King of the South

by Read, Calia

  Wife was one title I can’t imagine she would carry with aplomb. She might walk down the aisle, but she’ll be kicking and screaming the entire time.

  She’s far too disorderly and bold for one man to contain. Just mere hours ago, she had burst into my bedroom and tried to shoot me in the buttocks with her favorite weapon of choice. She couldn’t have interrupted at a more inopportune time. Since I came back from the war, I haven’t been intimate with a woman. There have been times when I was close, but there was no desire. After Rainey pounded on my door last night, the brief conversation we had gave me an extra pep in my step. The woman who was hanging on my arm all night was the very one I took to my room in the early hours of the morning, but it was useless. She was naked beneath me, and I was … flaccid. It was useless. Something in me was broken.

  And then Rainey burst into the room with her bow and arrow. My ass throbs from thinking of her near perfect aim. If I wasn’t moving, I know she would’ve struck me and I’d be lying in my bed right now, on my stomach, with ice on my ass instead of walking into Belgrave.

  All in all, I consider it a victory.

  The plantation I grew up in as a child, where my twin brother and his family now live in, is relatively quiet. I look around the foyer. The doors to the sitting room are open, revealing servants quietly cleaning, but they pay me no mind.

  Ben, the head butler, who’s standing beside the front door, clears his throat. Turning around, I find him pointing toward the hall. “I believe your brother is in his office, Mr. Lacroix.”

  “Thank you.”

  Whistling, I stroll down the hall. I’m the very picture of nonchalance. Internally, I’m thinking of how to broach this subject with Étienne.

  I knew Rainey well enough to know that if you forced her to do something, she would do the very opposite. It didn’t mean I was inclined to be part of this dowry business. In front of Rainey, though, I will profess nothing of the sort because I can’t help myself. Any opportunity I can get to watch steam come out of her ears, I’ll take. Since I had the pleasure of seeing that and then some, it’s time to get to business. And who better than to speak to the expert on business?

  I knock on Étienne’s office door before I enter. “Mornin’.”

  My older brother by seven minutes, who’s poring over a document, lifts his head. He looks unsurprised to see me. “It’s the afternoon, but considerin’ you wake up at eleven, this is your mornin’.”

  I sit in one of the seats across from him and cross one leg over the other. “Étienne, I need to speak with you at once.”

  “About?”

  “I have a problem we need to discuss.”

  “So do I. You see, I keep tryin’ to work, but this man child continues to interrupt my day, makin’ it virtually impossible to run a business and provide for my family.”

  I arch a brow. “I’m bein’ serious.”

  “So am I.” Sighing, Étienne slips his glasses off and tosses them onto this desk. “What is the matter?”

  Pulling Pleas’s will from my back pocket, I place it on Étienne’s desk and slam my palm on top of it. “This is the matter.”

  I didn’t have Étienne’s attention when I sat down. But I do now because he cannot help himself when it comes to documents. Finding the fine print is a game to him, and he enjoys negotiating what he wants changed, the contract length, and the terms or money. Almost immediately, Étienne snatches the papers and begins reading. I watch as his brows slowly furrow, then nearly connect. My stomach drops. When is that ever a good sign? Moments later, Étienne lowers the will onto the desk and whistles. “I presumed you were jestin’ when you walked in, but I stand corrected.” Étienne grins. “You truly do have a problem.”

  “Thank you for statin’ the obvious.” I drag my hands down my face and gesture to the core of my problem. “What do I do?”

  Étienne leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head. “I think the answer is obvious. You do the right thing and help Pleas’s sister. This would be a perfect project.”

  My blood runs cold at the very thought. “No, no, no. Absolutely not,” I immediately reply.

  “And why not?”

  “I think we both know why not. Rainey isn’t a project. She’s a livin’, breathin’ nightmare. I prefer all body parts to remain intact. And if the first two reasons will not suffice, I’m not a governess.”

  Étienne gestures to the will and arches a brow. “Oh, but it seems as if you are.”

  “Rainey is an adult. She’s free to do as she pleases.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  I surge out of the chair and begin to pace. “No. Naturally, I allowed her to believe the will is set in stone.”

  “Naturally,” Étienne repeats.

  “I can’t help myself. She was furious.” I fling my hand in the air. “It’s entirely too easy to get beneath her skin when she gets that way.”

  Étienne gives me a hard look. “Some might say the same for yourself.”

  Ignoring the last bit, I walk back to his desk and sit back down. A powerful headache pounds against the base of my skull, and I rub my temples. We are not making the progress I thought we would.

  “What’s the real reason you don’t want to do this?” Étienne asks.

  I take a deep breath and contemplate whether I should tell my brother the truth. The very last thing I need right now is to have a ward. Especially if that ward is Rainey Pleasonton. She is the very opposite of pleasant.

  If someone were to cut me open, they would see how black and unsalvageable my soul is. It has seen too much. It is beginning to rot, and it’s only a matter of time before nothing’s left. When that happens, I’ll celebrate the occasion with some Old Fitzgerald.

  “Livingston?” Étienne prods, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  I think of a reply on the spot but am saved by a loud knock on the door. Étienne and I turn in time to see my sister-in-law open the door and then slam it loudly. She shoots it an annoyed look and waddles over to us.

  “Question, Étienne. How big of a baby were you?” she asks.

  He eyes her warily. “I’m not certain. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’m convinced this child is going to be a beast master.”

  Serene places a hand on her lower back as she slowly sits down. She closes her eyes and sighs with relief once she makes herself comfortable. She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “What’s the matter, Livingston? Never seen a person sit in a chair?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ve simply never heard that much noise come out of one person while they’re sittin’.”

  “Well, imagine carrying a baby who thinks your internal organs can be made into balloon animals.”

  `“I don’t know what balloon animals are, but since you said it, it probably isn’t an appropriate conversation to have in public.”

  “Is it appropriate to have a human being use your ribs as a jungle gym?” Serene retorts.

  When I look at my brother, he subtly shakes his head. I’ve heard of women becoming … uncomfortable during their pregnancy and especially during the end. However, Serene appears as if she wants to tear my head off, then place it on the tip of a stake so she can roast it over a burning fire and feast on it for dinner.

  After a few seconds, Serene takes another deep breath and lifts her head, staring at Étienne and me. She smiles, and it’s as though she didn’t snarl at me like a rabid dog seconds ago.

  “What are you two talking about?” Serene asks.

  “This.” Étienne holds the paper out for Serene. She scans the document, and a frown causes her brows to crease.

  She glances back and forth between Étienne and me. “What’s this mumbo jumbo bullshit?”

  “This is Pleas’s will. Rainey has a dowry and sixty days to find a husband. Oh, did I also mention I was the executor of her dowry?”

  Her brows nearly lift to her hairline. “You are? Oh, poor Rainey.”

  “Poor Rainey? Poor Rai
ney? Where’s your loyalty?”

  Serene scoffs and hands the will back to Étienne before she begins rubbing her belly. “You know I’m loyal, but it’s fascinating to me how you can charm everyone in Charleston. Hell, you can sell ice to an Eskimo. The only person you can’t charm is Miss Rainey. Speakin’ of my favorite Southern belle, I heard she shot you in the ass.”

  “She told you?” I say.

  At the same time, Étienne says, “What?”

  Serene looks at her husband. “Rainey walked in on Livingston doing it with some chick and shot him in the ass with a bow and arrow because she was pissed at him. She didn’t elaborate on why. I just assumed Livingston did something to tick her off because he’s, well … Livingston.”

  “This was recent?” Étienne asks.

  She nods.

  Étienne rises from his chair and gives me a quick once-over before he sits back down. “For bein’ shot in the buttocks, he’s sittin’ remarkably well.”

  The two of them converse about me as though I’m not there. Finally, I lift my hand, and they look over at me impatiently. “She did not shoot me in the ass, as Serene so eloquently put it.” I pause. “She almost did.”

  Étienne arches a brow. “How many times must you learn to never turn your back on Rainey Pleasonton?”

  “Obviously more than once,” Serene quips.

  “I do not care for the two of you very much right now.”

  Étienne stops chuckling long enough to focus on the will and slip on his glasses. “Ah, Livingston. You know we’re jestin’. Where is your sense of humor?”

  Somewhere in France. Lost in a trench with my soul.

  Instead, I smile tersely. “Forgive me. I have more pressin’ matters that need tendin’ to.”

  “Very well. Let us have a thorough look, shall we?”

  Étienne scarcely has his eyes on the first page before shrieking coming from the hallway drifts into the room.

  “Miss Alex! Miss Alex, no!” someone cries.

  The three of us turn in time to see the door fly open and a five-year-old come running into the room. Curly, dark red hair drawn back by a pink ribbon is all I see at first. Then a flash of more pink with white-capped sleeves. My niece finally stops running and stands in front of me, holding her arms out. Her hands are always sticky, she has a slight lisp, and for such a small thing, she has an unbelievably loud wail. But she has captivating almond-shaped green eyes heavily fringed with black lashes.

  It was one thing Alex inherited from Étienne. Everything else was thanks to Serene.

  I pick her up and place her on my lap. She laughs, and it’s a soothing moment when I forget that Rainey Pleasonton is now my responsibility.

  “Okay. Let me down,” Alex says.

  I follow her request, holding her out in front of me. But as I lower her to the floor, I misjudge the distance, and Alex kicks her feet, promptly hitting me between the legs.

  Shit. Oh fucking shit.

  I think I see stars. If it wasn’t for her governess grabbing her at the last second, I would have almost dropped her. At once, I cradle my groin, forgetting ladies are in the room for a second.

  “Like mother, like daughter,” Étienne says dryly.

  “Serene,” I croak, “you better be prayin’ that baby is a boy because I don’t know if I can carry on the Lacroix name.”

  While stars continue to form behind my eyes, Alex cries. It isn’t the first time she’s heard me say expletives. But it is the first time I’ve shouted them in French and English in front of her. It’s then that one of the strongest men I know scoops up the little life crusher and becomes putty in her hands. “Alexandra, excuse-toi. Vous ne pouvez pas le faire.”

  Alex turns and gives me a bashful smile. At least I think she does. It’s hard to tell. My vision is still quite blurry. “Désolé, Oncle Livingston.”

  Once I manage the strength to nod in her direction, Étienne puts her down. Alex rushes to Serene and buries her head in her skirts. Étienne looks my way and winces. He isn’t laughing at my predicament, so I feel a small sense of solidarity on this matter.

  “Chan-Chan is lost,” Alex whines at Serene.

  “I do apologize, Mrs. Lacroix. I tried to stop Alex from coming in here, but she’s so distraught. We can’t seem to find Chandler. She believes he’s lost,” her governess says.

  “He’s not lost. He’s right here.” As best as she can, Serene bends down, and dangles her hand till her fingertips graze the carpet. A calico moves out from under Étienne’s desk, causing me to nearly have a heart attack.

  The cat slinks up to Serene’s hand and rubs against her. Serene picks the animal up and places it on her lap. I watch in astonishment; neither Étienne nor Serene are cat lovers. I once heard Serene say she’d rather own twenty snakes than have a cat. I sit up straighter in my chair as feeling returns to my lower region. “When did you two get a cat?”

  “When I took Alex for a walk and she discovered this fur ball hiding behind the carriage house. She insisted on caring for him. Turns out, Étienne and I created a little human who prefers cats over dogs.”

  Serene shrugs. It only seems natural to shrug back.

  “What’s his name?” I ask.

  “This is Chandler Bing,” Serene says proudly.

  “What kind of name is Chandler Bing?”

  “It’s a long story, but Chandler Bing is one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite shows ...” Her voice fades as she strokes the cat’s back, and a faraway look appears in her eyes.

  It’s a rarity for her to speak of her era. At times, I forget she’s not from here. And then she will speak an unfamiliar phase or say, “one of my favorite shows.”

  “I better leave before Alex causes any more damage to Livingston’s most prized possession.” It takes Serene three tries to get up from the chair. Étienne and I watch her. We don’t attempt to help because we know if we do, she’ll, well … then my brother’s head will be joining mine on the fire. When Serene does make it to her feet, Chandler Bing’s nails are digging into her shoulder, and Alex is running circles around her.

  The governess wrangles Alex, ushering her out of the office. Serene walks behind them. “Good-bye, Livingston,” she calls and looks over her shoulder. “Don’t think we won’t be talking about your little problem later.”

  There was no question in my mind that Serene would make good on her word. Once they’re gone, I whistle. “I would ask how Serene is farin’, but that seems pretty evident.”

  Étienne gives a grunt in reply.

  “I have spare bedrooms if you would like a place to stay,” I tease.

  “I would laugh, but it could be several weeks until the baby arrives.” Étienne drags both hands down his face. “My God, I’m convinced when she gets out of bed in the mornin’ and places her feet on the floor, the devil cowers in fear.”

  I can’t help but laugh at his description. “Well, my door is always open. But before you come over, read through this again.” I emphasize the last of my words by slapping my palm against the surface of the desk.

  He holds his hands before him, palms up. “I’m not a lawyer, Livingston.”

  “You’re smart.”

  “In this regard, you’re givin’ me far too much credit. Besides, from what I read, there’s nothin’ that Pleas has severely imposed on you. It’s not as though you’re the one with the dowry.”

  “You’re correct,” I concede. “I don’t have a dowry. I have somethin’ much worse. I have Rainey. This dowry means we have to stay in contact for the next sixty days. Sixty days.”

  “I can count,” Étienne says drolly. “And it does not specify the two of you have to speak every single day.”

  “I presume we have to stay in contact.”

  Étienne takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I truly believe you’re overthinkin’ this. I’ve known Rainey the same length of time you have. I know how headstrong she can be. You might not even have to worry about this will.”


  Sighing, I drag my hands through my hair and pull until the ends stand up. “Did you not hear your wife? The crazed woman shot me in the ass.”

  My brother smirks. “Enlighten me on why she did that again?”

  I make a noise of frustration. “The details are inconsequential to this matter.”

  “Oh, but I think they are.”

  The memory of Rainey walking in on me with Lydia/Lillian makes me shiver. Only Rainey can ruin sex and nearly incapacitate me at the same time.

  “If my somber brother could return for the moment, I would deeply appreciate that.”

  Étienne holds his hands up. “My apologies.” Clearing his throat, he leans back and stares thoughtfully at the desk.

  We’re granted the silence I’d hoped for since I walked through the front door. But it only highlights the lack of progress neither one of us are making in this dowry situation. After a few minutes of staring out the window, I look toward Étienne and find him staring at me with raised brows.

  He lifts both shoulders, a gesture that says, I still don’t have a resolution for you.

  Groaning, I drag both hands down my face. This was quickly moving from bad to terrible.

  “Everythin’ will be fine.”

  Dropping my hands, I look at him. “Are you certain?”

  Étienne leans back in his chair and links his fingers behind his head. “Absolutely. Trust me, she won’t do it. But a word of advice? It might be best if you wore some extra paddin’ around Rainey.” He gestures to my lower half. “Best not to take any chances.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rainey

  “You have to do this. There’s no other option,” I tell my reflection.

  It’s been two days since Momma told me of our financial peril, and my mind has thought of nothing else. When I look around our home and what Momma has filled it with—our staff, belongings, the food that’s placed in front of me during each meal—I tally the total cost, and it doesn’t seem improbable that we’ve found ourselves in this predicament.

  Many families in the South come from old money. But what most forget is that at some point, the well runs dry. I suppose it was bound to happen to the Pleasonton family. My great-great-granddaddy Arthur Pleasonton was a suggested colonist (although it was never historically proven) who amassed thousands of acres across South Carolina. He would try his hand at anything if it guaranteed money, but what truly interested him were numbers and what led to the money. His sensible ways with money didn’t pass down the line, though. And that would be the root of the problem. Some relatives would squander their inheritance before one could blink. I never imagined the money my ancestors had worked so hard for would suddenly be gone, and so would the land. I think that hurts the most because it shows how vulnerable our finances have been, and I’ve been none the wiser.