The Surviving Trace

by Calia Read

  Étienne says nothing. I not-so-gently pinch his side.

  “Yes, yes,” he rushes out. “It’s been… wonderful.”

  A blind cat could see that something isn’t right with Étienne and me. However, Nat doesn’t say a word.

  “I think I’ll leave so the two of you can continue havin’ a wonderful time.”

  Nat walks out of the ballroom and closes the double doors.

  Étienne and I immediately break apart. I drift over to the gramophone and stare at it carefully.

  “What are you doing?”

  I twist around and see Étienne staring at me curiously.

  “Looking at this record player,” I confess.

  Étienne walks up to me. “You have these in your time?”

  “Not anymore. I think I saw this kind of record player in my grandma’s attic.”

  It’s strange to think that my great-great-grandparents are living in this time. Virile and young. So strange. And bizarre.

  “So how do you listen to music?”

  “Either on my phone or laptop. Sometimes on the iPad I was telling you about.” I shrug. “Anywhere, really.”

  Étienne shakes his head in disbelief. “Anywhere…”

  Sometimes I forget we come from different times. The difference is so substantial it’s insane and impossible. But here I am living this impossibility.

  “A lot has changed since your time,” I say.

  “You’ve been here for weeks now. This isn’t my time anymore. It’s yours, too.”

  I nod because, in a way, he’s right. I feel myself slipping into this comfortable role as Étienne’s wife. The clothing, my talks with Étienne and moments with Nat. I’ve scarcely thought about Will, my family, and all that I left behind, and it’s terrifying how I feel hardly any guilt.

  “For now it is,” I reply softly.

  Étienne’s smile dims slightly, and I want to take my words back. I don’t mean them. I don’t.

  Quickly I speak up. “Be honest. How many times have you gone to a party and danced?”

  “A handful.”

  I whistle. “I was expecting you to say never.”

  “Why’s that?”

  I walk around the room, observing everything. Étienne turns in a circle, his eyes never leaving me.

  “You’re uptight.”

  “I am not uptight.”

  “Try saying that without your brows slanting down and I might believe you,” I say with a smile. My smile fades as I think of something. “Did you dance with her on your wedding?”

  “No. I believe I drank that night away.”

  “Sounds depressing.”

  “Not nearly as depressin’ as watching your wife flirt with every male in attendance.”

  “When you dance, what is your dance of choice?”

  I continue to walk around the room, capturing every piece of beauty this spacious room has to offer. In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more breathtaking. The servants keep Belgrave spotless from top to bottom, but with the sunlight pouring in through the windows I can make out the dust motes in the air. They move so delicately, I swear they’re mocking me over my awkward movements and showing me the dance partner I should be. The whole time I peruse the room, I feel Étienne’s eyes on my body.

  Instead of answering, he turns the question around on me. “How do you dance?”

  I turn and face him. His question makes me smile faintly. “A lot different from the Hesitation Waltz you’re trying to teach me, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Really?”

  I nod.

  “How so?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Then show me.”

  I freeze in place. His voice is good-natured. Still, I hesitate. And then his eyes glint with a challenge that makes my body stiffen.

  “No. That’s okay,” I say.

  He slowly approaches. “Why not?”

  “Because,” I reply lamely.

  “Because… you’re embarrassed?”

  I know what Étienne’s doing—he’s trying to get a rise out of me. If I knew what was best, I would back down. Instead, I step closer, arching a single brow. “Why do you care how I dance?”

  His challenging gaze never wavers. “What you don’t understand about my world, I show you. The least you can do is return the favor.”

  “I’m sure there are enough women who have returned the favor to last you a lifetime.”

  He turns and walks across the room. “Oh, of course.”

  I ignore the jealousy that shoots through me and snort. “Thought so.”

  “Are you always this arrogant?” he asks as he grabs one of the armless chairs lined against the wall.

  I don’t answer him and warily watch as he brings the chair over and places it directly in front of me. Right in the middle of the room. The legs land on the floor with a resounding thud. He makes himself comfortable in the chair, his legs crossed at the ankle and hands linked behind his neck. His wicked grin sends off warning bells in my head.

  His lips say one thing, but his eyes say something else entirely.

  You’re too shy. You’ll chicken out, they all but scream.

  He’s counting on me saying no. If he thought I’d agree, he would’ve never issued the challenge. His estimation of me isn’t too far off. My heart’s pounding at the thought of dancing in front of him. For many reasons.

  “You look scared, Serene.”

  “What? No. I think what you’re asking me to do is ridiculous.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve already told you. People in my time dance differently than people in your time. On top of that, our music is… very distinct.”

  “Dance without music,” he suggests.

  “No”

  “Why?” Étienne smirks. “I never thought you would back down from a challenge,” he says, his voice going up an octave.

  “If that’s your best attempt at imitating my voice, you need to practice harder.” I cross my arms and cock my head to the side. “You’re just trying to get back at me for the day at the creek.”

  “That’s childish,” he replies in mock reproach.

  I take a deep breath and count to ten, but that doesn’t work. The truth is, I’ve never been good at backing down. At anything. My pride always has always been bigger than logic. And right now, all I can think about is taking that smug expression off his face. I want to turn Étienne’s controlled world upside down.

  Étienne lifts a single brow in a gesture that says, Well?

  “Okay,” I grit out.

  His eyes widen imperceptibly. The idea that I may have usurped Étienne takes some of the sting out of giving in.

  “Great,” he says, his voice gruff. “Show me how you dance.”

  Seconds tick by and I don’t move a muscle. I feel ridiculous. Who can dance in complete silence while someone watches them? I feel as though Étienne’s going to judge every move I make.

  Why did you agree to this? my mind screams. Tell him you’ve changed your mind and take the loss.

  Étienne smirks, appearing pretty satisfied with himself. He must know that I want nothing more than to bolt out of this room.

  If he was shocked when I agreed to this, what would his reaction be if I go through with it? I want to rise to Étienne’s challenge with one of my own. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. The idea is like dangling forbidden fruit in front of me. Of course I’m going to try to take a bite.

  My hands curl into fists. I take a deep breath and relax my hands to my sides.

  Might as well get this over with.

  Since there’s no music, I lightly hum a song that’s wildly popular in my time. Deliberately, I choose one that’s fun, that makes my heart race in excitement. I hear the rhythm and lyrics in my head and focus on them. I stare at the doors clear across the room, the white walls and the curtains pulled back from the windows. I look at everything but Étienne.

  If I loo
k at him, I’ll lose my courage; I feel silly. However, the longer I hum the tune, the more at ease I become.

  When the song ends and I hum a new one, my eyes meet Étienne’s. At first, he watches me with open curiosity, a small smirk playing on his lips. But when I move my hips, his eyes zoom in on the action and stay put for a few seconds before they lazily drift up my body. My skin tingles.

  And then, somewhere along the way, his smirk fades. And somehow, I’m inching toward him.

  The casual body language he possessed only a minute ago is gone. He’s sitting up straight. His jaw is clenched, and his brows form a tight V.

  I can’t say the same for myself. My body feels pliant as if it’s soaking in all the attention Étienne directs my way. As I move closer, he stretches his long legs.

  “Are you good, Étienne?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? my mind hisses.

  I don’t know, yet I can’t seem to stop myself. Never in my life have I been considered a tease. Not even with Will.

  His name should be a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. But my body keeps moving, and my eyes are fixed on Étienne, watching as his hands flex and curl into fists, as if he’s stopping himself from grabbing me.

  My confidence flourishes. I glide my hands up and down my curves. Étienne’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. It’s only when I’m standing between his legs that I stop dancing.

  Étienne tilts his head back, our eyes never breaking contact. “I like this dance,” he says gruffly.

  “Yeah?” I grip the back of the chair. My legs brush against his thighs. I’m mere inches away from straddling him. It’s then that I realize that somewhere along the way, this became less of a challenge and more of a seduction. Daring. Erotic. This is a glorified lap dance if there ever was one.

  Get up, my mind whispers. Get up right now! You have a fiancé at home!

  I can’t move though. How I feel is confusing, because on paper, Étienne’s mine. On paper, I share his last name. On paper, I’m his wife.

  In my heart, none of that is true.

  “Serene,” Étienne says gruffly, his hands balled up into fists at his sides.

  “Hasn’t a woman ever danced for you?”

  He swallows loudly. “No. Nothing quite like this.” His voice is a deep rasp.

  I draw back an inch and brush a finger down his throat, across his rapid pulse. He sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t pull away. One of us needs to though.

  “You stopped dancing,” he says.

  “The song is over,” I reply quietly.

  “Hum it again.”

  I smile at his eagerness. But that smile quickly fades; the self-possessed man who always seems in control of every aspect of his life is losing his power. His eyes are a bit glazed over. His hands, still curled into fists at his sides, unclench. They lift and are inches away from my waist before he snatches them back.

  Soon I hear only our labored breathing quietly mingling. The dance is over. I’ve won this challenge. But I’ve lost all function in my legs, and instead of trying to gather my strength to move away, I deliberately lower onto his lap.

  He hisses in a sharp breath. Almost reflectively, he grips my hips, holding me immobile. “Don’t move.”

  I’m frozen.

  Can’t breathe.

  Can’t think.

  I can’t feel a single thing except for Étienne. The heat of his body.

  We stare at each other in shock. I make no move to get off Étienne’s lap, and he doesn’t take his hands off of me. With my corset on, his big hands practically encircle my waist.

  “Serene…” He swallows, and I watch in fascination as my hands curl around his shoulders and toward his neck. “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, and it’s the truth. “I don’t know, but I don’t want it to stop.”

  This close to him and my brain is short-circuiting.

  A little taste won’t hurt, right?

  Of course.

  I think Étienne is thinking the same thing because he moves closer until the tip of his nose brushes against mine, and our lips are a hairs-breadth apart. Dancing for him straddled the line between right and wrong. But this? This pushes the line so far away, I’d need a pair of binoculars to see it.

  His fingertips outline my body. Thumbs brush against the sides of my breasts before he curls his hands around the back of my head. “If I wanted, I could make you mine. Here and now.”

  I smile because I know that he’s saying that more for himself than me.

  “No, you couldn’t,” I whisper.

  I’ve never been good at taking demands from people. Some may think that’s my worst quality—the very thing to get me in trouble. But I believe it’s the best part of me.

  In life and love, I want half the control. Half the power. And I’ll fight for it until I have no energy left.

  For Étienne, giving away any power, no matter how small, is damn near impossible.

  I wait. I keep my lips inches away from his. His grip on my head tightens. At the last second, I turn my head. Étienne’s lips graze my jaw.

  “No. Say you want this just as much as me,” I say.

  “Serene. Please,” he growls.

  I give in, lowering my head to kiss him.

  The perfect kiss will be in the eye of the beholder. Everyone will have different preferences: soft and sweet, deep and passionate. The options are endless.

  However, in our case, it’s impossible to tell what our perfect kiss should be because both of us freeze. I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. I want to pull away, but my fingers are gripping the back of Étienne’s neck so tightly, it’d take a few minutes to pry them off one by one.

  Then I tilt my head. I sink deeper into his lap as my legs brush against the sides of his stomach. The movement settles his dick between my legs.

  And just like that, the kiss goes from tentative to scorching hot.

  Étienne breathes deeply through his nose as his tongue slips past my lips and moves against mine. His hands drift down my back, fingers grazing my tailbone. Then, boldly, he cups my ass, holding me in place. I suck in a sharp breath but don’t pull away.

  Time stops altogether. We’re no longer two people from different worlds with so much stacked against us. Everything about this feels right.

  The longer my lips are on his, the more frantic I become.

  My fingers move to his chest, fumbling to open his waistcoat. I try to slow down and gain some control, but this kiss has a power all of its own. I couldn’t slow down even if I wanted to.

  Finally, the last button releases and I start on his shirt. Étienne moans in my mouth. His hands break away from my body only to come back seconds later. This time they’re beneath my dress, against my bare skin, creeping up my outer thighs.

  I break away long enough to glimpse at him. Étienne captures my lips, and my hands greedily touch his bare stomach. Tracing his taut muscles only leaves me unsatisfied. I need more.

  More, more, more.

  I feel like a starving animal who’s come across food for the first time in days. I need to stop and practice self-control, but I don’t know how.

  Étienne presses me closer to him. Enthusiastically, I grind against him. Étienne lets free a primal groan that only makes my heart beat faster.

  Brazenly, my hands move south. I pause only for a second to figure out how much time it’d take to unbutton Étienne’s pants. Way too long. I drag a finger down his dick before I cup him through his pants. Instantly, Étienne’s hand clamps down on mine, stopping me from going any further.

  He stares at me with a glazed-over expression. “Serene, I—”

  I hear laughter coming from the hallway, and my body stiffens at the same time Étienne’s does. Instantly, we break apart, both of us panting. My legs are shaking as I step away from Étienne. He jumps out of the chair as though i
t’s on fire. With his hands on his hips, he takes deep breaths and stares blankly at the wall.

  What just happened? This was far from my first kiss, but judging from how my body is reacting, you’d think it is. Desperation flows through me, and I have to stop myself from rushing back to Étienne.

  “I need to go,” Étienne says abruptly.

  “Go?” I repeat.

  He nods and buttons up his waistcoat. “Yes. We’re finished for today. You did well.”

  “Étienne—”

  “You will do fine tomorrow,” he interrupts with authority. He attempts to take the edge out of the words by smiling, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

  Like a statue, I stand there, watching him with confusion.

  He flings a hand toward the door. “If you want to leave now, you can.”

  Translation: go away.

  He wants me to leave? That’s fine. I won’t beg him to talk about what happened—mainly because I need to think it through myself.

  “Okay,” I say before I turn on my heel and walk away.

  The echo of my footsteps ricochets off the walls.

  Then Étienne says, “Don’t ever dance like that again.”

  I bite my tongue because I want so badly to tell him to shut the hell up and not tell me what to do. But Étienne wants that. He wants a fight; he lost control, and so did I. And the truth is, neither of us would’ve stopped if it weren’t for the servants in the hall.

  I ignore his words and continue toward the doors.

  “Unless it’s with me.”

  I twist around so fast, I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash. Étienne’s standing in front of one of the many windows with his hands tucked in his pockets and his back to me. For a second, I question whether I heard those last four words. But I know I did.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  Étienne glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Nothin.’ I said absolutely nothin’.”

  DINNER ENDED OVER an hour ago.

  Serene sat across from me, which allowed me to watch her without gathering attention. If she was uncomfortable or nervous, she didn’t show it. She had conversations with the guests around her; you’d think she’d been friends with them since childhood.