by Calia Read
It was nice to have but also bittersweet. It would make leaving again that more painful. That is if I leave. The smallest amount of doubt always lingers in my mind that I won’t make it back. At least Étienne is with me right now.
“So I spoke to Mom,” Ian says, interrupting my thoughts.
“I’m sure you did,” I murmur.
Ian quirks a brow. “Engaged to a guy we’ve never met?”
“Yep.” I let the p in yep pop before I take a sip of my coffee. Ian watches me from across the kitchen island. “Just curious, but how long were you going to wait to tell everyone?”
“Until Étienne arrived,” I reply calmly, using the lie I gave my parents the night before. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
“Where is this guy?”
“Sleeping. In my room.”
Ian snorts. “He doesn’t have a home?”
Placing my coffee mug on the counter, I remind myself that my brother’s merely being protective, but I better get used to this line of questioning. I know my dad is going to have a private conversation with me and ask me what the hell is going on.
“Yes, he does. In Charleston, South Carolina,” I reply.
Ian nods and looks down at the counter. “How long is he staying here?”
At that, I hesitate. “I’m not certain. Until we decide where we want to plant our roots?”
The minute the words leave my mouth, my brother lifts his head and stares at me. “You’re thinking of moving there?”
“I know this is all a big shock to the family. You didn’t even realize I was seeing someone, and I get it, but typically, when someone marries, they move in with that person.”
“Yeah, but most don’t move across the country,” he points out.
“But some do,” I counter.
Ian dips his head and remains silent.
Guilt consumes me, causing my heart to race. I stare into the murky depths of my coffee before I look at Ian. “I’m genuinely sorry I didn’t tell you. You have no idea how badly I wanted to open up and let you know about Étienne.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because … I didn’t know where it was going with Étienne,” I lie. I wait for Ian to meet my gaze. “You know how relationships can be. I love Étienne so much, and before I introduced him to my family, I wanted to make sure it was real.”
My explanation is different from the one Étienne gave my Mom, but I know my audience. Ian wouldn’t believe the whole “our feelings were just so strong” spiel. The taking things slow route is more believable for him.
Ian nods, and my shoulders sag with relief. “Understandable. But this dude isn’t completely off the hook. I wanna meet him.”
“Of course, you do. And you’re going to. I promise. But not right now; he’s dead tired from traveling.”
“So now that you’re engaged and shit, are you going to move out?”
I look away. “I’d love to, but it’s difficult because I don’t want to get settled somewhere only to pick up and move, you know?”
It’s easy to say this tiny white lie because there’s a sliver of truth to it. I almost feel housebound to Hambleton House. I have no idea when or where time will take me. I just have to be ready.
Once again, Ian nods as though he understands my situation. “My neighbor, Joel, is subletting his apartment. Going somewhere in Europe for his job.”
Within seconds, I perk up. “For how long?”
Ian pauses. “Six months I think?”
“Holy shit. That’d be amazing! When is he leaving?”
“Pretty soon. You want me to tell him you’re interested?”
“Hell, yeah. Thank you! Thank you so much!” Slinging the duffle bag over my shoulder, I grab my coffee and the one I poured for Étienne. I walk around the kitchen island and kiss Ian’s cheek. “I know you have to head to work, so I’ll let you go. Thanks again for the clothes and the help with my living situation. I appreciate it!”
“Yeah, yeah. I know you’re trying to avoid the subject about this guy, so I’ll let it go,” he calls out.
“Bye, Ian,” I holler as I carefully walk up the stairs, making sure I don’t spill coffee from either cup.
Upon walking into the room, I immediately look at the bed, but all I see are wrinkled sheets and a comforter bunched at the foot of the bed. Scanning the room, I find Étienne standing in front of the window. The corner of my mouth tilts upward because he’s a sight to behold. Étienne Lacroix doesn’t feed greedy eyes. You have to do double takes to discover his allure. A fantastic smile. A dimple on his left cheek. Toned body dressed in only his pants. I take a moment to admire his body. His broad shoulders allow him to wear clothes that allude to his well-honed body. A thrill shoots through me because I know what’s beneath. I know the contour of his deltoids, the well-defined lats drifting toward a narrow waist. His smooth skin has borne scratches from my nails more than once as he smoothly thrust into me. Just thinking about it causes my pulse to quicken.
I try my best to close the door as quietly as possible, but Étienne whips his body around. At first, his features are harsh. Eyes hard, brows furrowed, lips drawn in a thin line, and tense body. Once he sees it’s me, his shoulders relax, and his eyes soften.
I smile at him as I place my coffee mug on the nightstand. “Good morning.”
“People here are loud at all hours.”
“They are,” I confirm.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I know. You kept tossing and turning. That’s why I let you sleep in a bit.”
Étienne shoots the window a disgruntled look. “Sleepin’ isn’t possible right now.”
Walking up to him, I hold one of the coffee mugs between us. “Here. I figured this might help.”
“Coffee?”
“No. It’s bourbon. It’s how I start each day,” I say without missing a beat. My fingers curl around his arm as I raise myself on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. I pull back and smile. “Yes, it’s coffee.”
Étienne takes the coffee cup and eyes the contents before he sniffs it. I roll my eyes. “It’s not poison. Coffee is coffee. No matter the era.”
Reluctantly, he takes a sip. The lines between his brows diminish as he swallows. He won’t admit it, but it’s good.
Stepping back, I place Ian’s duffel bag onto the bed. “My brother stopped by. I might have mentioned you didn’t have clothes, so he dropped some off.”
Étienne gives the bag a wary look as he takes another sip of coffee. “What kind of clothes?”
“Casual clothes. They might feel foreign to you, but”—I hook two fingers around the waistband of his pants and draw him closer—“you can’t wear these forever.”
Étienne slings an arm around me and kisses the crown of my head. His eyes continue to furtively dart around the room. “I know,” he replies gruffly. “Tell your brother thanks.” He steps back, his solemn expression never wavering. He places his coffee cup down and begins to pace the room. Sitting down on the side of the bed, I watch him. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”
Abruptly, he turns and faces me. “What do I do here?”
Étienne has a restless energy trapped inside him that I’ve never seen before. Before I can say a word, he speaks once again, his bleak eyes locking with mine. “What’s happened to my company? What about my family’s shipping company?”
“I’m sure Livingston has put his womanizing ways on pause to help with everything,” I tease.
Étienne grunts and drags a hand through his hair. He swallows audibly as he stares up at the ceiling. After a few seconds, his head drops. It’s killing Étienne not to be in control of the situation. This man has his life planned down to the minute, so to realize everything is now in the hands of time is jarring.
“Look, I bet there’s nothing to worry about. Whenever I was … gone, hardly any time passed.”
Like a vulture, Étienne pounces on my words. “Really?”
“Yeah. I know w
e’ve talked about this before. The first time I time traveled, it was midnight on December twentieth. When I came back, it was the same day and time. The time was a bit different because I repeated the day I left.” I watch Étienne process my words. When you group them together, it’s a lot to comprehend.
“Then time should be standin’ still in my era,” he states.
“It’s a definite possibility,” I say hesitantly. Étienne arches a brow. “I’ve had my own experiences with time, but I’m not going to guarantee something’s going to happen only for the exact opposite to occur.”
“Fair enough.”
“What I will guarantee you is I’m going to be here. We will face whatever happens together.”
My hands encircle his biceps while my thumbs make soothing circles on his soft skin. Even though my touch is meant to soothe and comfort, Étienne is so wound up that nothing I say or do will help. He needs to see something with his own eyes before he’s placated.
“Why don’t you clean up, and then we’ll start researching online?” I suggest.
Étienne stands a bit straighter. His head tilts to the side. “Online?”
“Remember all the long talks we used to have about the technological advances made in my time?”
Étienne nods.
“I told you about the laptop. I have one, and it’s going to be our saving grace. But first, shower.”
Patting him on the back, I guide him to the bathroom and turn on the shower.
As the water warms, fog grows on the mirror. Étienne tilts his head to the left and right as he peers at the showerhead with fascination. He holds his hand directly below the stream of water and then rips his hand away. His hazel eyes are wide.
“You guys have running water in your time,” I point out.
“Hot water did not come this fast, and the pressure wasn’t quite this strong.”
I shrug. “Fair enough.” I’m showing him how to properly use the levers when he points at the loofah hanging from the shower caddy.
“You use that to scrub your body.”
Étienne’s lip curls up. “I shall not.”
“Fine. Then you can use a washcloth.” I grab a towel and washcloth for him, and when I turn back to Étienne, I find him in front of the sink, continuously pressing the lever of the soap. A mound of white foam collects around the soap canister.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Étienne points at the now half-empty soap bottle with his free hand. “This is incredibly innovative!”
“It’s soap.”
“Soap released from this dispenser.”
I don’t mind Étienne’s fascination with every little thing from this time. I find it endearing to watch. But at the rate we’re going, it will be midnight before we reach the laptop and begin our research.
I pick up the soap and place it out of reach from Étienne. “We need to stay focused. You can look at the soap all you want later. First things first: shower. Then we need to look up Old Serene and see if we can find any hits.”
Étienne nods.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I say and close the door behind me.
In my bedroom, I head to the computer desk and sit down. I take a deep breath while I turn on my laptop. I wish I still had Emmeline and Asa’s letters or the photo of the four men standing in front of Belgrave. Hell, I wish I had the packet of pictures Allie gave me during lunch, but after Étienne changed time and Uriah died, there was no trace of them. I believe they are somewhere out there, begging to be found, and that’s the maddening part. So many loose strings dangle in front of us, and I don’t know which is the right one to grab. Étienne and I need to research so much, and on top of that, we still need to have so many conversations. The same overwhelming feeling I had when I time traveled before threatens to overcome me, but I try to fight it off because this time around, it’s different. Étienne is the one to time travel, not me, so he’ll be the one with the biggest adjustment. I need to focus on making sure our actions don’t jeopardize the safety of our baby.
Feeling curious, I walk over to the full-length mirror, lift my shirt, and stand to the side. I’m still slim. I don’t know how far along I am, but I’m certain I’m in my first trimester. Slouching, I let my belly go just to see what it’ll look like to have a stomach. I feel ridiculous, but it’s better than putting a pillow underneath my shirt. What will it be like to experience the first kick or childbirth? My stomach twists at the thought.
I’m getting my wish to have a family with Étienne, but I realize I don’t know anything about babies.
The shower turns off, and I abruptly drop my shirt and run back to my computer desk. Afraid to be caught in the middle of my childish antics.
To keep busy, I log onto my Ancestry account to prepare to look for Old Serene. It’s also a given we’re probably going to look up Étienne and see if there’s any trace of him. The temptation to research Livingston and Nat is always there, but I know the minute I do, whatever I discover will be ingrained in my mind.
“Is that the infamous laptop?”
Twisting around, I see Étienne standing in the doorway with a bath towel wrapped around his hips. My eyes transfix on his body, following a rivulet of water as it trails down his stomach and disappears beneath the white fabric of the towel. I swear my ovaries just exploded. If I wasn’t pregnant, I would be now.
Étienne cocks his head to the side. “Are you all right?”
I give him a faint smile. “Never better.”
Nothing’s sexier than a man oblivious to his own appeal. He walks over to the duffel bag Ian brought over and pulls out a pair of boxers. Frowning, he lifts them up in the air.
“Those are your underwear. Now you know how I felt.”
“Yes, but you look lovely in your undergarments.”
“So do you.”
“Please don’t call these undergarments,” Étienne mutters.
I fight my grin as Étienne grabs the athletic pants. He still appears baffled by the feel and design of the pants, but he puts them on. They settle low on his hips, offering me a perfect view of his sculpted abdominal V or, as every woman with a pulse calls it, his sex lines.
Last night, after an uncomfortable dinner with my parents that consisted of the sound of silverware grating against the surface of plates, Étienne and I immediately escaped to the privacy of my room. I fell asleep with Étienne beside me. There was no sex, but now I’m starting to wish there had been. The research can wait. The hot, buff guy cannot.
Étienne is unaware of my blatant staring and me moving closer because he’s too busy giving the T-shirt a thorough inspection. Before he puts the shirt on, covering his strong chest and six-pack, I wrap my hands around the sides of his smooth and warm stomach. Étienne jumps at the touch of my cool palms but immediately drops the shirt. The worry lines between his brows disappear as his hands settle on my lower back, and he draws me near. I stand on my tiptoes, and my lips meet his. At once, Étienne’s mouth opens for me. I slip my tongue into his mouth as my hands trace the indents of his abs. When my nail scrapes against the flat disk of his nipple, he growls into my mouth, and the kiss goes from thrilling to scorching in seconds flat. Étienne pounces on me, and my back hits the soft surface of the mattress.
While my lungs greedily suck in all the air I can, Étienne moves down my body. Yanking up my shirt, he exposes my breasts and palms them. He eyes them hungrily, then bends down and draws a nipple into his mouth. I moan as quietly as possible. As he increases the pressure and includes his tongue, I dig my heels into the mattress. Étienne moves to the other breast, and—
The sound of my mom’s voice in the hallway rips the two of us apart faster than I can blink and before I have the chance to tell him there’s nothing to worry about. Mom is the last person he needs to worry about, and Dad is at work. No, Étienne is too busy shoving his arms through the shirt sleeves.
Just like that, the chance of having my hands on Étienne for more than ten seconds has vanis
hed. But it will happen again. Of that, I’m sure. It’ll take an act of God to keep me away from this man. Sighing, I sit up and walk back to the computer desk.
At least the transformation from the 20th century to modern man is complete to the outside eye. Though once Étienne speaks, people will be able to spot that something is not altogether right. The same way people from his time thought I was peculiar.
“So how do you feel?” I ask, exhaling a shaky breath.
“Unsure. The material of the shirt is thin. The pants are surprisingly comfortable, and the underwear is … loose.”
“I don’t wear boxers on a daily basis, so I can’t feel your pain, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” I gesture to him. “Come here. I want to show you something.” Spinning in the chair, I point at the screen. “This site is called Ancestry.com. It’s the holy grail to all things genealogic.”
Étienne continues to hover behind me as I explain how everything works. If he doesn’t discover what happened to his family, then he’s bound and determined to conquer this laptop and all things electronics.
“What is this thing called Safari?”
“It’s the browser on my MacBook that allows me to get online, but that’s a story for another time. Now, look.” I tap the screen with my fingernail. “When I click on this link, it takes me to my family tree.”
“Do you have a family tree for me?”
“I don’t. But it’s easy to look someone up, and then to click on the family tree option. More than likely, someone has a family tree with your name.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. A distant relative perhaps?”
Étienne leans closer until his cheek brushes against my own. The page downloads, and his name appears. I snap my fingers and grin. “Bingo.”
“Étienne Alexandre Lacroix.” Twisting around, I look up at him. “What are you thinking?”