by Calia Read
Beneath me, Serene shifts restlessly. “All I heard was oui.”
I lower myself to rest my weight on my elbows. My hands settle near her stomach, and I slowly draw up her shirt. “If Livingston and Nathalie were here, there would be no reason for me to go back,” I confess.
Serene’s eyes widen as she props herself up on her elbows. “Truly?”
I nod. “Truly. There’s nothin’ tyin’ me to Charleston.” I gather more material into my hands until her sleep shirt has exposed her stomach. Her brows lift. “We’ve been given a chance to live a somewhat normal life.” I look her in the eye. “Do you feel the same?”
She hesitates before she answers. “I’m happy you’re embracing this time, but your era … Belgrave …” Serene looks away and bites down on her lower lip. “It’s where we met, and it’s begun to feel like home.”
“Never have we had moments together when it felt that time wasn’t runnin’ after us. Serene, do you feel time is after us?”
“No,” she admits.
“I do,” I confess, allowing the alcohol coursing through my veins to admit my true feelings. “And I’m exhausted. I want a moment of peace. Just for a second. Just with you.”
“I want that too,” she confesses. “But you just said if Nat and Livingston were here, there would be no reason to go back, so that means you know we have to. We can’t ignore what’s in front of us,” she points out.
“Yes, but it doesn’t make what I desire any less relevant.”
Serene opens her mouth, no doubt to bring up the topic of time, but I quickly cut in. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
Serene veers back and arches a brow. “All right,” she says slowly.
Talking simply causes all the issues against us to take precedence. I’ve always appreciated challenges and a good risk, but we need more information to fight against time. I don’t want to lose Serene and the family we’re creating.
Dipping my head, I kiss the woman I love. Serene meets me halfway. Groaning deep, I glide my tongue across the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. I’m obsessed with how she tastes like honey and how soft her lips are. It’s a sharp contrast to her strong personality.
I draw her shirt farther up her body until I’ve exposed her breasts. Immediately, I feel the weight of them in my hands. Serene sucks in a sharp breath and arches her back as I tug on her nipples. I slowly smile, listening as the sound of her breathing becomes erratic.
I bend down, drawing a nipple into my mouth. I intend to go slow. I always start with the intent to go slow, but with Serene, I lose my wits. My tongue circles around the tip before I pull the nipple and let go. I repeat the process on the opposite breast. The entire time, Serene writhes beneath me. Her moans grow louder as she attempts to capture the back of my head between her hands and hold me to her chest. I always elude her grasps.
This woman is the queen of seducing, so it’s only fair I return the favor.
When her breaths turn into pants, I stop, my lips drifting down her stomach. I’m close to the apex of her thighs when Serene hooks her thumbs into the waistband of my pants near my lower back. Her tugs are impatient, showing I won’t get a thorough taste of her even if I tried.
This is more than okay, too. I love when Serene touches me as though she can’t get enough and stares at me with awe.
My arms shake from the effort to hold still as she pulls my pants down. Cool air touches my hard cock but only for a second because Serene wraps a hand around me and spreads her legs unabashedly, allowing me to see how wet she already is.
“Fuck me,” Serene pants.
“I love when you speak that way,” I say before I nip her ear and position myself between her legs. “Dis le encore.”
Serene laughs, but I hear the way her breath becomes stuck in her throat. “Speaking French again.”
“I can’t help it. All because of you,” I say as I slide into her.
My forehead touches the mattress as I fully embed myself in Serene. She’s wrapped around me so damn tight it feels as though I’m losing the oxygen to my brain.
My dick twitches impatiently the longer I stay still. With one arm curled around her waist and the other propped up on the mattress, I gradually begin to slide in and out of her. The feeling of white-hot heat rushes through me, and my eyes nearly roll to the back of my head. I increase my speed to chase after the feeling.
Just when I think it can’t feel any better, Serene wraps her legs tightly around me. I sink into her until I’m positive there’s no possible way I can go any farther, and then all my restraint snaps. I suck air into my lungs as my hips repeatedly drive into her.
Slow down, slow down, I think to myself.
There might’ve been a slim chance of me stopping if I didn’t look down to see Serene with her cheeks flushed, mouth opened, and breasts shaking to every thrust.
Now all I can think about is not stopping until I come inside Serene. Her nails dig into my shoulders as she moans for me to go faster. Once I do, all she can do is repeat the word yes.
As I swivel my hips, Serene thrusts her hips up. From the way she contracts around me, I know she’s about to let go.
“Serene,” I growl.
I don’t stop moving until our skin slaps together, and Serene calls my name in return. Moments later, she does. I grow harder as her body convulses. My release causes my eyes to shake, and my arms to quiver. My body pushes as deep into Serene as I can, and I stay in place for a second. It feels so good it almost hurts.
I sigh with satisfaction as Serene kneads the muscles in my back. My legs shake as the last of the pleasure wears off. I roll onto my back so I don’t crush Serene beneath my weight. Taking a deep breath, Serene rolls onto her side and places her head on my chest.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” I say, my eyes repeatedly opening and closing.
A short burst of laughter comes from Serene. “Um. We’ve done this before. That’s kinda how this child found its way inside me.”
I gently pinch the side of her hip. “I’m aware of that. Believe me. I’m speakin’ of this.” I bring her closer to my body. “Bein’ with you.”
Serene becomes quiet. Her fingers trail down my left arm. Her touch never fails to cause my heart rate to quicken. When she links her fingers with mine, I squeeze gently, loving the way her small fingers feel clasped between mine.
“You never have to dream again because we’ll never be apart again.”
It’s amazing what one will claim or say simply because they want it to be true in their heart.
I’m so comfortable and relaxed, I don’t think about the next words to come out of my mouth. “Je t’aime tellement que je passerais l’éternité à essayer de te trouver, juste pour passer un moment avec toi.”
She lifts her head and looks at me. “What was that?”
My legs and arms felt weighted down, and I was finding it impossibly hard to keep my eyes open. I kiss Serene’s head. “Nothin’,” I reply drowsily. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Étienne.”
After sex, Étienne went to the bathroom, put a pair of boxers on, and fell face down on the bed with one foot hanging off and an arm slung across the mattress. I took my time in the bathroom, and by the time I finish, Étienne’s on his side with the sheets pushed down to the edge of the bed. I lie down next to him. He may be hot right now, but I’m not. I draw the sheets around myself and press myself close to him, my forehead resting against the smooth surface of his back. All the while Étienne loudly snores.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drunk nor did I expect him to take my suggestion to heart and shut his brain off and relax. Well, relax he did. When I got shitfaced at Nat’s wedding rehearsal, I made the biggest fool of myself. Just thinking about it causes me to cringe. But to see Étienne so uninhibited with his thoughts is fascinating, though it was no surprise. A drunk mind speaks with a sober tongue. But to see that happen again would be as frequent as an eclipse. Now it’s just a matter of time before h
e’s puking his guts out.
After a few minutes, I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow, we’ll start over and continue to research. It won’t be his companies or aimed at Belgrave. For obvious reasons, those two subjects are too close to his heart. No, instead we will tread lightly and start with Old Serene. Again.
My head lolls to the side as I look in the direction of my laptop. Why wait until the morning? I was almost asleep before Étienne stumbled through the front door, but now I’m filled with energy, and I don’t see sleep coming anytime soon. Kicking the sheets off, I get out of bed. Étienne barely moves as the mattress shifts. Away from Étienne’s warmth and exposed to the cool air, goose bumps appear on my skin. As I walk to the computer desk, I grab my robe, not bothering to tie the sash. I tuck my feet beneath me and make myself comfortable in the chair.
The last time I time traveled, I had to constantly remind myself to wait. To allow others to hold my fate in their hands. But my fate isn’t the only thing at stake. There’s Étienne’s and there’s our child’s fate. Hearing the heartbeat gave me the kick in the ass I needed. I can’t wait for a clue to fall in my lap or for Étienne to suddenly think of some small yet critical piece of information he might’ve forgotten. I need to find it myself.
When Étienne first arrived in my time, we immediately researched him, Belgrave, his business, and Old Serene. We didn’t find a lot of answers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try again and again and again.
It simply means I have to get creative with my efforts.
I stare at the cursor for a few seconds before I type in, the meaning of the name Lacroix.
I press enter before I can change my mind. Is Lacroix a common French surname? I’m not certain. This could be a dead-end search, but I can’t run the risk of researching Nathalie or Livingston. I can’t run the risk of altering time and losing Étienne once again. And the Lacroix name is the closet link to them. What is the harm in this little search?
In a matter of 0.48 seconds, I have my results. I click on the first link that says Lacroix Name Meaning. It takes me to Ancestry, a site I’m more than familiar with at this point.
The Lacroix surname comes from a person who lived by a cross near a road. In French, la croix means the cross. That doesn’t exactly give me much to go on. It gives me similar surnames: Larose, Lacour, Leroux, Marois, Larkin, etc. … none of which are familiar.
I’ve researched Étienne’s old company, the companies that bought his company, the meaning of his family’s name, looked up Old Serene, and went to the antique shop in hopes Étienne and I would find something, but to no avail. We found nothing.
I was persistent yet careful, but I can’t help the feeling of defeat that creeps through me. It would be incredibly easy to give up right now. However, I’ve always found when you feel the heaviest is before the pieces of your life come together. The hardest part is finding the energy to keep going.
Dejectedly, my hands drop to the computer desk. Twisting around, I look over my shoulder at Étienne’s sleeping form and then at my stomach. My fuel is Étienne and our baby, and even when I’m tired and ready to quit, I need to remember that at all times.
Clicking on the address bar on the web browser, I go to Google and go back to Old Serene.
I feel nothing and everything at the same time when I search for her. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I have no true emotional attachment to her. We share the same face, and that’s all. But we have no shared memories, no special bond. When I search for anything pertaining to Étienne and his family, I can’t prevent the way my heart races and anxiety creeps in. I never want to be heartbroken, yet I always am. I’ll always be emotionally invested in them.
My fingers fly across the keyboard as I type Serene Quentin. By this point, my last name has changed so many times, it’s a miracle I remembered Old Serene’s.
Drawing the material of my robe closer to my chest, I wait for the results to load. I’m not placing much stock into this search. It’s more for my peace of mind. More to say, “Hey! At least I tried. Not once, but twice.”
I’m unfazed when links for women named Serena from Ancestry pop up. But as I scroll down the page, I see one link with the correct spelling and her birthdate. I click on the link, but I don’t get my hopes up. A lot of times, the search engine won’t give you the most accurate results. The page downloads, and I realize it’s a blog dedicated to the Quentin family. Black and white photos of unfamiliar faces appear.
Because this is a standard blog and not as complex as Ancestry where you click on a name and are directed to a different page, I scroll down, scanning the list of names and date of birth. None of the names stand out to me. Methodically, I browse them until my eyes finally snag on the name Frederick. I stop scrolling and see Delia’s name beside his.
“Bingo,” I say aloud.
Directly beneath their names is Serene’s.
Birthdate is the same: September 9th, 1883. Her middle name is Belle. No spouse is linked to her. Beneath her name are no children.
The most peculiar thing? There is no date of death. Where most of the Old Serenes I’ve found have their DOD’s listed, hers simply has two asterisks. Directly to the left of the site is a paragraph in parenthesis.
(No death certificate or obituary were found for this relative. A search of the family bible came back empty-handed. If you believe you have information in your family archives about this ancestor, please do not hesitate to contact me.)
At that, I arch a brow and faintly smile. This is ancestry at its finest. People are constantly cross-referencing their information. Taking what they’ve heard and aligning records that a virtual stranger has.
But it’s no coincidence that Old Serene’s death certificate is nowhere to be found. With a quick search on Ancestry, I receive zero leads. Impossible. I remember the certificate specifically. June 6th, 1927. Cirrhosis of the liver. And I have no doubt this would’ve been an easy document for any ancestor hunter, seasoned or not, looking for more information on Old Serene to find.
Something changed, and I have a feeling it occurred in the past because Étienne and I haven’t done a single significant thing. He drank tonight, and I had a riveting night with my feet kicked up on the couch. Nonetheless, my stomach churns. What’s happening in the past that Étienne and I don’t know about?
Blindly, I stare at the keyboard. Time is fucking with me right now.
Me and Old Serene being alive at the same time isn’t right. It’s never felt right to me. If I didn’t live through it all, I’d think it was all a dream. But it’s true, and now I need to think of a plausible explanation.
I once saw an article online comparing celebrities with their 19th-century doppelgänger. The results were surprising because most people of the past looked eerily similar to the celebrities. The article spoke of reincarnation in passing, but only as a suggestion, and I immediately forgot about it.
Until now.
Now I’m seriously contemplating if it’s possible. I go back to Google.
Is reincarnation possible? I type into the search bar.
Results vary, including links for books and movies that touch on the topic. And articles on the scientific probability of it. I continue to scroll down the page until I see one link with the catching title, The Consequences of Doppelgängers
Of course, that’s the first one I click on.
Placing my chin on my hand, I begin reading.
It has been said when you encounter your doppelgänger, death is imminent. In 1845, Marie-Thérèse Beaulieu began teaching at an all-girls’ school in France. Whispers soon started when teachers and students began to see a second Ms. Beaulieu. As she taught, students claimed to spot a second Ms. Beaulieu writing on the blackboard. One claim states that after school, around thirty students saw Ms. Beaulieu on the roof of the school, her feet on the very edge and head down. Moments later, she was spotted walking out the front doors and waved to the girls. When they looked at the roof, the doppelg�
�nger was gone.
In all instances, Marie-Thérèse appeared pale and tired as though drained of all energy. She felt pressure from the dean to provide an explanation for these phantom appearances, but Ms. Beaulieu never came face to face with her double, so she never could give one. She left the school by 1846.
Historically speaking, society has viewed doppelgängers as shadows of death.
That hasn’t deterred paranormal investigators, professors, and psychiatrists from better understanding the phenomenon.
Neurological disorders, such as epilepsy, have been linked to seeing your double. In one case from 2007, a woman claimed to have come home from a night out with her friends and found her husband in bed with her doppelgänger. As she shouted at her sleeping form to wake up, her husband found her combative and in the midst of a seizure. She fell down the stairs and was rushed to the hospital. Tests revealed she had a brain tumor and had stopped taking medication for her seizures. Afterward, the hallucinations never came back.
A neurological disorder isn’t always considered a common denominator.
“Sightings of doppelgängers are most prevalent in people between the ages of twenty and forty,” I whisper as I continue to read the article.
Saying the words out loud cause the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.
Typically, people find themselves with the most stress in their careers, love life, and families in this age group. Many times, it can compound and create hallucinations. People believe if they voice their sighting, they’ll be deemed mentally ill.
I first time traveled when I was twenty- nine. When I was stressed to the max. I was planning my wedding to Will and running a business with my best friend at the time, Liz.
Did I do this to myself? Was stress the catalyst?
I push the loaded question to the side, knowing I’ll have to go back to it at a later time.
Doppelgängers can never be definitely proven. Marie-Thérèse Beaulieu didn’t succumb to a fatal illness after her close encounters with her double. So the theory of dying after coming face to face with your double will remain an urban myth, yet if you do encounter your doppelgänger, it wouldn’t hurt to look over your shoulder and be very careful …