The Reigning and the Rule

by Calia Read

  During Nat and Oliver’s engagement party, I captured Serene’s gaze. I saw the mischievous challenge in her eyes. She was goading me. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if a small portion of her was attracted to Nicholas.

  The very thought has my hands curling into fists. I have no right, but I want to rip Nicholas limb from limb.

  Nat stands from her chair, pulling me away from my violent thoughts. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” Before my sister leaves the room, Nat turns and creates a halo over her head with her index finger. “Are my eyes deceivin’ me, or is your hair growin’?”

  I shrug. “Perhaps.”

  Another knowing smile appears on her face. “Ah. Well, I prefer it.” She taps her cheek. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you haven’t shaved.”

  Exasperated, I glare at her. “Nat, are you finished?”

  “No, but I think you are. Good night, Étienne.”

  “Good night.”

  When the door shuts, I’m enveloped in silence. Leaning back in my chair, I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I drag my hands down my face and exhale. Behind my eyelids, Serene’s face is waiting for me. Just as she always is. Nothing has changed. What has is her physical presence in my life.

  Go to her, my mind demands.

  Abruptly, I stand from my chair and walk to the windows. Pulling back the curtains, I stare into the darkness. My hands grip the window trim as I fight the urge to charge out of my office, hurry down the steps, get into my car, and drive into Charleston. I could tell her this nonsense needs to stop. I could tell Serene that after two years, even a person with the strongest resolve will begin to crack under the weight of defeat.

  She’s still my surviving trace.

  I should call off the wedding to Scarlett. Tell Serene I was a fool and was hurt and didn’t think she was coming back.

  And then wait for her to leave you once again? the rational part of my mind objects.

  Bitterly, I turn away from the window and begin pacing my office; the answer isn’t in the darkness of the night. It won’t be found in Belgrave or bought with money. I know the answer will only be uncovered with one thing: time.

  There’s nothing I can do.

  “He’s gonna kill you.”

  I glance in the gilt mirror next to the front door. There’s a huge bouquet covering the rest of my body, but I can see my face. I tuck a few strands of my hair back into my French braid and look at Livingston in the mirror.

  He’s standing against the opposite wall, shaking his head with mock disapproval.

  I roll my eyes. “I’d like to see your brother try.”

  Livingston pushes away from the wall and rubs his eyes. This might be the earliest he’s woken up in the past week. Hell, it’s even early for me. But this morning, I had an extra pep in my step and woke up with the birds chirping outside my window and the sun streaming brightly into the room. There was no need for Mollie to help me get dressed; I knew exactly what I was wearing and could easily change myself.

  “You just might get your wish today,” Livingston remarks.

  “Oh, quit acting like this is such a chore for you. You’re loving this.”

  He opens the door and looks back at me. “You’re right. There’s nothin’ I love more than watchin’ Étienne’s head explode, but I think this might push him over the edge.”

  “I get it. I get it. I look like a slore.”

  “What exactly is a slore?”

  “It’s a mixture of the words slut and whore. Combine them and you have slore.”

  “Dear God. I’m sorry I even asked.”

  “Should I unbutton another button?”

  Livingston rubs his temples. “No. I think you’re showin’ enough skin.”

  Enough to make Étienne insane with jealousy? Enough to make him hurt like I’m hurting? Enough to make him come to his senses and call off his ridiculous engagement?

  I don’t ask those questions, though. Instead, I follow Livingston out the door toward his car. As Livingston drives toward Belgrave, I think over the past eleven days. Nat and Livingston have kept me busy, and that’s probably for the best. Otherwise, I would’ve gone insane.

  The wounds made to my heart from finding out about his engagement are healing, but they’re still fresh. And all it will take is one false step to cause the wounds to rip open.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask as I slam the car door.

  Livingston walks around the Model T and gestures behind Belgrave. “Waitin’ near the carriage house. That’s where the servants brought the horses to.”

  We walk around the massive structure that is Belgrave, the gravel crunching beneath our feet. Dew coats the top of the grass and shrubbery. The signature scent of honeysuckle—synonymous with Belgrave—lingers in the air.

  “Belgrave has a carriage house?”

  Livingston looks over his shoulder at me and nods. “Most people do. Carriages are becomin’ a thing of the past, but the structures, however, are not.”

  All my searches of Belgrave have typically been of the home, not the back of the property where the buildings and several smaller structures are located. Because Étienne and Livingston’s father sold off a large portion of the land, I assumed the buildings in the back went along with it.

  I say precisely that, and Livingston shakes his head and stops us in the middle of the driveway. “Do you see that?”

  He points at the chain-link fence traveling between two buildings. I nod. Livingston places his hands together and pulls his right hand away until it’s directed toward the land to his right. “Anything beyond the fence is not part of Belgrave property.”

  “Who owns it now?”

  “I was young when it was purchased, so I’m not certain. Since then, it’s been sold off several times and divided. Last I heard, three different people own separate sections of the land, and it’s beginnin’ to show.”

  Anger lights his eyes. “There’s no overseer for the workers in the fields. For the past two years, the crop production has been mixed because of different ownership. Results have been disastrous. There is one owner who doesn’t bother with tendin’ to his fields.” Livingston gestures to the wide expanse of land. It’s impossible to know which portion he’s referring to. He’s so pissed off right now, and he sounds more and more like Étienne with every word. “Sometimes I believe it would have been more beneficial if we would have kept the land in the family.”

  Shielding my eyes from the sun, I look at the fields and scan the rows of weak quality sugar cane. It’s on the tip of my tongue to reassure Livingston that it’s for the best they sold. The plantation economy in the South will slowly grow obsolete as the years go by, but something tells me that’s the last thing he wants to hear.

  The weather-beaten fence tilts to the left and wraps behind the back of the building sitting on Lacroix property. It travels far behind it toward a brick structure with smokestacks that I always can see from the road. But I’ve never sought it out because the minute I see Belgrave, I become lost in all its beauty.

  I pat Livingston on the back and try to steer the conversation to a happier subject. “Where is this carriage house you spoke of?”

  As we continue walking, he points past the several outbuildings positioned around a small courtyard to the left. The buildings are well beyond the backyard immediately connected to Belgrave. The Lacroix family no longer operates this land as a plantation, and some structures have been torn down, but the remnants of the past still linger, showing the juxtaposition between owner and workers.

  We walk until Belgrave is a reasonable distance away. Twisting around, I stare at the massive plantation from behind. There are no Corinthian columns as there are in the front. The details aren’t as meticulous; there’s no need. Near the back section of the house, where the kitchen is located, is a live oak. Its strong limbs extend from the elongated trunk. Even in a place like Charleston, the environment is not immune to the weather. Some leaves have fallen, and the ones that haven’t are d
iscolored. The backyard is surrounded by a wrought-iron fence with an arbor framing the back gate. Vines weave in and out of the latticework. A brick pathway leads from the entrance to the back porch with bushes flanking the uneven route. From here, it’s impossible to tell what type of flowers grows in the backyard, but I’m willing to bet the view is impressive in the springtime.

  Reluctantly, I pull my attention away from the house and catch up to Livingston. Sure enough, there’s a decent size utilitarian building on the far right of the property. I can hear the horses clomping their hooves and voices. My stomach flip-flops because I know Étienne is mere steps away.

  The vicious thing about love that no one ever tells you is how it’s so incredibly easy to fall in love. It’s the falling out process that can be a real bitch. I want to get over Étienne. I should want to fix what I need to fix in this time, be okay with him marrying someone else, and then go back to the present where I belong. But I don’t want to do any of those things because I’m in love.

  “Stupid love,” I mutter.

  Livingston arches a brow. “What?”

  Innocently, I blink at him. “Nothing. Didn’t say a word.”

  As we approach the carriage house, I see the saddled horses directly outside of the open double doors. Unfortunately, everyone is still here. And by everyone, I mean Scarlett. She stands between her brother and Nat, though she’s only speaking to Nat.

  Étienne is the first to notice me. His eyes widen subtly as they scan my body. Those sharp green irises leave a trail of fire in their wake, causing my skin to break out in goose bumps. When his eyes finally connect with mine, I see hunger there but also fury. I know it has nothing to do with my presence and everything with my attire.

  “Told you,” Livingston says out of the corner of his mouth.

  With my eyes still on Étienne, I elbow Livingston in the gut. “Shut up.”

  Étienne steps our way but stops short once he realizes we’re not alone. The rest of the group hears our approaching footsteps and greets us.

  Nat hurries over and greets me. She looks at me with confusion. “Oh, goodness. I could have sworn I packed a riding habit in one of the trunks I sent to you.”

  “I have plenty of clothes thanks to you.”

  “This was planned,” Livingston chimes in.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Why don’t you go tell the local newspaper while you’re at it!”

  “It’s the truth,” he retorts.

  “The two of you are arguin’ like siblings,” Nat remarks.

  “Well, we’re living on top of each other, literally, so that’s a pretty accurate statement.”

  Livingston opens his mouth—no doubt to say something snarky right back to me—when Scarlett walks up. She stands near Nat. Their riding habits are nearly identical, with a double row of buttons traveling down the full cut skirt. Their jackets are buttoned up with modest dress shirts. The only thing that’s different is Nat’s outfit is navy blue and Scarlett’s is beige.

  “That’s an interesting riding attire,” Scarlett says as she regards me closely.

  The Lacroix family are accustomed to “scandalous” clothing. Nicholas, Oliver, and Scarlett are not.

  “Well, it’s not riding attire,” I say, putting air quotes around the last two words. “I was wearing this outfit when you first met me.”

  “I remember,” Scarlett replies.

  I open my mouth, a hot retort on the tip of my tongue, when Livingston jumps into the conversation by placing a hand on Scarlett’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to find our horses. Yes? Scarlett, you’re over here.” He points at a horse on the left and—not surprisingly—gestures to a horse on the opposite end for me. “Serene, you go there.”

  I mock salute him before I turn around. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  My heart pounds in anticipation. For whatever reason, the memories I have growing up on Ravenwood still stay with me. My brothers and I are well versed in riding horses. Some of my first memories are of being on the horse with my father behind me. Before my life became turned upside down, it’d been a couple of years since I’d been on a horse. I’m a little rusty, but I’m not a newbie.

  I smell the fresh, clean scent of cotton and hear boots crunching on the gravel. Before I turn my head to the right, I know it’s Étienne. “Yes?” I ask as I continue walking toward my designated horse.

  “Care to explain why you’re half naked today?” he asks.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was wearing this outfit twelve days ago. You didn’t say anything then.”

  “Stop bein’ obtuse, Serene. Nicholas’s mouth has been hangin’ open for so long, he’s beginnin’ to resemble a codfish.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Obviously,” I say deadpan.

  Unlike the rest of the men, Étienne forgoes a coat and vest. Suspenders curve around his strong shoulders. The top button of his dress shirt is undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The wind picks up and molds the material across his stomach, outlining the definition of his abs.

  Do not stare, Serene, my mind demands.

  We stop beside the thoroughbred. The horse turns its head and gives me a dull expression. To me, it says, “Lady, I’m not standing here all damn day. Are you getting on or not?”

  Turning, I face Étienne and cross my arms. I meet his gaze, and he stares back at me intently. He leans in until our shoulders are touching. “Cover up.”

  “No,” I sound out slowly.

  His eyes dip down, settling on my cleavage that’s on display. This is what I came here for—to make Étienne jealous. To show him what he’s missing. This is a game. Right now, I’m the coach, and he’s the player.

  So how does he disarm me with a single look? Why do I have the sudden urge to lean in and ask him to teach me a thing or two?

  “You should probably go. Everyone’s waiting,” I say quietly and shift my body toward the horse. Regarding practicality, it’s probably best I wore my slacks and not the “riding habit” Nat had thoughtfully packed for me. My slacks and shirt are less restrictive, giving me free rein to grab the reins in one hand, place my foot through the stirrup, and swing my leg over the back of the saddle. It might take me a few attempts to successfully balance my weight and have the correct spring in my step, but I’ll get it.

  Beside me, Étienne clears his throat. “Here, let me assist you.”

  To keep myself distracted, I grab the reins and wait for him to leave. “I’m not an invalid. I can get on the horse myself.”

  “Stop bein’ stubborn and accept my help,” Étienne hisses.

  Without warning, his hands encircle my waist. His long fingers burn through the thin material of my shirt. He can put his hands on me a thousand times, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how my body reacts to his touch. My heart still pounds as though it’s the first time. Blood pounds in my ears. As I swing my leg over the horse, I immediately grab the reins to hide my shaking hands.

  “Was that so hard?” Étienne says.

  I stare down at him. “Yes.”

  “Insufferable woman,” he mutters as he walks toward his horse. I watch as he walks to his horse and easily mounts it as if he’s a skilled horseman. Both Nat and Scarlett use a mounting block and side saddles. Their legs hang off one side, the left foot in the stirrup while the heel of the right foot is down and the toe pointing upward. Nat’s posture aligns with the horse while Scarlett looks a bit rigid, her face pale. She holds the reins loosely, instead of like Nat who holds hers at the same length and with just enough tension. Nat keeps having to tell her to reposition her whip. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I imagine she’s explaining to Scarlett how the sidesaddle whip is used to reinstate the cues that would be used with the right leg.

  After a few minutes, everyone is finally ready. Étienne gestures to the driveway. “Unfortunately for Nat, we’ll be touring the land that is on Belgrave property.”


  Nat glares at him.

  “We shouldn’t be gone for longer than an hour.”

  I can’t stop myself from raising my hand. Étienne’s eyes flick my direction. He gives me a blunt nod.

  “Before we begin, I have a question. Is flash photography prohibited during your tour of the grounds?” I ask deadpan.

  My joke flies over the heads of Scarlett, Nicholas, and Oliver. However, Nat smothers a giggle by coughing. Livingston’s shoulders move up and down. Étienne attempts to keep his face somber, but the corners of his lips quiver.

  “Yes.”

  For a small blissful second, I see the Étienne I fell in love with. I forget that we’re surrounded by people. I soak this moment in like a sponge, and my anger thaws just a bit. But there’s no possibility of a dramatic turn in our relationship because he turns, breaking eye contact, his horse ambling back toward Belgrave.

  Everyone follows him. I wait until the group is ahead of me to move forward and catch up with Nat. Unlucky for me, she’s still talking with Scarlett, but I’d rather speak with Scarlett than Étienne; petty pain is better than unbearable betrayal. And at the end of the day, that’s what Étienne did. He betrayed me.

  “Scarlett, do you ride often?” I ask, eager to focus my attention on something else other than Étienne.

  She tears her gaze from the driveway and looks at me. “I’m afraid not. I used to as a child during the summer, but I didn’t continue with my lessons.”

  I nod and stare at my reins as I try to come up with another subject. An awkward silence descends around the three of us. Uncomfortably, I shift in my saddle.

  As we begin to move toward the driveway, I glance at the southwest side of Belgrave. The shutters flanking the windows look as if they’ve been freshly painted and the windows gleam in the sun. We round the corner, and from my viewpoint, I see the haint blue porch ceiling twinkling back at me.

  “Nat?”