by Calia Read
Clucking my tongue, I give her a wink before I sit up straight in my chair and snap my fingers, trying to get the servant’s attention. “Yo! Over here!” He finally looks my way. I point at my empty glass. “Something is wrong with this picture.”
Nicholas leans in. “I don’t know whether I should admire you or hate you for what you just said.”
As I wait for the servant to come in my direction, I twist in his direction, my knees bumping into his thigh. I shrug. “She’s your sister, so you can hate me.”
“Yet I don’t.”
I arch a brow. “Yet you don’t,” I remark.
Livingston clears his throat from across the table. When I look over my shoulder at him, he gives me a surprisingly stern look. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink tonight?”
“Oh please,” I say a little too loudly. “Like I’m gonna take advice from you, Drunky McDrunkerson.” I fling a hand his way. “You stay there. I’ll stay here.” I gesture toward the opposite end of the table. “And Étienne will stay there.”
Livingston swirls his drink around and snorts. “You’re gonna have one hell of a headache tomorrow.”
“That’s the hope,” I reply, and then the servant comes over and solves all my problems by refilling my glass. The rest of the dinner is a bit of a blur.
Nicholas escorts me up the stairs toward the ballroom. More because I can’t walk a straight line if my life depended on it and less out of chivalry.
When I step into the ballroom, I turn in a circle, spread my arms wide, and laugh. Before I can do that, hands curl around my waist and lift my feet off the floor. I know it’s Nicholas, but the mind is a powerful thing and even through the thick fog of alcohol, it chooses to believe the chest behind me is Étienne’s and the hands wrapped around me are Étienne’s.
The spell is only broken when Nicholas speaks. “Are you having fun?” he asks as he sets me down.
I turn and face him with a smile. “Just a little.”
Nicholas and I may be drunk, but nearly everybody else is tipsy. Our handsy behavior in polite society would never go unnoticed, but now it’s okay; some people even laugh. With alcohol, these people are more tolerable.
The only person who doesn’t seem tipsy or drunk is Étienne. He walks into the ballroom escorting Scarlett. Immediately, he narrows his eyes when he sees Nicholas’s hands on my waist.
I give him my back; if I look at him longer than a few seconds, I know I’m going to think about what we did days ago. And let’s be honest, that’s half of the reason I’m drinking as if it’s my last hoorah. “We are going to dance until the sun comes up,” I tell Nicholas.
He tilts his head back and laughs. “That’s a splendid idea!”
“I know!” I raise my hands to the heavens. “I’m a splendid person. With splendid ideas!”
“What splendid ideas do you have?” Nat asks as she walks up on our conversation.
My face lights up when I see the bride-to-be. I grab Nat’s hands and twirl her around. “Where have you been all night?”
She giggles. “I’ve been watching you drink glass after glass of champagne.” We stop spinning, and she leans in. “I think you’re drunk.”
I lean in, and whisper, “I definitely am.”
Nat’s cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are a bit glassy, revealing she’s had more than enough to drink too. “I don’t think my brother is happy with you,” she says in a whisper but then points at Étienne.
I snort and wave my hand in the air. “Fuck him!”
“Serene!” she squeals.
“He’s engaged,” I continue, my voice slightly slurring. “And I’m okay with that. I’m totally, totally okay with that.”
“Are you okay with it?” she teases.
Heavily, I drop my hands onto her shoulders. “Totally okay.”
Just then Oliver comes over. His manners are meticulous as he greets me. “Mind if I have a dance with my fiancée?”
I gesture toward the open ballroom floor. “Be my guest. Someone should be happy and in love.”
For a second, Nat’s eyes gloss over with sympathy as she looks at me. I smile at her because I don’t need pity or her concern. This is her time right now.
“Go, go,” I shoo. I step toward Nicholas. “Have fun.”
She nods but looks over her shoulder at me as Oliver escorts toward the middle of the ballroom floor.
“Shall we dance?” Nicholas murmurs in my ear.
Turning on my heels, I face him with a bright smile. “I thought you would never ask.”
Grabbing the edges of my dress, I dip low in a curtsy, impressing myself that I don’t fall flat on my face. Nicholas grins and bows before he stands to his full height, sweeps me into his arms, and takes the lead. Sober, I have two left feet. Drunk, it’s a miracle I remain upright.
“Enjoying your time in Charleston?” Nicholas asks as his feet smoothly move across the floor while I stumble every few steps.
“Enjoy asking your questions from the side?” I shoot back.
He grins. “Whatever do you mean?”
Tonight, I appreciate the way Nicholas watches me. Who doesn’t want to feel wanted? Who doesn’t want to feel appreciated?
Right now, I feel on top of the world.
Never mind Étienne. I haven’t thought about him in minutes, and that’s a record. As if he can sense he’s escaping my thoughts, he enters my peripheral. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He leans against the wall as he listens to a male guest speak. He brings the drink to his lips, and the guest excuses himself. Étienne turns in my direction and fixes his hot gaze on mine. I see the yearning there, but it’s mixed with anger. He wants to rage at me for tonight, but he can’t.
I no longer belong to him.
Abruptly, I spin, giving him my back, and smile at Nicholas. “I know your game,” I say, continuing our conversation. I mime a gun between my hands and pretend it goes off. “You’re a sniper from the side.”
Nicholas’s hand wraps around my waist as he turns me around the ballroom. “You think so?”
“I know so, Nicholas.”
I lift our connected hands in the air, so I can twirl and escape the weight of Étienne’s gaze. When I’m done, I wobble, and Nicholas catches me. “I’ve never met a woman like you.”
“I’m sure you haven’t.”
“Neither has anyone in Charleston.”
“Are we really back to this conversation? I don’t know who you’re speaking to, but they’re wrong.”
“Only the Lacroixs seem to know you and give you entry to the elite circle,” he presses.
“Is that your opinion, or did you find that out from someone else?” I tease.
He continues to smile, but I see him shrewdly looking for a crack in my armor. He won’t find one. Whether I’m drunk or not, this isn’t my first dress rehearsal at pretending to belong in this elite circle.
“You’re bold and say what you think,” he comments.
“Does that bother you?”
“No.”
“Good.” I look at him from beneath my lashes. “You seem to be watching me an awful lot.”
He shrugs a shoulder as we move across the floor. “I find you captivating.”
His words make my stomach twist...in a good way. But do they set my soul on fire? Is my heart pounding? No. Am I anxiously waiting to hear what he has to say next? No.
Only one man can raise his hand and lay claim to all three things. And he’s in this very room.
“Serene?”
I blink Nicholas into focus. “Yes?”
“Are you real?”
While the couples around us dance and laugh, I stop moving and stare at him. I’m tempted to tell Nicholas no. I’m tempted to tell him that at any moment I could disappear before his very eyes. I’m tempted to tell him I know things about the future that could blow his mind.
Before I can reply, someone taps me on the shoulder. I anticipate seeing Étienne, but instead, I’m gree
ted with Livingston’s shit-eating grin. “Dance with me?” he asks, finishing with a sly wink.
“Promise you’ll bring her back to me?” Nicholas says jovially.
“We’ll see, Gould,” he says as he grabs my hand and smoothly moves us across the dance floor.
“Word of caution: if you need to vomit, I suggest you use one of the potted plants near the French doors.” I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, I see the potted plants Livingston’s referring to.
“I can hold my liquor.”
“Clearly,” he replies deadpan. “However, if the room begins to spin and you’re not standin’ still, remember what I said.”
I nod. “Will do.”
Around us, couples laugh uproariously. And even in their tipsy state, their feet all but glide across the floor. I suppose dancing for people in this era is akin to driving in my time. After enough practice, you become an expert and can quickly go on autopilot.
“There’s an Oscar Wilde quote that I’ve been thinking of tonight,” Livingston muses.
“Hold the phone. You know who Oscar Wilde is?” I tease.
“Contrary to popular belief, I did listen durin’ my school years.”
“What’s your point, Livingston?” I ask with a smile playing at the corner of my lips.
“‘The one advantage of playing with fire...is that no one ever gets singed. It is the people who don’t know how to play with it who get burned up.’”
My smile fades. “I’ve heard that quote. What are you implying?”
“The game you’re playin’ tonight with my brother is dangerous.”
“Livingston, I never play a game I can’t win.”
“Neither does he.”
“Then grab some popcorn, sit back, and watch the show.”
At that, he laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more furious.”
“Not even with Old Serene?”
“Not even with her,” he confirms and continues to move us across the dance floor. “I sometimes wonder if my brother’s sense of loyalty to the family name is the only reason he’s engaged.”
Don’t engage in a conversation about Étienne. Don’t occupy your mind with more images of him! my mind hollers.
But I’m a curious person by nature, and Livingston just dangled a carrot in front of me and then instantly yanked it away. It’s torture. I want to know more.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral and nonchalant.
“If he wasn’t the older twin and didn’t think he had to carry on the family lineage, would he be with Scarlett?”
“He’s with Scarlett because you opened your big fat mouth,” I blurt before I can think twice.
“Tell me how you truly feel,” Livingston says with a half-smirk. “But I didn’t force him to propose. I can’t help but wonder, is he marryin’ out of love or loyalty?” he asks rhetorically. Livingston leans in. “Because how he’s been starin’ at you tonight, I’ve never seen him look at Scarlett that way. Not once in the entire time they’ve been engaged.”
“Get to the point, Livingston.”
“You two are stubborn. You’re usin’ Nicholas to make him jealous, and it’s workin’. But you are gonna have to try harder to get him to react tonight.”
I say nothing, and he arches a brow. “That is your goal, is it not?”
I dip my head in acknowledgment.
“He loves you, Serene. Even now, as his innocent brother dances with you, he looks like he wants to rip my limbs off. One at a time.”
“And what if I go back to my time like you said?” I remind him.
Livingston looks away. “I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong. And perhaps I overstepped my bounds.”
I arch a brow.
“All right,” he drawls out slowly. “I did overstep my bounds. I’m sorry, Serene. I just want my brother happy, and you clearly make him happy. Whether he wants to throttle you or hold you, he wants to be near you. I suppose that’s love,” he muses.
I smirk. “I suppose so. But you’re the one who pointed out that Étienne wants a family, and if I continue to go from my time to yours, I’ll never be able to give him children. What’s your solution to that?”
He shrugs. “You’ve managed to do the impossible three times already. It’s safe to say that with you and Étienne, anything is possible.”
I observe Livingston. “You’re going to meet your match one day, and she’s gonna flip your world upside down.”
Livingston laughs as if I made a joke. “I’d like to see that woman try.”
“It’ll happen,” I say cryptically.
Soon, our dance comes to an end. I feel a small sense of closure as I smile at Livingston. His apology was something I wasn’t expecting, but something I subconsciously craved.
“What are you gonna do about Étienne?” Livingston persists.
For the first time tonight, I actively seek him out without trying to be discreet. Due to his size and height, I instantly find him. He’s near the entryway with his head bent as he talks to Nat. His brows are furrowed, and he intently looks at his sister. She pokes a finger at his chest before she throws her hands up in the air. His lips go into a thin line, but he gives her a blunt nod and begins speaking rapidly to her. I try to read his lips, but it’s impossible to tell what he’s saying.
I look at Livingston. “There’s nothing to do. When you’re engaged to someone else, that makes your intentions pretty clear, don’t you think?”
“But did you not hear me earlier? His sense of loyalty to our family name overrides everything else.”
“Don’t you see the problem in that?”
“Yes. But Étienne loves you! For almost two years, he waited. If you needed him right now, he’d drop everything for you.”
“Out of love or loyalty?” I ask, using Livingston’s own words against him.
“Serene,” he says softly. “I’m only tryin’ to fix the problem I created.”
“You don’t need to fix anything, all right? You apologized. We’re good now. I no longer want to gouge your eyes out.”
“That’s good to know,” he says deadpan. “But—”
I step away because this conversation about Étienne is beginning to feel too heavy. I take a deep breath and wave my hand repeatedly in front of my face. “Where’s a fan when you need one? Too hot in this ballroom.”
“I know you’re changin’ the subject, but I’ll let you.”
Livingston escorts me back to Nicholas, and I all too happily take the glass of champagne he hands me. Livingston looks on with a slight frown but doesn’t say a word as he walks away.
When I finish the drink, I place it on the fireplace mantel and continue fanning myself with my hand.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Nicholas murmurs in my ear.
The room is a haze of white and gold as couples spin around and around. One of those couples is Étienne and Scarlett.
I swear Nicholas can hear the sound my heart falling, landing in my stomach, and shattering into a million pieces because he immediately escorts me out of the ballroom, and I graciously let him. We walk down the stairs toward the foyer. He moves to the front door, but I stop him.
Curiously, he glances at me when I tug on his hand and guide him toward the hallway. “Let’s go to the garden out back.”
He takes that as an invitation, but I don’t care. It’s time that I moved on. Livingston says his brother loves me, but our actions speak louder than words, and right now, Étienne is not the one next to me.
No, he’s with his fiancée.
Like two teenagers who are breaking curfew, we sneak through the private quarters of Belgrave, passing Étienne’s office and the narrow stairs that the servants use. He links his hand through mine and squeezes as we walk down the narrow corridor toward the French doors.
At first, he jiggles the doorknob, but it doesn’t give.
Playfully, I shove him out of the way. “You’re not turning it the right
way.”
“How do you know?”
I wink at him over my shoulder as I wiggle the doorknob a few times, and sure enough, it opens. The two of us step outside. Being inside the ballroom was starting to make sweat bead around my hairline, so when a gentle breeze grazes my skin, I sigh in relief.
Nicholas gently nudges my side with his elbow. “Are you going to answer me?” he asks with a grin.
“Hmm?”
“How do you know how to open that door?”
“Because I know Belgrave like the back of my hand.”
“Ah, yes. Because you’re Étienne’s ex-wife.”
My body tenses up at the mere mention of his name. I keep my smile in place as we walk down the pathway, shrubbery flanking us. “That I am.”
“Remind me why he let you get away?”
“He didn’t hold on tight enough.”
All night, Nicholas and I have been playfully flirting with each other, but that all disappears when he stops us and put his arms around my waist, his hands dipping low. Reflexively, my arms wrap around his neck. His dark hair tickles my fingers and tempts me to play with the strands.
I feel him toy with the band holding my braid together. One small tug and he tosses it onto the brick pathway. His hands momentarily leave my waist to unravel my loose braid. When it’s finished, strands are in my face. I blow them out of my face and look at him with a grin. “Happy with yourself?”
Gently, he pulls my hair back from my face. “Never seen hair the color of yours.”
“You’ve never seen red hair?” I tease.
“Oh, I have. Just not like yours. It’s red yet threaded with gold.”
“Why Nicholas, I didn’t know you were such a poet,” I croon.
His hands drift down my body and securely wrap around me. “If I hold on tight to you, will you slip away?”
“Yes,” I confess.
He groans and rests his forehead against mine. “I love a challenge.”
“Nicholas, this is one you’ll lose,” I whisper gently.
That only seems to stoke the fire in his eyes. He leans in, and I know he’s going to kiss me. I’ve seen that look before. He threads his fingers through my hair until he’s cupping my head.