by Calia Read
I’m in love. But the problem is I’m not in love and stupid. We have an expiration date. Every second spent with Étienne or near him is a moment that I won’t get back because I will eventually go back.
Sometimes I want to tilt my head back and scream at the sky to get it over with and put me out of my misery. To bring me back to my own time because I can’t do this anymore. It’s hell on my heart.
Before I can turn around and reply to Étienne, he slips away into the crowd. I turn in a circle, trying to find where he went. He is nowhere to be found.
Unlike the previous night, I don’t drink a drop of alcohol at the reception. That can’t be said for the majority of Nat’s guests. The servants, with the help of a team of caterers, have been rushing back and forth between the back entrance of Belgrave and the tables scattered across the backyard.
The space is overflowing with guests. I’d never seen Belgrave at such max capacity. Even the party I walked into the very first time I came here in 1912 didn’t hold a candle to this event. During the drive to the wedding, Nat nervously rambled about a lot of subjects. But one thing that stood out to me was her mentioning of the reception.
“The Livingston side craves privacy, and it’s reflected in the design of Belgrave. The doors have only been opened to the public one time before. It was my parents’ weddin’.” Her eyes looked frantic. “When I walk through Belgrave, hand in hand with my new husband, toward the gardens, is the past repeatin’ itself?”
I assured her she was going to live a happy life, and for the millionth time, I told her it was just wedding jitters. Watching her happily speak to guests with Oliver eased the unrest in my heart. But was she putting on a show for the guests? Was it the champagne? I chose to believe all the anxiety built up before the wedding was fading away because Nat deserved all the happiness in the world.
Twisting in my chair, I look around at the unfamiliar faces before I catch Étienne speaking with some guests. He’s nodding and smiling at the right times. To the rest of the guests, Étienne appears to be enjoying himself, but I watch as his eyes furtively travel to the French doors leading into the house. He’s counting down the hours until the reception is over. Throughout the night, Scarlett has been glued to his side as if the two of them are Siamese twins. Shockingly, she’s left his side long enough to speak to a fellow bridesmaid.
As if he can sense me staring at him, Étienne abruptly looks my way. The sun set over an hour ago, so I should be protected by the dark, but I swear Étienne can see the way heat floods my face as I think of our frantic touches, pounding hearts, and moans swallowed by stolen kisses over the past few days. He tips his glass in my direction before he takes a drink, and I know his thoughts are following the same path as mine.
“Just water?” a voice asks.
Gasping, I twist around in my seat and find Nicholas sitting in the chair to my right. I expected to sit by him, but instead, I ended up between Livingston and Scarlett’s father. Who, thanks to his constant bellowing, I found out was named Jack and loved to say the word, “Huh?” in every other sentence to the poor, unsuspecting fool who fell into a conversation with him. I can’t tell if he has selective hearing or if he just doesn’t pay attention to half of what the person is saying. He seems like an arrogant man who likes to hear himself speak.
Being around Jack interests me, though. Nicholas is the exact opposite of his father. Tonight I also met their mother, Eliza. It is apparent where Scarlett and Nicholas get their striking looks from.
I smile at Nicholas. “I think I’m still a bit hungover from last night. Otherwise, I’d be drinking with the best of them,” I confess.
Nicholas grins, leaning back in the chair as he scans the crowd. I’m tempted to turn around, but I know Étienne’s still looking this way, and my heart rate still hasn’t returned to normal.
“Are you glad the ceremony is over?” Nicholas asks.
I shrug. “Just a bit.” Quickly, I speak up. “Don’t get me wrong. It was wonderful, but the minister wouldn’t shut the hell up. The way he was carrying on, you’d think he was a Baptist preacher on a Sunday morning.”
At that, Nicholas laughs loudly. He shakes his head at me as if he can’t believe what I said yet doesn’t want me to stop. “The things you say...” He lets his words hang between us.
“Are what everyone else is thinking,” I finish for him.
He tilts his glass in my direction before he takes another drink. Twisting around in my chair, I search for Nat and find her laughing with a guest. Oliver is by her side. “Nat has never looked happier,” I observe with a small smile.
Nicholas gives a noncommittal shrug and takes a sip of his drink. “Well, she’s no longer hollering at everyone, so that’s progress. Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”
“As much as I can. And you? Are you having fun?”
“Not quite as much as last night.”
It’s impossible to ignore the heat in his eyes and the double entendre of his words. I look down at the table and toy with my utensils.
Please don’t say anything more, please don’t say anythin—
Ever so slowly, Nicholas’s hand smoothly drifts across the table and covers mine, effectively halting my fidgeting.
Out of the corner of my eye, I look at him. It would be so easy to fall for this man. If I didn’t love Étienne Lacroix, I think my heart would be willing to give Nicholas a chance. But our window of opportunity has shut, and I don’t think it will open.
Quietly, I clear my throat and attempt to disentangle my hand as gingerly as possible. Nicholas’s smile fades, and I feel like shit.
Suddenly, I stand. “I need to go to the restroom.”
I don’t give Nicholas a chance to reply. I hurry toward Belgrave without a backward glance with tunnel vision on the back doors. All I need to focus on is getting inside and finding a quiet spot where I can take a deep breath and have some time to myself.
The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt Nicholas. Yet it appears I did just that. I need to apologize to him. Explain that the situation between Étienne and me is incredibly confusing. There’s a huge possibility he might be mad, or he might understand. I won’t know until I speak to him.
I reach the French doors and step inside Belgrave. Away from all the guests, my nerves begin to dissipate, and I can take a deep breath. I round the corner, heading toward the foyer—intent on having a few minutes alone in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs—when, all of a sudden, a hand snakes out of the closet door, curls around my arm, and yanks me inside.
Before I can scream, a calloused hand covers my mouth. I arch my body, fighting for space so I can elbow the stranger in the stomach and get out of his grasp.
“Serene, it’s me,” Étienne whispers into my ear as I fight in his arms. “I just want to talk to you.”
I sag against him partially in relief and the other in exhaustion. I don’t have it in me to spar with him tonight. He lowers his hand, and I take a deep breath.
Quickly, I whip my body around and face him. At least I think I do. It’s pitch black. “You realize your actions are the making of a serial killer, correct? I once saw a documentary on Netflix, and it was—”
“What’s Netflix?” Étienne cuts in.
I rub my temples as my shoulder blades graze the wall behind me. I’m trying to put as much space between Étienne and me as I can, but it’s impossible. “That is not a can of worms I want to open right now.”
He leans in, interest causing his green eyes to gleam brightly. “But you’ll tell me later?”
I sigh. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
That’s a lie. I do know. I want to. I miss our late-night conversations. When it comes to information about my time, Étienne is like a sponge, soaking it all up. He’s voracious and can’t get enough. I told him about movies, TV shows, and the progression of entertainment, but we never got around to the magic that is Netflix and Hulu.
Most of all, I miss talking to him in general. The tension betwe
en us is killing me. I wish it was never there to begin with.
“What do you need to speak with me about, Étienne?”
Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness. Light from the hall seeps in from beneath the door, allowing me to see the wide span of Étienne’s shoulders. He’s taken off his tailcoat, making his white waistcoat and dress shirt stand out in the small, dark space.
Étienne takes a step closer and crosses his arm as he leans against the wall. In this small space, his head nearly touches the ceiling. I look up, trying to figure out where this closet is located. From the slant of the ceiling, it must be beneath the stairs.
Silence descends around us. “Nat used to hide in here.”
“Okay,” I draw out slowly, yet I can’t help the hint of interest that coats my words. Étienne doesn’t offer up information about his family to just anyone. Anything I know, I’ve either asked about or earned the right to hear.
“When my parents and brother died, the servants and relatives couldn’t find her. Everyone was terrified that she had drowned in the pond or swamp nearby or gotten lost in the woods.”
Silently, I watch as he leans against the wall. It’s impossible to see the emotions passing through his gaze, and that’s probably the reason he’s saying this now. There’s safety in darkness and danger in the light.
“When Livingston and I came home from school, we found her almost immediately. She’d been hiding for three days and would sneak out at night for food. She was a child, but she was old enough to know she lost a piece of herself. Livingston and I promised we’d be there for her. We told her we weren’t going anywhere. We said anythin’ to try to get her out of the closet, but she wouldn’t budge. Livingston gave up. I sat in the small space with her that night, and we went over all the things our parents and Julian would miss from our lives. Her gettin’ married was one of them.”
Étienne clears his throat. “It took her an additional day to finally have the courage to crawl out of this closet and even longer to go back to bein’ the Nat I knew and loved. For years, I’ve been dreadin’ this day because I knew I’d be fillin’ impossibly large shoes, but you helped make today a bit more bearable for her. So thank you.”
My dress rustles around me as I shift from foot to foot. For the first time in my life, I’m speechless. I don’t have a sarcastic quip on the tip of my tongue or words to soothe him over the absence of his parents and brother.
I believe in times of devastation, words are futile and actions are necessary. So I reach out and skim my hand down his bicep. I give his forearm a small squeeze, but before I can pull away, Étienne’s hand latches onto mine, and he links our fingers together.
“Nothing to thank me for,” I say quietly. “I think of Nat as a sister. I was glad I could be here and witness her big day.” I swallow and shoot the door a furtive look; Étienne’s moving closer, invading my personal space until I feel a solid wall of muscle pressed against my chest. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I kissed him, felt him, had him, but you’d think from the way my body’s responding, it’s been years.
“Have you shared with your fiancée anything you just told me?”
“No.”
“Perhaps you should. You two will be spending the rest of your lives together,” I point out even though the words taste like poison.
Étienne rubs the pad of his thumb against my racing pulse at my wrist. “I’m only comfortable tellin’ you. Surviving trace, remember?”
“Time won’t let me stay here, remember?” I whisper.
“Don’t talk about that. Not now.”
“But it’s the truth, and the reality you’ve chosen for yourself. For us.”
“You think I want this?” he asks, his voice an anguished whisper. “You don’t think I want you as my wife?”
“Honestly? I don’t know what to think anymore, Étienne.”
He bends his head until our foreheads touch. “It’s agony seein’ you with Nicholas and knowin’ I have no right to say a word.” His hands break free from mine and sink into my hair, causing strands to slide out of my bun. “I’ll gladly admit I’m jealous if it means I’m free from this pain.”
A deep shuddering breath escapes me, and Étienne swallows it whole.
Unlike last night, this kiss is slow and purposeful. It’s the kind of kiss that taps into the deepest part of your emotions. A dangerous kiss. And instead of giving up everything I feel and showing Étienne my true desires, I push those feelings in a deep corner of my heart and shut the door. I give him what I’m capable of, but it’s not enough.
Groaning, his hands span my waist and lift me until we’re face to face and our bodies are pressed against each other. Even through the layers of my dress, I can feel how hard he is. My arms link behind his neck. His tongue sweeps into my mouth. I tilt my head to the side and kiss him back. Expertly, I move my tongue against his while my hips restlessly grind against him.
The action causes Étienne to swear and stumble forward. My back hits the wall as Étienne’s lips move down my neck toward the upper swell of my breasts. My breathing becomes labored as I rake my hands through his hair. He hooks one finger around the bodice of my dress, and with one simple tug, I feel the cold air touch my breasts. Instantly, Étienne’s hands are there massaging them, plucking at my nipples, making my back arch.
“Every man has been starin’ at you in this dress today,” he says against my neck. “I wanted to kill them all.”
“Not your wife, Étienne,” I remind him.
“Should be,” he growls.
“Won’t be.”
“You still need me.”
I smirk. “Try me.”
Our war of words is foreplay all on its own. As if to punish me for my remarks, Étienne kisses me hard. Not one to shy away from a challenge, I kiss him right back—our words locking our mouths together. At this point, it’ll take an act of God for one of us to pull away. My tongue moves against his before I smoothly suck on his tongue. As I do that, my hand grazes his dick, and I feel the hard length of him. Instantaneously, I become wet, and a whimper escapes my mouth.
Étienne breaks free from the kiss. With his body hunched, he rests his palms on the wall behind me and buries his faces into my neck. He sucks on the gentle slope, and I know he’s going to leave a mark if he keeps going, but I don’t care.
His lips move down my neck, then drift down my chest before he plumps one breast and flicks the tip and draws the bud into his mouth. Gently, he bites down, causing me to gasp. He repeats the same ministration on the other breast.
In this small closet, the air becomes charged with our moans and heavy breathing. Sweat beads around my temples and between my breasts. With Étienne, I don’t know whether to cry or sag against the wall in relief because my body feels like it’s going to explode.
But he’s not done yet. With his hands on my hips, he gets on his knees, gathering the heavy material of my dress up to my waist. At first, I’m so shocked at seeing him on his knees, at being exposed that I can only stare, but when his big hands trail up my legs and palm my ass, I’m jolted back to reality.
“Étienne,” I warn.
“What?” He lifts his head. “You told me to try you. I’m tryin’ you.”
Even in the dark, I can feel his gaze on me. He pulls my underwear to the side, and I gulp. I feel two fingers move between the folds of my pussy.
“God, you’re wet,” he whispers.
“Gee, I wonder why,” I moan.
Expertly, his fingers begin to move in and out of me. He moves slowly at first, his free hand curling around my right thigh, gently pushing my legs apart before he drapes it over his shoulder. His fingers begin to move faster. I feel his hair tickle my leg and jump at how close he is.
I feel his breath against the apex of my inner thighs. His lips soon follow. I take a deep breath and remind myself to stay quiet. But when I feel his lips join his fingers, I jump almost reflexively. My hands curl around the material of my dress.
“
Shit,” I hiss.
Mere steps away, wedding guests and servants are walking down the hall. Hell, one of those guests could be Étienne’s fiancée. Yet I don’t push him away.
I thrust my hips, trying to get closer to his mouth. He groans, and the sound vibrates through me, taking me one step closer to the edge of the precipice. One more flick of his tongue. One more thrust of his finger and I’ll fall. I know it.
His tongue moves against my clit.
My leg begins to shake. Standing suddenly becomes impossible as all the blood rushes to my center. Étienne’s free hand curls around my leg that’s over his shoulder. His fingers dig into my flesh. My chest begins to heave. Étienne’s fingers move faster, his tongue dancing in a skillful rhythm.
“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” I pant as my heart beats wildly in my chest. My hands blindly seek the back of Étienne’s head to hold him to me as I move against his mouth.
My body arches, and my muscles lock up as I cry out Étienne’s name. I feel one thing and one thing only: bliss.
Eventually, my body sags against the wall as I drift back to reality. I expect Étienne to get up, but he stays put, placing soft kisses against me before he rights my underwear and lets the material of my dress fall to the floor in a sea of black.
Panting, Étienne rests his forehead against my stomach.
“That was...” I lick my lips and stare up at the ceiling. “That was…”
Wrong? A mistake? Something that will never happen again because he’s engaged?
Étienne lifts his head and slowly stands. “Just like last night, amazin’ and far from tryin’.” I hear the teasing tone in his words, but I know he’s attempting to avoid the subject at hand.
He helps me adjust the front of my dress, and once that’s done, and my heart rate is back to normal, I wrap a hand around his bicep. “Étienne, we can’t do that again.”
“Because I’m engaged,” he states flatly.
“Because you’re engaged,” I repeat.