by Calia Read
“Hello, everyone,” Oliver greets. He stops beside Nat and kisses her cheek.
“We should give them their privacy,” Asa declares.
Étienne gives his thanks. Reluctantly, I follow behind Nat and Asa. However, the minute I shut the door, I plaster my ear against the solid oak.
“Whatever are you doin’?” Nat hisses.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “Um, trying to listen. Duh,” I whisper back.
I’m the chick who says she’s doesn’t like drama but is the first one available when a dramatic story is being told. Please bring it around me. Just don’t involve me.
“Now both of you shush. They’re talking,” I say.
Nat looks at Asa with shock and waits for him to intervene. When he doesn’t, she shrugs and heavily sighs.
Placing one palm on the door and the other on the wall, I squint one eye into the skeleton keyhole and try my hardest to focus on the conversation in Étienne’s office.
My view is very limited. I can only see midsections and directly in front of me, but it’s better than nothing.
“I believe we’re past formalities, don’t you?” Étienne says as he sits down.
Oliver nods. “I suppose so.”
“I was acceptin’ of you when you courted Nathalie. And so was Livingston. He was more than acceptin’. Is that a fair statement?”
There’s a pause, then, “Yes.”
“So, why, when I trust you do you attempt to destroy my businesses without a second thought?”
“Étienne, if you would allow me the chance to explain?”
“Please do because right now, I don’t know if I’ve ever been angrier.”
“Let me start and say how wonderful it is to see you. I didn’t know if we’d ever get the chance to speak again. You were gone, and—”
“I was away for months,” Étienne corrects. “Not years.”
“Yes, but your brother was—”
“My God, if you say incapacitated, you will never get to your first weddin’ anniversary.”
“Serene’s right. This is too good to miss,” Asa says from behind me.
Twisting my hand around, I hold my palm out. “Five it.”
Asa gives me the softest high five, and while I take up residence in front of the skeleton keyhole, Nat stands near me with her ear pressed against the door. Asa stands above her in the same position. The three of us remain frozen as we strain to listen. A servant walks by and barely bats an eye.
“Because you all mean so much to Nat, I believed I was doing what was best for my family. You all mean so much to Nat.”
Étienne dips his head in acknowledgment. “Thoughtful words, Oliver. But I believe a quote from Edgar Allen Poe applies to you. ‘Believe nothing you hear, and only one-half that you see.’”
“Precisely. What you’re hearing is wrong.”
“Do you dare to call my sister, your wife, a liar?”
“Never. I wasn’t referring to her.”
“Then who?”
There’s a heavy silence. I try to look deep into the room to see their faces, but it’s no use.
An acerbic laugh. I know that belongs to Étienne. “Surely, you don’t mean Asa?”
“Who else? He was upset he was not in your will and wanted to taint your view of me.”
“He whispered nothin’ in my ear. Perhaps I should have had him in my will because before you had even finished readin’ the document, you made plans to sell everythin’ my family worked for.”
“That simply not true. I waited until—”
“You are lyin’. I know what you did,” Étienne says, his voice deadly quiet.
My heart pounds at an irregular rhythm. Should one of us go in there before Étienne kills Oliver? Because there’s a good chance that will happen. Bad enough Oliver deceived Étienne the way he did, but now it’s salt in the wound that he won’t confess the truth. Does any frustration compare to when someone refuses to take ownership of their behavior?
“Don’t ever fuck with my family again because I will fuck with yours. Are we clear?” Étienne says.
“Where did he learn to speak in such a manner?” Nat whispers, appalled.
“I have no idea. It shall remain one of life’s greatest mysteries,” Asa replies deadpan, his eyes looking pointedly in my direction.
I shrug and then go back to peering inside the room. Oliver leans back in his chair, exhibiting the picture of being calm and in control, but one thing my viewpoint affords me is straight shot at the way Oliver’s left leg nervously bobs up and down.
“We’re clear, but are you forgetting I’m married to your sister? As you put it, if you fuck with my family, that will affect Nat.”
“You understand good and well what I mean. You, too, have a family business. Now envision if I went for what your father’s worked so hard for?”
Oliver doesn’t have an answer for that. I smile.
“I can sense your hatred for me, but I will not leave Nat. I love her.”
“You have an awfully strange way of showin’ it,” Étienne murmurs. “However, I’m not askin’ you to leave Nat. My sister is a grown woman. But time has an interestin’ way of workin’. She may depart with you. Go back to Brignac House. Perhaps you’ll spend a few years of happiness, but time will tick by, and the blood that courses through her will remain Lacroix, and the resentment she has for you will be Lacroix. And when she hates you enough to leave with everythin’ she came with, it will be because she is a Lacroix. Not a Claiborne.”
I’d give anything to see Oliver’s facial expression right now. From the way his hands curl around the edge of the armrests, I’d say it’s not good.
“Are we done here?”
“Yes. Have a nice trip back to Savannah. Nathalie expressed her wish to visit with my fiancée for a while longer. Will you deny her that?”
“Not at all. She may join me in Savannah at a later date.”
“How kind of you.” Étienne’s words drip with disdain.
Conversation ceases and chairs creak as the two of them stand. Asa, Nat, and I make a mad dash to move out of the doorway.
The door opens right as the three of us round the corner in the direction of the foyer. When we enter the sitting room, Livingston and Rainey immediately look our way. Miles jumps up from his seat.
“What’s wrong?”
I plop down on the couch and look at Rainey and Miles. “We’ve been here the entire time.”
“But—”
I jab a finger in Miles’s direction. “The. entire. time.”
Nat giggles, causing me to look her direction and smile. It’s almost as though we’re back to the days when I first arrived at Belgrave. I was fascinated by the newness of my surroundings yet terrified, and here was this small brunette whose sunny disposition couldn’t be denied. She seemed to follow me everywhere and never failed to make me smile.
Even though she will stay at Belgrave, I know she’ll return to Savannah.
But I don’t want her to go.
Someone clears their throat, interrupting the surprisingly enjoyable moment. Oliver stands in the doorway, looking nonplussed as if he didn’t just get his ass handed to him by Étienne. He spots Nat and gives a tight smile. “Darling, may I speak with you?”
She stands up immediately but not before she gives Asa a furtive look. “Of course.”
“I apologize I didn’t get to speak with everyone, but my train leaves soon.”
“We’ll find the time to talk when you visit again,” Miles says diplomatically.
“Of course,” Oliver plays along. He walks away with Nat on his arm.
Miles crosses his arms and sighs. “Well, that was …”
“Troublesome?” Rainey says.
“Awkward?” I provide.
“All the above,” Étienne says as he walks into the room. Even though he got everything off his chest with Oliver, and his companies are still intact, there’s still a murderous look in his eyes. It might’ve be
en best if he would’ve decked Oliver.
Sitting beside me, Étienne hikes a thumb toward the doorway in the direction of the foyer. “I hate him.”
Asa claps him on the shoulder. “Oh, I don’t think your hatred matches mine. Because I’m the one who introduced them.”
“You did?” Livingston asks.
Remorsefully, Asa nods. My heart goes out to him because I all too vividly remember the heartache of watching the one you love with another.
“Give it time. She’ll come back to you,” I say quietly.
The only indication Asa hears me is a brief nod before he looks at Étienne and me and lowers his voice so Miles and Rainey don’t hear him. Not that it would matter. They’re telling Livingston how Nat and Oliver met.
“Are we in agreement about Old Serene?”
Étienne and I exchange a quick look. I stop myself from placing a protective hand over my stomach.
“Yes,” Étienne answers for us both. “We’ll begin lookin’ for her immediately.”
The time has come for the truth to be unearthed.
Every dream I’ve had, every person who’s sought me out will all make sense. And the answers I’ve been seeking have led me to a place called Belgrave. After my conversation with Miss Phoebe McNeal, I was intrigued, to say the least. Immediately, I sought my aunt Aida and inquired whether she knew an Étienne Lacroix. She merely laughed and shook her head as though I was daft, before she said, “Sweet girl, you’d do well to never ask that question in front of your uncle Samuel. Mr. Lacroix is President of the Lacroix Shipping Company. The very company your uncle is vice president of!”
That explained why Lacroix sounded vaguely familiar.
She went on to explain how it was just tragic what happened to Livingston Lacroix, and how she paid him and his sister, Nathalie, a visit at Belgrave.
Belgrave, Belgrave, Belgrave.
The name evokes power, opulence, and beauty. I can’t help but think of the mansion from my dream.
And as I stand in front of Belgrave, I realize I was right. This mansion even has a balcony on the second story. A shiver sweeps down my spine. I still remember how it felt to claw at the air as I fell to the ground.
My fear causes my foot to hover above the first step. I glance up at the second-floor window and see red hair remarkably like mine. Giving the railing a tight squeeze, I step backward and attempt to get a better look. Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, or maybe it was all in my imagination because there’s nothing there now. Squinting, I step closer to the bushes. Frustration seeps into my veins as I wait not so patiently for something or someone to appear. Then she does.
Or I do.
Gasping, I cover my mouth with both hands. My breaths become shallow. I don’t know how to describe what I’m staring at, other than it’s me. And I am her.
The probability of this being more of a dream than a reality is high. Yet the wind tickling the hairs on the back of my neck says differently.
Now, my experiences of late make sense. Strangers who I’ve never met seem to know me. But why does this woman have my name? As far as I know, I have no identical twin.
I must speak to this woman.
Initially, I planned to knock on the door. Now I’m not so sure that’s the best course of action. My curiosity is beginning to override common sense. I’ll do whatever means necessary to get the answers I seek and see this woman up close.
Looking around, I make sure no one is watching before I walk around the lavish mansion. I don’t encounter a servant or resident, but that doesn’t stop my heart from pounding nearly out of my chest. As I reach the back of the plantation, I see the back gate that leads to the gardens, and most importantly, the French doors. They might be locked; they might be unlocked.
Holding the hem of my skirt away from the dirty cobblestone pathway, I run toward the doors. I’m glad I didn’t bring my maid Betsy with me today. I would have to suffer through her incessant questions.
“Should we be doing this, ma’am?”
“Is this safe, ma’am?”
“Perhaps it’s time to go back, ma’am?”
I will only go back when I have what I want.
As quietly as possible, I turn the knob to one of the French doors. There’s a very brief creaking noise. I freeze, straining to hear if anyone in the home hears the sound or if there’s footsteps. After a few seconds of silence, I continue until there’s enough space for me to slide my body into the house.
I hear footsteps on the first floor and flatten myself against the nearest wall. Once the footsteps subside, I inch forward. I don’t bother closing the door behind me. There’s a chance I might have to make a quick escape.
I, myself, have never made one, but the amorous men in my life have. They’ve been creative in their departures and made them appear so simple. Not a one broke a sweat. As for me, my heart is beating a mile a minute, and as I walk down the hall, I am petrified at what I will do when I encounter someone or, better yet, the woman who looks like me.
My steps are whisper soft as I walk down the hallway. There are closed doors around me. The Fresco damask wallpaper isn’t my taste, and neither are the wall sconces. Thus far, the house appears a bit outdated. I would never want to live here.
I continue down the hallway, hoping somewhere I’ll find the stairs that will lead me to the second floor. Eventually, I take a right toward what appears to be a foyer. The ceilings are impossibly high, amplifying any voices nearby. I stop and adjust the waistband of my skirt. My hands go to my hair. Blindly, I feel to make sure every strand is in place. At this point, I know it’s merely a matter of time until I happen upon someone. When the moment comes, I need to be my charming self and appear as though I belong in this home.
Jutting my chin out and straightening my shoulders, I step into the foyer. I scan my environment with a critical eye. Opulence doesn’t astonish me. Although this home is quite beautiful in its own right, I’ve seen far more extravagant and luxurious homes. In fact, this mansion is a bit ostentatious, bordering on being gauche.
Unlike the narrow hallway, the doors leading into the dining room, sitting parlor, and library are open. I hurry forward in case anyone happens to catch me walking by.
As I walk by the sitting parlor, I hear a deep voice that I recognize, that causes my heartbeat to quicken. Where do I know that voice?
Before I can think on that deeper, I notice the footman standing by the front door. The unexpected part is he doesn’t appear surprised to see me as I am to see him. I pause by the stairs for half a moment, unsure whether he will speak or demand to know who I am and what I’m doing. But amazingly, he dips his head and continues to stare straight ahead as though we see each other every day. Not one to let my good fortune go to waste, I curl my fingers around the banister and walk up the steps.
So far, I’ve made it this far without being accosted. Can I say the same for the second floor?
“You swindler!” an angry female voice comes from downstairs. I freeze in place, afraid someone has discovered me when the same voice says, “Nat, did you see that?”
Exhaling, I continue to the second-floor landing. I look left and then right, unsure of where to proceed. I saw the woman on the second floor, facing the front of the house, but I don’t know the layout of this home. The only thing that I can do is be as quiet as possible and search through the rooms.
When I see her, what will I say? What will she say? As for me, the only thing I want to do is explain what’s been happening to me. I want to know about her. Who is she? What is her name? Does she have strange dreams? Will I even be able to make it that far, though? What I’m proposing is unbelievable and makes me sound unhinged.
Two servants pass by me. I do what comes naturally and look at them with superiority in my eyes. Immediately, their gazes flit to the ground—as their eyes should—and they continue walking. The remarkable thing that’s happened since I walked into this garish home is no one has questioned my presence. I’d like to contribu
te it to my confidence, but there’s something more to it.
Do they believe I’m the woman I saw in the window?
I open four doors, mostly empty bedroom. With each door I open and shut, I get the impression I’m being followed. Furtively, I look over my shoulder every so often, but no one is there. It must all be in my mind. I continue to search the rooms until I make a right and place my hand on the door handle of the first door to my right. If no one is inside, I will continue to open every door in this hallway until I find the woman. She wasn’t an illusion. I saw her with my own eyes.
I turn the knob on the fifth door. The door creaks open an inch or two. I peer inside, my eyes canvasing every square inch of the room to the best of my ability. It’s utterly beautiful with the pink walls and pink ruffled comforter. My God, I could make this room my own. I forget what I originally set out to do until I see a sleeping form on the bed to the left. She shifts slightly, and I hold my breath.
“Étienne, I said I’m fine. Just let me rest, and I’ll be back downstairs,” the female says.
There’s that Étienne name again. Does she know him? Heart racing and head pounding, I step into the room, closing the door softly behind me. The woman doesn’t stir.
The first thing I notice is the red hair. My red hair. It’s draped over the pillow. Except it’s wild and curly. Does she own a brush or have a maid? We’re not animals, for heaven’s sake. Second, the woman’s back is to me as she lays on the bed. I’m a bit envious of her right now. I want to lie down. With every passing second, my headache seems to be increasing, and the pain in my stomach seems to be spreading throughout my body. Sweat begins to gather around my temple. I don’t remember ever feeling this awful. Is there a virus sweeping through Charleston I didn’t know about?
I can’t stop, though. I’ve come this far, so sick or not, I will speak to this woman. Clearing my throat, I link my hands in front of me and wait.
The woman slowly turns onto her back. Instead of meeting her gaze, my eyes snag on her protruding stomach. She’s with child. My mouth slowly parts. Finally, our eyes connect, and when they do, every effort I’ve made, all the frustration I’ve felt, becomes worth it.
