie and Livingston smile at each other.

  The room, however, is tense as everyone waits for Ben to reveal his two cards. When he does, a few men behind him throw up their hands and murmur all at once.

  “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Ben never loses!”

  “You think she cheated?”

  Servants congregate around Ben, and it allows me to see his hand. Two kings. The five cards on the table are the ace of diamonds, queen, ten of spades, an ace of spades, and a king.

  He has a three of a kind, which is good, but not enough to win; Serene has a queen and a jack, giving her a royal flush.

  Serene offers Ben an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Ben. Maybe next time.” She extends her arms over the table and curls them around the poker chips. Stacks fall as she drags them toward her. “Anyone else want to play? I’m on fi-ah!”

  A resounding “no” reverberates throughout the room. A few servants even back up from the table. However, everyone in the room smiles. They’re enjoying themselves so much, no one notices my presence.

  “That was wonderful, Serene,” Nat says.

  Serene looks over her shoulder and smiles at Nat. She glances at Livingston. “You want to play?”

  He holds his hands up in front of him. “No. I prefer to keep my money.”

  She shrugs and organizes chips into color-coded stacks.

  Ben stands from the table. “I’m impressed. That was good.”

  “It was a good game because I was playing with a great poker player.” She holds out a hand. Ben hesitates before he shakes it.

  I choose that moment to enter the room. “What is goin’ on here?”

  Everyone freezes. The room goes quiet. All eyes turn in my direction. Except for Serene’s. She continues organizing the chips.

  “Am I interruptin’ something important?” I ask.

  Feet shuffle as the servants look at me, then at Serene. Back to me and her again. They keep looking to her as though she’s the one in charge.

  “No. You’re not interrupting anything,” Serene replies innocently.

  With my arms crossed, I fix everyone in the room with a glower that has always made everyone run for the hills. It’s a never-failing tactic. Except for now.

  Seconds tick by, and when no one moves, I roar, “Get back to work!”

  Chairs tip over and bodies move past me as everyone suddenly becomes eager to escape the room. As people rush down the hall, I hear a few whispers. “Did you see his face?”

  “Poor Serene!”

  Poor Serene?

  Poor Serene?

  Since when did she become on a first-name basis with the staff? Even though that’s a good thing, I feel oddly betrayed by them warming up to her.

  “Étienne, this is a pleasant surprise.”

  I ignore Livingston’s words. “Did you plan this secret poker game?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Livingston’s gaze flicks to Serene. “Your wife did.”

  I look at her. “Is that true?”

  Her gaze collides with mine. “Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  In the grand scheme of things, there isn’t. I don’t say that though.

  “Of course not,” I snap.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me. The idea of everyone seeing the Serene that only I’ve been able to see, and sharing her with them, makes me possessive and irritable. This is a weird, unexpected emotion. One that I don’t know how to handle. So I do what’s always worked best—yell.

  Livingston rubs the back of his neck and glances at Nat. “I think this is our cue to leave. Wouldn’t you agree, Nat?”

  “I do.” Before my sister leaves the room, she leans down and whispers into Serene’s ear.

  I throw my hands in the air. “This is ridiculous. You’re actin’ as though Serene’s in danger!”

  Nat gives me a dubious look before she hurries out of the room with Livingston. I wait until they’re in the foyer before I face Serene. She’s standing now, taking her time gathering the cards. One by one.

  “Can you enlighten me as to when my sister began to see me as the villain?”

  She gives me a smirk. “She’s protective.”

  “I’m her brother. Besides, she knows I’d never do anything.” I stop right there. What I want to say is that Serene is the one everyone needs to be careful with. Her charm is effortless. No one is immune. Not even myself.

  “Étienne, you act tough, but I know you’re all bark and no bite.”

  Her words bring a series of unbidden images. All of them have her in my bed. Naked. I gently bite her shoulder. The slope of her neck. Her lower lip. Then I—

  “Étienne?”

  The images fade as quickly as they arrived. Serene’s staring at me innocently.

  “I’m sorry. What were you sayin’?”

  “I was saying that you can’t only be upset over what Nat said. There’s something else.” She arches a brow. “Are you mad at the staff?”

  I snort. “Absolutely not.”

  Liar. You’re jealous, you pathetic bastard. Disregarding the truth, I walk over to the table and place the chips in the wooden case. We work in silence, clearing off the table and pushing the table back to its original position.

  Once we’re done, Serene sighs and looks at me. “You’re home in the afternoon. This is new.”

  Home. She says the word as if Belgrave indeed is her home. I don’t comment on it because I like the idea of her settling here and never leaving.

  “I finished work early, and I figured why not leave my office to see what you were doing. Little did I know I would be disturbing your weekly poker tournament,” I say, because it’s far more reasonable than the truth—which is that being near Serene relaxes me. Even when we spar with words, I’m comfortable and… happy.

  “Weekly?” She snorts. “Hardly.”

  I pounce on her words. “This is something you frequently do then?”

  “No. Just while you’re at work.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I grumble.

  She crosses her arms. “If it bothers you, I promise I’ll do a better job of hiding the next game from you,” she teases.

  “No. It doesn’t bother me,” I lie. “The staff seemed to be enjoying themselves. Especially Ben. I had no idea he played poker.”

  “You know that your staff are people outside of their jobs, right?” Serene says with a twinkle in her eye. The corner of her mouth curves up.

  And just like that, the tension that was curling around us dissolves.

  How does she do it? How can she control me with a smile?

  Perhaps my thoughts are written on my face because Serene’s smirk dims. She averts her gaze and snatches the cards and wooden case. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take this stuff back to your office where I found them.” She walks toward the door.

  Abruptly, I face her and say, “Wait.”

  She stops and whirls around, staring at me patiently.

  “There is a reason I came home; we need to talk about something.”

  Serene’s shoulders visibly stiffen. She averts her gaze, and I know she’s thinking about the day at the creek. It was nearly three weeks ago, but the moment is still fresh in my mind. I know she’s engaged to someone else and a part of me should be remorseful for almost kissing her. But I’m not, and I won’t apologize for something I don’t regret.

  “There’s a dinner party on Saturday night. I want you to come with me.”

  “I swear you people celebrate the opening of an envelope,” she mutters.

  “That’s something else we need to address.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

 
; “I’ve noticed that you mutter. Frequently,” I explain. “You can’t do that in front of the other guests.”

  “I know this might come as a shock to you, but I wasn’t raised by wolves. I do have some manners.”

  “Really? I haven’t seen them. You curse, you yell, and you’re far too stubborn for your own damn good.”

  “You’re saying all of this like it’s a bad thing.” She gives me a wicked grin that makes my gut clench. I lose my train of thought as my eyes veer to her perfect smile. “Who’s hosting the party?”

  I hesitate before I reply. “Asa.”

  Serene groans and rolls her eyes.

  “Do not harass him. We are gonna go. We are gonna enjoy ourselves.”

  She stares at me innocently, but I see right through her. “Of course.”

  “I mean it, Serene.”

  “So do I, Étienne.”

  She once told me that it’s impossible to tell what I’m thinking. The same could be said about her. I’m harsh with my words and don’t show my emotions, but Serene hides behind sarcastic quips and dry humor.

  “I have a question for you.”

  “Shoot,” she replies.

  “Do you know the one-step?”

  She frowns. “No.”

  “Then we’re in big trouble.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a popular dance here. I guarantee you, you will be asked to dance more than once. The one-step is all the rage right now.”

  She groans and closes her eyes. “I don’t understand why I have to know it. If anyone asks me to dance, I’ll say no.”

  “You’re all right with forgoing dancing to talk to the rest of the guests all night?”

  Serene hesitates, and I know she’s starting to realize I’m right. Standing on the sidelines and refusing to dance will garner far more attention than her blending in with couples dancing.

  “Fine. I’ll learn the three-step.”

  “One-step,” I correct.

  Serene waves. “Tomayto, tomahto.”

  “Excellent. I’ll meet you in the ballroom tomorrow at noon sharp.”

  “We can’t start now?”

  “No. Rest up; we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  THERE ARE TWO essential rules when playing the part of someone else: do your homework on the person you’re depicting and never drop out of character.

  I’ve broken the second rule frequently, but I’m determined to not have any hiccups at this party. If I’m going to an event at Asa’s home, I want to know the right things to say, when to kick my head back and laugh at an inside joke. Étienne and I have been going over the names of friends and colleagues that I should know. There are dozens of names. I can only name a few off the top of my head.

  According to Étienne, his wife is the life of the party, mingling with everyone. She never sits or lingers near the wall to watch the couples dance. Old Serene is the person everyone views with a bit of envy and fascination.

  Considering the brunch at Old Serene’s parents’ house was a complete flop, neither one of us is hopeful. Especially Étienne.

  “No, no, no! You’re doing it wrong!” he shouts as he paces in front of me. “Do you have two left feet?”

  I breathe deeply through my nose and try to keep calm. “No.”

  “Then why do you still not have these steps down pat?”

  “Maybe it’s because my teacher isn’t good at the moves himself!” I snap. So much for remaining calm.

  Étienne drags his hands through his hair and shakes his head. “I’m all you have. Now let’s go back to the Hesitation Waltz.”

  I can’t stop the groan that slips from my mouth. If there were a chaise lounge right behind me, I would fall onto it dramatically. “I can’t do that dance again. I’m terrible at it.”

  Yesterday, Étienne mentioned the one-step, but he decided to switch to the Hesitation Waltz because he thought it would be easier. Oh, how wrong he was. I’ve always thought that I’m a relatively good dancer, and whenever I watched movies that showed any waltz, I found it so beautiful. The couples looked as if they were practically gliding across the floor. But to attempt the dance? It’s awful.

  There are all these counts, and on each one, I’m supposed to do something different: slide, leap, and step. It has to be executed at the precise moment. Otherwise, you stumble and so do your partner’s. I don’t glide beautifully across the room. More like stumble. I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad if I at least knew how to waltz, considering it’s a variation of that, but I don’t.

  What keeps confusing me is that instead of moving around the floor to the music, you pause at specific beats. Right when I think I have all the counts down, I get too confident and Étienne pauses, making me fumble.

  I step forward even though my feet are begging me not to. They’ve been stepped on so many times, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re black and blue. But what other choice do I have? Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Ready?” Étienne says. He’s no more pleased by being here than I am.

  Somberly, we face each other. A few seconds pass as we stare at one another with grave expressions. I try to fight the grin tugging at the corners of my lips.

  Étienne frowns. “What’s so funny?”

  “The two of us, staring at each other like we’re going off to war.”

  The corners of Étienne’s mouth twitch too, but he doesn’t smile. “Yes, well, I have never danced so much in my life.”

  “I can say the same.”

  “And I now realize why I loathe dancin’ so much. I’m terrible at it.”

  “Likewise.”

  We share a smile of understanding. It’s a small, sincere moment, so rare and unheard of that if it were possible to bottle a moment up, I’d try to capture this one.

  Étienne glances out the windows to his left. I know he’s yearning to be anywhere but here. I can’t say I blame him. After our little moment of swimming, things have been off between us. I’ve been going out of my way to pretend it never happened. That we didn’t almost kiss.

  I’ve told myself over and over that it was a mistake.

  The moment got to me.

  I miss physical affection.

  I’ve been away from Will for too long.

  And when I repeat those phrases in my head, soon enough they take shape and substance until I almost believe it’s the truth. Deep down though, it doesn’t matter how many excuses I make. All that matters is that when my lips were inches from Étienne’s, I wanted nothing more in the world than to kiss him. And my fiancé? I forgot about him.

  That realization is terrifying.

  He clears his throat. “It is imperative that you learn this. The Serene in this time would never not dance.”

  Étienne’s honesty is written across his face. I know he’s not against me, but for me. But I don’t want to be his Serene. I’ve been impersonating her for over a month now, and she’s not a person I’d ever want to be. That should be rule number three when playing the part of someone else—you must connect with the individual on a singular level.

  “What are you two doing?”

  I freeze and stare at Étienne. He arches a single brow at me, silently warning me to stay in character. I turn around and see Nat. She steps into the room, looking at Étienne and me with a baffled smile.

  “I was walking to my room when I heard Étienne playing his music.”

  Nat tilts her head. “His music?” She looks at her brother. “What is your music?”

  “Uhh…” Étienne and I say in unison.

  I look at him in a panic.

  He confidently squares his shoulders and faces his sister. “Billy Murray.”

  “Billy Murray,” Nat repeats.

  We nod.

  Nat’s eyes veer to me. “You’re the one who adores Billy Murray.”

  That must’ve been the man singing the song. I may have a passion for antiques and history, but that passion doesn’t extend to music.

  Étienne g
ently nudges me in the ribs, so I play along. “Right. That’s right. I do.”

  “What was Étienne doing with your records?”

  Dear God. I feel as if I’m on the witness stand. I’m a horrible liar and have many tells, like sweating profusely and my face turning red. It isn’t a pretty sight. I turn to Étienne because he seems to be a better fabricator than me. “Étienne, you wanna to take this one?”

  He gives me a murderous look before he smiles at his sister. “I took her records because I wanted to lure… my wife here so we could share a dance together.”

  “Awww!” I coo as I snuggle up to Étienne. I stare up at him adoringly. He does not do the same. I glance at Nat. “Is your brother not the sweetest?”

  Once again, she looks at us. This time with her eyes narrowed. Seconds tick by before she smiles. “He certainly is.”

  I’m smiling so broadly my cheeks ache. An awkward tension descends over the ballroom as Étienne and I wait for Nat to leave, but she’s oblivious and walks over to the gramophone.

  I wait until her back’s facing us before I step back from Étienne. I stare at the record player and not at Étienne, even though I can feel the weight of his stare. My body tingles in every spot that was pressed against him.

  Ignore it, my mind whispers. Focus on anything else but him.

  When Étienne and I stepped into the room, my eyes immediately veered to the gramophone. The wooden box is in pristine condition. The lid is open, revealing how deep the inside is. It’s crafted that way to amplify the music. In the middle is where you place the record. The record turns so slowly, that when you glance at it, it barely appears to move.

  Before we started this little dance practice, he played the album, but the gramophone only has a playing time of up to four minutes, and it would obviously take me longer to learn this dance. After the twentieth time of going back to the record, we gave up and danced to nothing. To use the machine, you didn’t just place the needle onto the record. No, there was a hand crank on the right side that you had to wind up close to thirty times. In a way, it reminded me of a jack-in-the-box. Without the toy jumping out in the end, of course.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting the two of you,” Nat says, pulling me back to the present. She stares at Étienne and me.