King of the South

by Calia Read

  She has a smile waiting and ready on her face. “You came!” she says happily before she leans in for a hug. Almost as though we’ve known each other our whole lives.

  I have a feeling it’s the half-empty champagne glass in her hand that’s responsible for her over-exuberance.

  Grabbing my hand, she pulls me inside and kicks the door closed behind me with the heel of her foot. “I told Loras it was fruitless to send you an invitation, but he wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.” She looks at me and smirks before she takes a long drink. “Looks as though I’m wrong.”

  Her disposition is a stark contrast from how she was at the funeral. I didn’t like her before, but this Rea, I did. In a way, she had a manner about her that reminds me of Nat. What set them apart was that Rea moves almost like a cat and smiles at the people around her as though she knew what they were thinking of her. Nathalie was trusting, bordering on naïve, and unworldly. But that was before Oliver passed away.

  Now I didn’t know what to think.

  Rea leads the two of us deeper into her family’s home, and my confidence falters when I see the number of people around me. Nothing but strangers. Anger and adrenaline fueled my actions up until now. Surrounded by strangers, I’m beginning to doubt my decision. I don’t have to stay all night. I can make pleasant conversation and then slip away without anyone noticing.

  Rea and I walk into what I believe is the sitting parlor, although it’s impossible to tell with so many people. I think I spot a settee and chairs pushed against the wall. The green curtains are pulled back with ecru tiebacks.

  My eyes widen when I see a man stumble and narrowly avoid spilling his drink all over the silk material. Damask wallpaper the color of almond and gold clings to the walls. With the exception of the pictures on the walls, anything of significant value is noticeably absent. Judging from the man I just saw, that was a wise decision on the Breymas’ part.

  I lean toward Rea. “Do your parents live here?”

  “Hmm?” She finishes taking another drink before she nods. “Oh yes. Well, Loras lives in Savannah. But I live with them. Right now, they’re travelin’.” She squints real hard. “I can’t remember where they said they were goin’. Loras will, though. Where is my brother?”

  Before I can tell her that her parents’ whereabouts truly aren’t that important, she stands on her tiptoes and looks around the room. Somehow, she spots him clear across the room.

  “Brey? Loras Breymas! Look who’s arrived!” Rea hollers across the room. If that isn’t enough, she gesticulates wildly.

  At once, he catches his sister’s gaze and then looks at me. His eyes widen with surprise. He waves and begins to walk toward us.

  “Loras and I don’t get the chance to socialize as much as we wish to,” she confesses with a small slur. “When the opportunity arises, we must take it.”

  I don’t know what to make of her words because I don’t know her well enough, so I nod and give her an amicable smile.

  When he reaches us, he also brings along friends of his. My momma and daddy raised me with manners, so I say hello and introduce myself. But I don’t have it in me to stand there and endure any stiff and polite conversation. My motivation for coming here tonight was purely driven by anger, and to prove to Livingston that even though he may not love me, someone out there might.

  And I know my thinking might be childlike and foolish, but when your heart has been cracked in half, you will do anything in order to save it from breaking any further.

  After some time, his friends break apart. Rea leaves to get another drink, leaving me with Loras. Chewing on my lower lip, I think of what to say. I’d rather have the floor open and swallow me whole than endure a long, painful stretch of silence.

  “What would you prefer I called you, Loras or Brey?”

  “My friends call me Brey, but if you want, you can call me Loras.”

  I nod. “I’m glad I asked. Loras it is.”

  “And what about you? Is Rainey short for anythin’?”

  “My name is, in fact, Raina.” The second my name slips from my lips, I picture Livingston above me, driving his cock in and out of me. Seconds later, he groaned and repeated my name over and over.

  After that, it felt as though he forever staked claim to my name.

  “You can call me what you wish,” I rush out, noticing it’s been several seconds since I’ve said a word.

  His gray eyes glint as he looks at me. He smiles, revealing straight, white teeth. “Rainey it is.”

  Why do I feel a sense of relief? I push the nagging question aside and keep my focus on Loras. “There are you and Rea. Any other siblings?”

  “Yes, one younger sister.”

  “I don’t think I saw her at the funeral. Is she here now?” I begin to look around the crowded room.

  “No, she’s unfortunately away at the moment. Her name is Juliet.”

  I mull over the name for some time. “What happened there?”

  Loras tilts his head to the side. “Pardon?”

  I realize how blunt my question came out, but there’s no stopping now. “Well, you and your sister have unique names. When your momma got to Juliet, was she simply too exhausted to come up with anythin’ creative?”

  While I prattle on, Loras’s smile widens. And when I finish, he shakes his head ever so slightly. “As much as I would love to give you an entertainin’ and detailed story for her name, the truth is she’s named after my maternal aunt. If you’d like, the next time I see my momma, I can ask her if there were any uncommon names she had in mind for Juliet.”

  “Please do.”

  A guest from the party walks up behind Loras and pats his back, saying hello. He gives them his attention, and a courteous smile before he immediately turns to me. “Although, I’m beginnin’ to wonder if our nanny Toy’s name was never up for consideration.”

  There’s only one person I know named Toy, and she’s an elderly woman with more fire in her blood than me. She’s quite possibly the only lady I was afraid of as a child. To be honest, I still am. “Wait … are you speakin’ of Toy Waring?”

  Loras’s eyes widen. He looks as shocked as I am. “You know her?”

  “Of course. She caught me in her garden when I was a little girl and was fit to be tied.”

  “What led you to be in her garden?”

  I lift a shoulder and look away evasively. I’m used to people being au fait with my history. It’s nice being able to distribute pieces of information about my life at my discretion. “Let’s say I had a … colorful childhood that was rich with adventure.”

  He lets out a loud laugh. “And those adventures never led to trouble?”

  I shake my head. “Never. Except the time when your nanny Toy caught me in her garden and nearly walloped me with her cane.”

  Loras shudders. “You must be fast. Rea and I could never seem to dodge that dreaded cane.”

  Rea walks toward us, carrying a champagne glass in her hand. Her eyes have a look of disinterest as she searches the room. “What are you discussin’?”

  “Juliet’s lackluster name,” Loras provides.

  “Juliet. Juliet,” she repeats, taking great care to pronounce each syllable. Finally, she scrunches up her nose. “Yes, very lackluster.”

  It’s hard to ignore the note of bitterness that sinks into Rea’s words.

  “I believe I haven’t met your sister, but Loras said she isn’t here.”

  “Yes, unfortunately she is away at the moment,” Rea replies.

  Brother and sister gave me the same answer. Why?

  “I believe you might have seen Juliet in Charleston several times. Her fiancé lives there.”

  “Who’s her fiancé?”

  Loras begins to answer me, but he looks at Rea and closes his mouth. He rubs the back of his neck. “Ah. You know, his name has slipped my mind.”

  Furtively, I look between the two of them. He’s lying. What are they hiding?

  Loras clears his throat and dips hi
s head, his eyes focused on something behind me. “I believe someone is here for you.”

  Looking over my shoulder, I find Livingston. My heart becomes lodged in my throat. My lungs become restricted, and his light eyes are fixed on mine. His strides are long and confident. The women around him stopped and stared. Even though I was hurt, I still felt possessive of him.

  They can’t have him!

  What can I do, though, when Livingston won’t have me?

  Livingston doesn’t notice the attention the women are giving him. As he advances on me, I see the furious glint in his eyes. He looks ready to tear someone apart.

  Swallowing, I look for a way out, but Livingston is coming from that direction.

  I’m trapped.

  I knew Livingston would discover I wasn’t at dinner, but I depended on Momma giving me some time. When it came to the three M’s—me, men and marriage—there’s nothing she wouldn’t do. If she had to lie to Livingston and our hosts, then so be it.

  Livingston reaches me. I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves. There are no preambles or friendly smiles. “Come with me. Right now,” he says through clenched teeth.

  Charmingly, I smile at him. “I didn’t know you were invited to this party.”

  “Rainey, now.”

  Already, people are beginning to stop and look in our direction. They may be strangers, but I don’t want them listening. I smile at Loras and Rea. “If you’ll excuse us for one moment?”

  Eyes wide, Rea nods and steps back. “Of course.”

  I take the first step into the crowd. Livingston isn’t taking any chances of me slipping away as he presses his chest against my back. The second his body makes contact with mine, I gasp. I can’t help myself. My reaction is instinctive.

  The moment we reach the hall, I shove him away. I breathe deep through my nose and try my best to ignore Livingston’s presence behind me. My footsteps are fast down the corridor. I don’t stop until it’s dimly lit and private.

  I lean against the wall, cross my arms, and wait for Livingston to speak.

  With his hands on his narrow waist, he stands in front of me. “For someone who’s supposedly sick in their room, you look remarkably well,” he says.

  I grab the material of my dress, creating an elegant waterfall of blue around me. “We all have our vices of self-care. Lookin’ nice and goin’ to a party is mine.”

  He follows the action. His eyes hot. “Since you feel better, can we leave?”

  “You can,” I say pointedly.

  With his head tilted to the side, he angles his body closer. “You’re upset with me.”

  “Now why would I be upset with you?” I say, ending my question with a sickly sweet smile.

  Livingston narrows his eyes. “I have one good calf left. I would like to keep it that way. Now tell me, why are you so heated?”

  I mirror his movements until we’re a hair’s breadth away. “I’m not heated,” I enunciate slowly. I pull back quickly because even when I’m hurt and angry with him, there’s the undeniable attraction between us.

  Livingston groans and drags his hands through his hair. “Rainey, just tell me what’s botherin’ you.”

  “Nothin’. But what did the telegram—”

  “Telegram? What tele—” His voice fades as he begins to understand. “Are you speakin’ of the telegram Étienne sent? Why would a telegram make y—”

  I watch as the realization that I was there to hear his conversation with Nat sinks in. Eyes marginally widen, lips part. But at once, his face becomes a mask of cool indifference. “Rainey, I don’t know what—”

  “There you are,” a man’s voice says, interrupting what Livingston was about to say.

  Livingston and I turn at the same time and see Loras standing in the hall. If Loras found us a minute earlier, I would’ve been relieved, but then Livingston spoke. But now, the smallest part of me wanted to know what Livingston had to say.

  Livingston straightens, his body subtly blocking mine. “Yes, we needed some privacy to speak on a matter of great importance.”

  Loras is silent, then says, “I hope everythin’ is all right.”

  “Unfortunately, we need to be on our way.”

  “Rainey?” Loras asks, waiting for my confirmation.

  I could stay here all night, but so would Livingston. He’s not leaving until I do. Regretfully, I nod at Loras. “Yes. I’m sorry. But I’m afraid we must be gettin’ back.”

  Before Loras can reply, Livingston places a hand on my lower back. “You were a gracious host, and your home is lovely. Have a pleasant evenin’.”

  In a matter of seconds, Livingston took every polite farewell and thrusted them into one clipped good-bye. We brush past him, and I attempt to give Loras an apologetic smile.

  As we walk down the hall and out the front door, I’m aware of footsteps behind us the whole time.

  “I think you should let her go,” Loras says quietly.

  At once, Livingston’s posture straightens. His shoulders stiffen. Those words, as calmly as they’re spoken, cause Livingston’s chest to begin to rise and fall rapidly.

  Slowly, Livingston turns to Loras. “What?” His voice is deadly calm.

  My gut told me this wasn’t good. I place a hand on his arm, as though my touch can convey the danger of this situation.

  We need to leave. Now.

  “I said I think you should let her go,” Loras repeats.

  Livingston walks back to the house, breaking away from my hold.

  What I was attempting to avoid all along has begun to happen. Guests from the party begin to find their way onto the porch to find out what the noise is all about.

  Shaking my head, I can’t help but groan. This is quickly turning into a disaster.

  “She doesn’t need you.”

  I can’t see Livingston’s face, but I see the outline of his body. The set of his shoulders. They drop for a moment. Maybe he realizes how foolish this is and will walk away. But then, without warning, he charges Loras like a bull. His head meets Loras’s stomach, taking the wind out of Loras. The two of them fall to the ground with a giant thud.

  In a flurry, they become a tangle of limbs. Their boots scuff against the gravel, and grunts sound from them. Some guests on the porch appear horrified but most are fascinated and can’t look away.

  I rush forward and then stop, unsure of how to intervene. “Livingston, stop! Stop it!”

  His eyes are wild as he fights for top position and to get as many hits in as possible. I dig my feet firmly into the ground, wrap my arms around his waist, and pull him back. On the opposite side, I can hear Rea shouting at her brother to stop it and go inside. A crowd has gathered, and over Livingston’s panting, I can hear their whispers.

  As hurt as I am by him, the need to protect him is stronger. I don’t want these strangers to see him this way. I don’t want his actions to be the talk of Savannah. They don’t understand him.

  I shove him once more and hurry forward, holding his face between my hands so he’s forced to look at me and only me. “Stop it.”

  He breaks eye contact with Loras, and I’m finally able to make eye contact with him. Some of the fight goes out of him. His chest moves up and down rapidly as he sucks in air. But his eyes continue to swing between Loras and me.

  “Let’s go,” I urge and begin to guide us away from the house and the crowd that’s gathered around us. I need to get him away from here.

  Before I get into the car, I look back at Rosemound Manor and see Rea on the porch. It’s too dark for her to see the regret in my eyes, so I lift both shoulders. In return, she waves and walks back inside.

  I slide into the back seat, next to a furious Livingston, and slam the door behind me.

  “Brignac House. Please,” Livingston says to the driver, his voice brusque.

  For several minutes, all that can be heard is the sound of the car motor. I’m still hurt and slightly confused by what happened at the Breymas’s home.

&nbs
p; Livingston shifts back in the seat, and faces me. I pointedly stare out the window. “Rainey, I know you’re upset, but you have to understand—”

  “Not here,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.

  “Then when?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply, wishing the driver would go faster. I shouldn’t be in close quarters with Livingston. I don’t know whether I’m capable of slapping him or kissing him. Perhaps both. After everything, I’m emotionally bereft. I want to pack my belongings and leave Savannah immediately, and then lick my wounds in Charleston.

  Thankfully, the driver pulls into the Brignac driveway. I nearly sigh with relief and place my hand on the door handle, waiting until I can make my getaway.

  As though he can read my mind, Livingston leans in. “We will talk.”

  Finally, I look directly at Livingston right as the car comes to a stop. “No, we will not.” At once, I open my door. I’m so anxious to get away from him that I nearly stumble but then quickly right myself. Droplets of rain begin to hit the crown of my head and shoulders.

  Growling, he surges out of the car and hurries after me. If I was home, you could place a blindfold on me, and I’d find my way inside. But here, my steps aren’t quite as fast, and Livingston’s quickly catching up to me.

  “Rainey, stop. Rainey. I said stop!”

  I begin to walk up the steps when his hand curls around my arm. I whirl around right as his feet land on the first step. Our bodies are inches apart.

  “I’m tired,” I announce somberly with my shoulders held high. “I believe it’s time for me to retire.”

  “Perhaps this is why Pleas created your dowry. You are far too inexperienced for this world. Look at you now. I found you at the home of someone you just met and now you are refusin’ to explain what could make you so bothered with me!”

  His words are meant to light my anger. He wants to get a reaction out of me, and I want to give him one. Desperately. But I also want to show him that I have many weaknesses, but with each year I discover my strengths and tell myself, “Look at you now. Look at how you’ve grown.”