by Read, Calia
“The wound on my leg tells me you can be creative when you choose to be. So in the spirit of the game, get creative.”
“Fine,” I whisper back.
Livingston grins, and says, “Do you think you will see Beau again?”
This little game of Livingston’s is highly uncomfortable because it forces me to acknowledge the lack of men I’ve conversed with in my life (with the exception of my brother’s friends) and the multitude of men I’m about to speak with. I may not be entirely against this bachelor idea, but do I know what I’m ready for? I don’t believe I am. But perhaps I need this type of excitement in my life.
My eyes shoot to Livingston’s palm as I write, YES.
Once I’m done, I meet his gaze. His eyes widen as my answer dawns on him.
What did Livingston believe? That I would grow tired of the bachelors after three outings and refuse to see anymore? We both know I’m not afforded that luxury right now. He’s still poring over my family’s ledgers, a task I knew would be tedious and time-consuming, but I still found myself impatient. Would he find miscalculations that could potentially save Momma and me from financial ruin, or was there nothing to be done? I needed answers for so many things, and this was one matter someone was willing to help me resolve.
“You’ll see him again … so is he at the top of your bachelor list?”
My index finger hovers above his palm, prepared to write no when I hesitate. He wants creative? I will show him creative. Very slowly, as to not make too much noise, my fingers curl around the edge of Livingston’s jacket. I can feel his eyes on me. My heart beats so rapidly my hand nearly shakes as I draw the material up his arm. It snags around the middle of his forearm. Light from the movie is cast across our arms, showcasing the contrast between the two. Powerful and slim.
Starting at the inner corner, I write across his skin and veins, I DO NOT KNOW.
He’s quiet for a long second. I can picture him piecing together every letter and structuring each word. As the seconds slip by, I look at him from the corner of my eye. The material of his jacket and sleeve remain bunched around his forearm. Livingston stares forward, his black brows dipped low over his hazel eyes.
He should’ve understood my reply by now. I lean into him. “Should I write it again?” I whisper.
“No,” he says. His voice is choked.
Livingston shifts in his seat, as though he’s uncomfortable. What’s going through his mind right now?
Because I know what’s running through mine, and it’s him and his silly date. Tonight, will he take her home after he’s spent all night next to me, speaking with me in the dark? If he does take her back, will they go upstairs to his room? If they go to his room, will they be intimate like he was with the nameless woman I caught him with?
As I think this through, I drag my finger up and down the armrest. I don’t understand the way that woman held onto him for dear life and made those noises. And to be honest, I still don’t want to understand because I do not want to need something so much. Whether it hurt or felt pleasurable, it was far too much at that moment.
Is that a side effect of love, or lust?
Must be lust.
Has to be lust.
I’ve loved many people in my life—my parents, brother, close friends—and not once did I throw caution to the wind for that love. The option never arose.
If that was a requirement to be with Livingston, I pity each woman who has ever pined after him. I truly do.
So why does the bitter aftertaste that only comes with jealousy fill my mouth and coat my heart?
“Rainey?”
The deep timbre of Livingston’s voice against my ear brings me back to reality. I blink away my thoughts as I slowly turn toward him. He’s so close that our noses nearly touch. “Yes?” I whisper.
His eyes pointedly veer between my face and the armrest. I follow his gaze, and my eyes widen when I see our fingers are linked, and our hands now comfortably rest in his lap.
As though we’re a couple. As though this happens often. The scariest part is my hand fits perfectly in his. The tips of his fingers rest on top of my knuckles, and my heart twists at the sight because it appears so harmless yet possessive.
Dear Lord, I wasn’t touching the armrest. It was Livingston the entire time. Idly tracing the prominent veins in his arms. It’s no surprise he appeared so uncomfortable.
“Do you forfeit?”
His words repeat in my head. Eyes wide, I stare at him. As I try to compose the explanation to my actions, the audience breaks out into a hearty applause. Livingston turns toward the stage. While he’s distracted, I break from the mysterious embrace our hands forged and all but clutch my fingers to my chest as though they’re wounded. It tingles in a thousand different points.
The sconces on the walls light up as Rosalie sighs and looks at Livingston. “What a lovely movie.”
Livingston smiles at her, the sleeve of his jacket is still drawn up around his forearm, and the only person who seems to notice is me.
We missed the entire show.
Livingston stands and offers his arm to Rosalie. I remain sitting, and my heart is still pounding for some reason. I watch Livingston discreetly shake his arm so the bunched-up sleeve languidly slides down his arm and rests at his wrists. He flexes his right hand, almost as though erasing the touch of my words.
Immediately, I turn away and face Beau’s direction. Livingston suggested the write hand game, and I was stupid enough to agree. Beau is already standing, patiently waiting for our eyes to meet. When he holds out a hand for me to take, I don’t hesitate to take it.
“D-did you e-enjoy yourself?”
In alarm, I look at him. Did he catch me with Livingston? His innocent expression reveals he didn’t.
I look down at the ground as we make our way to the aisle. “I did. It was good.”
We turn into the narrow aisle. The theater has become a mass of bodies, but that doesn’t stop me from searching for Livingston. Has he already left? Probably has. If he came here to ruin my opportunity to have a pleasant night with Beau, he succeeded.
I need to salvage what time I have left.
As we wait for the people in front of us to move forward, I look at him. “I was thinkin’ … I don’t go to the theater near enough.”
Beau merely stares at me with wide eyes.
“Do you?” I gently prod.
He shakes his head before he thinks better of it and replies. “N-no.”
As the theater thins out, we make progress toward the foyer. As for Beau and me, the only way we’ll be able to make headway is if I ignore everything Momma has ever told me and be forward. “Perhaps we should go together again.”
At last, Beau understands the direction of the conversation. “I w-would like t-that very much.”
In the foyer, the voices of everybody carry toward the high ceilings. All conversations that were placed on hold the second the movie started have promptly resumed under the bright lights. We stop and wait for Étienne and Serene. There’s still no sign of Livingston. He’s probably pulling up in front of the Lacroix house at this very moment and getting ready to open Rosalie’s door.
We find Étienne and Serene and proceed toward the front doors. Serene dives into her thoughts about the movie. I can only nod because I watched just the first ten seconds. The fresh air feels amazing against my cheeks and clammy hands when the four of us step outside.
Serene stops and takes a deep breath before she leans against Étienne’s arm.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and the feeling of being watched sweeps through me. I scan the faces nearby, nodding my head while Serene continues speaking. Ahead of us, I see Livingston with his date on the sidewalk, waiting for his car. I feel relief.
So they haven’t left.
However, my relief melts into dread once I realize they’re leaving.
Why should it matter to you?
It doesn’t. But Livingston impeding on a date with one
of my bachelors matters greatly to me, and that’s precisely what he did tonight.
“And then my midwife said I was pregnant with triplets,” Serene says.
“That’s nice,” I say, my eyes never leaving Livingston and Rosalie. Ever the gentleman, he holds the door open for her. Once her back is to me, he finds my gaze. Those incredibly light eyes are searing and intense, and even with the distance between us, they send a white-hot heat through me. Exhaling a shaky breath, I tighten my grip on Beau’s arm.
“And each kid is said to weigh ten pounds.”
“How lovely. I’m so thrilled for you,” I murmur.
Livingston remains as still as a statue. I can’t decide whether he’s going to join Rosalie in the car or make his way over here. I rather wish he would so I could confront him on why he appears so disgruntled with me. As though I spoiled his night and forced him to speak with me during the film. Abruptly, Livingston turns and walks around the car to the driver’s side, and all I’m left with is the outline of Rosalie’s and his profiles as they drive away.
I quickly look away, blinking rapidly, and focus on Serene. “I’m sorry? What’s that?”
Serene lifts both brows and tilts her head to the side. “You had no idea what I was saying, did you?”
Scoffing, I casually toss my hand between us. “Of course I did. You were speakin’ … you were speakin’ about the movie.”
“Not even close. I made up some farfetched lie about my pregnancy, but you were too busy watching Livingston like a hawk.”
I don’t bother denying her observation. With the cacophony around me, and Beau and Étienne deep in conversation, I feel free to voice my thoughts to Serene. “Have you seen Rosalie before?”
“Have I?”
I nod, my gaze intent.
“No. I haven’t, but maybe Étienne has. I can ask for y—”
“Absolutely not,” I say a little too harshly.
Serene’s eyes widen.
“There’s no need to ask your husband,” I explain patiently. “I’m merely curious. I’ve never seen his date before. That’s all.”
Serene nods and idly pats her stomach. “God only knows where he found her. Probably branched out of Charleston in search of her.”
“I nearly said the same thing!”
Serene winks. “Great minds think alike. But tell me, since we’re on the subject of Livingston … what were the two of you doing during the movie?” she innocently asks.
For a second, I think my heart stops beating, and the color drains from my face. My mouth opens several times as I try to forge the best reply. “What do you mean? We were simply watchin’ the movie as was everyone else.”
“Yeah … and this baby was conceived by immaculate conception,” Serene replies dryly.
“How did you—”
“At this stage in the pregnancy game, no seat is comfortable for me. I was squirming back and forth the whole time and saw that you and Livingston had your heads hunched together a lot. A lot, a lot.” Serene taps her index finger against the corner of her mouth. “Now why would that be?”
“We were talkin’.”
“Oh, of course. I’ve always admired how well you and Livingston can talk.”
Before there’s a chance for me to give a rebuttal, I’m interrupted.
“I apologize for the delay,” Étienne says. He stands beside Serene. Their hands are like magnets and find their way back to one another. “Beau and I were discussin’ a recent business opportunity of mine.”
“No worries. It gave Serene and me time to talk … about the movie.”
Étienne narrows his eyes at his wife but doesn’t say a word.
“A-are w-we ready to go?” Beau asks.
When I turn to him, a happy if not wistful smile graces my face. Perhaps I had high expectations for tonight. All right, I absolutely did. But Beau Legare was a handsome, shy, delightful man. He should be perfect for me, and I’m willing to try again.
Together, the four of us walk to the sidewalk. I leave feeling slightly dispirited, but I remind myself that the next time Beau and I see one another, we’ll have to be far away from his presence because that’s a distraction I can’t afford. If our next date isn’t a success, then I will move on to the next bachelor.
As Beau helps me into the car, my stomach remains in knots. The driver pulls onto the road. Idly, I look out the window for several seconds before I look down at my left palm and stretch my fingers.
I played the write hand game with the wrong man.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Livingston
My blade catches the sunlight streaming into the room as it makes a smooth arch and powerfully clashes against Étienne’s. Smiling, I ignore the sweat dripping into my eyes and make sure to keep my legs braced apart. My controlled, smooth, and precise strikes are exactly what I need right now. Fencing requires you to push aside any distractions in your life. How your muscles ache and your lungs burn become irrelevant because you are incredibly present in the moment.
Right now, I need that more than anything. Most of my nights are spent plagued by the horrors of war. If I don’t drink enough, the solitude of silence creeps upon me, and I can hear the cries of every man who didn’t make it back home. In the morning, I wash away my regret and am immediately forced to think of Rainey’s predicament. In the beginning, I kept waiting for the moment when she’d pound on my front door and announce this bachelor farce Serene concocted was no longer for her. But as the days ticked by, it became apparent that was not to be.
Rainey couldn’t possibly enjoy these men being paraded in front of her, could she?
But yesterday, I thought of something. These men saw what they thought was a stunning woman. If I showed up and evoked the real Rainey, the bachelors might think twice about pursuing her. Then I wouldn’t have these buffoons in my life and a situation such as last night.
I met Rosalie at a gathering two days prior to attending the theater with her. She was in town visiting friends or family. I can’t recall. All that matters is she was beautiful and lush and didn’t have a hot retort for every word I said. And she was available last night and eager to attend the theater.
What I said to Rainey about the betting books was true. At my favorite drinking establishment, I discovered Rainey was the raucous topic of conversation. I attempted to push all thoughts of her aside, but their debauched words lingered in my mind and made me see red. I know she’s not a child, but when did the rest of the men start to see that?
And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Rainey enjoyed the attention. She had a mesmerized look on her face when she spoke to Beau in the ballroom, and that didn’t change as they sat beside each other in the theater. She was beguiled by the man.
I knew what my intent was when I sat beside Rainey. She undoubtedly thought it was to drive her mad. To an extent, she was right, but as I sat there, my stance changed. I felt protective of her and found myself looking at her and Beau from the corner quite often. But there was something different about the protection I felt last night. I’ve been protective of her as a child even when she drove me mad. Only I could be the one to retaliate against her.
I should have tried to understand why there was an imbalance between us before we played the write hand. Because that ended up being the biggest oversight of the night.
Never in all my years of taking part in the write hand game has it ever been so … erotic. Rainey wasn’t aware. Why would she be? The write hand game was a rite of passage between the Lacroix and Pleasonton children. Several times we had sent messages or tried to uncover what the other was saying with our parents being none the wiser. That’s what I set out to do last night. Find out if Rainey truly intended to see Beau again.
I did not plan on becoming aroused by my sister’s closest friend. It was a mere touch, but I think it showed how desperate I was for female companionship because when her fingertips dragged up my arm, I focused on the touch. I barely breathed when her nails lightly dragged again
st my skin; all I could think was how they would feel moving down my back. The image flashed in my head so quickly there was no time to fully process who I was thinking about until later.
The last time I attempted to be intimate with a woman, Rainey stormed into my room with her damn bow and arrow.
I left the theater with Rosalie on my arm, and in a rare act, I did not take her back to my home. I gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and left with Rainey in my thoughts.
Instead of nightmares of war and echoes of screams, I dreamed of the Belgrave ballroom. Rainey stood in the middle of the room. I stood to the side, but she didn’t see because she was staring at the selection of bachelors before her. Just as she would narrow down the list, the bachelors would multiply, until the entire room was filled with men vying for her attention. It was a nightmare all on its own. When I woke up, I was undecided which was less alarming—my nightmares of war or this entire bachelor event.
“Livingston,” Étienne pants out, breaking my train of thought. I look at his red face. “We need to take a break.”
Our fixed distance becomes broken as Étienne takes several strides backward. His clothes are soaked in sweat like mine, and his hair clings to his temples.
“We’ve been in here for quite some time,” he says.
Have we? It feels as though we’d barely begun. This type of exertion brought my mind relief. I could think clearly when I was finished, breathe better, feel the blood coursing through my veins. Although respite has an expiration date, that did not stop me from trying again and again to find the momentary bliss.
I seemed to be forever chasing after peace, and I didn’t know how to stop.
“We can cease … for now. Let’s continue in fifteen minutes,” I say.
Étienne shakes his head and walks to the chairs that are lined against the ballroom wall. He places his sword down, picks up the towel he brought, and dries off his face.
Reluctantly, I follow him and stand beside one of the windows looking toward the long, winding driveway. There is no Rainey to pay us a call. Or her long line of bachelors. It’s probably for the best. If I did see one of them, I might attempt to drive the tip of my sword clean through their heart.
