King of the South

by Read, Calia

  I stand and pat him on the back. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rainey

  I gave my first kiss to Herman Findley when I was thirteen. Even though we were the same age, I wasn’t particularly close to him. But Herman didn’t mercilessly tease me about my thin frame and ungainly limbs. He was kind and courteous and made me smile. One night after a gathering at his family’s home, we kissed in the garden.

  Our lips mashed together in a sudden rush, and it was far too wet. My teeth knocked against my lip so hard I was convinced it broke skin and bled. It didn’t help that I was taller than him. However, I was taller than most boys my age. My eyes were squeezed shut, trying to emulate the woman I once caught in the embrace of a man at a party. Although, as the seconds ticked by, and nothing of importance happened, I opened my eyes. I couldn’t understand why people found this so appealing. Six years later, I found myself in the same position but with a different boy. The kiss wasn’t as inelegant as my first, but I felt nothing. My heart didn’t beat wildly in my chest. There were no butterflies in my stomach.

  Women speak more about marriage, family, embroidery, clothing, and parties. When we gather, there’s an infinite amount of topics we speak about, and it’s not limited to the opposite sex. When men are the subject of conversation, I listen carefully because while I do not consider myself a wilting wallflower, I still don’t know so much about men.

  Through conversations, I’ve discovered that the woman I saw in the embrace at the party was the expectation, and the desire to want to be her wasn’t disproportionate but truly possible.

  Since then, I’ve been seeking the heart-stopping sensation that accompanies the perfect kiss. I knew someday I would find it. I just never expected that kiss would be delivered by Livingston Lacroix.

  He left the ballroom minutes ago, but my lips continue to tingle. It’s a visceral reminder of what happened. Softly, I brush my lower lip with my thumb and walk toward the table, intent on resuming the tedious task of finishing the invitations, but it’s futile. My focus is elsewhere.

  Before the kiss, something came over Livingston. Something I’ve never seen before. He became a different person. Almost as though a curtain was draped over his eyes he was no longer filled with self-assured hubris, but became a bedraggled, frightened man. I didn’t know what to make of it, and I still don’t.

  Did something occur last night to make him act this way? Is that why he didn’t disturb me while I was with Duncan? During my dinner, a part of me held a candle of hope that he would burst into the restaurant with an absurd explanation for being there. Rather than being mollified by his absence, I wondered where he was. Was he with one of his admirers? Because of that, I could barely hold a conversation with Duncan. By the time he escorted me to my door and wished me a good night, I realized that Livingston didn’t have to be present to still win.

  I was irritated when I first saw him walk through the ballroom doors. Irritated that he was beginning to consume so much space in my head. As the day wore on, I realized something wasn’t right with him. There was a moment before he kissed me when the pain, frustration, and torment broke free in his eyes. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and protect him from the world.

  I have flaws. I have deep-seated pain residing in my soul that will never abate. Who am I to prod into Livingston’s life? Who am I to demand he cut open a vein and tell me everything he saw while at war?

  The truth is, it will never happen.

  I’ve always remained steadfast in the belief that you cannot change someone or mend their pain. But you can be a solid support for them. If Livingston needs me, I will forget everything and be there.

  Sometimes I think my blind devotion to Livingston stems back to our families. Yes, that must be it. I feel an obligation to make sure he’s emotionally stable. And we’ve experienced so much heartache together. Heartache that most people can’t comprehend. I knew Livingston hasn’t been himself since the war, but I didn’t know he was fighting with his demons this bad.

  Especially with Nat in Savannah. They’ve always had a close relationship, and with her absence, who can he confide in?

  “Rainey, I want your opinion.”

  Halting mid-step, I backtrack—not before I give the front door a longing expression—and stop in front of the sitting parlor doorway. I find a very pregnant Serene standing in the middle of the room with all past Livingston and Lacroix relatives around her.

  It’s a family reunion of the past.

  Serene waves me impatiently into the room. “Come, come.”

  Hesitantly, I step inside. I was all too ready to flee Belgrave as quickly as possible after my kiss with Livingston, but it was clear Serene was having none of that. I examine the paintings with mild interest. I have my own somber ancestor paintings staring down at me each time I step inside my home. They judge me for being twenty-eight and unattached. I’m failing my family. Bills are not being paid. The home will go into disrepair. Momma will have to sell the house.

  How were you the catalyst, though? You cannot fix what you don’t know.

  I know now, though. And time is of the essence. There are moments I cannot get out of my own way.

  “What are your thoughts on these paintings?” Serene asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “What are my thoughts?” I repeat.

  She nods, her gaze volleying between each stoic face.

  “I … uh, I think they are all upstandin’ men who–”

  She whirls around. “Oh, I don’t need that whole song and dance about their character,” Serene cuts in. “I want to know how they look. Don’t bullshit me, either.”

  “Oh.” I’m a bit taken aback by her request. “Well, to be honest. The paintings are a bit … intimidatin’.”

  She throws her hand in the air and smiles victoriously. “Thank you!”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because at least one has got to go. I told Étienne his great-great-grandpa”—she points to the pock faced man with a shock of white hair and green eyes that almost seem to be peering into my soul—“looks so serious he resembles a North Korean dictator. Alex says he scares her. Honestly, she’s not too far off the mark.” Serene continues to stare at the paintings thoughtfully. “The dining room is comfortable. And the rest of the home is haunted by angry relatives.”

  “For most Southern families, that’s how it is,” I say with a smile.

  “Fair enough. I just want the least terrifying ancestors on the wall.”

  As children, Miles and I would scurry from room to room as fast as possible, pretending our ancestors were beasts chasing us. If we were able to make it to our room without being chastised by our Momma or Nanny, then we defeated the beasts. It made us feel victorious and helped with our fear.

  Sighing, Serene shakes her head. “I’ll make the decision soon enough.” With her mind momentarily appeased about the paintings, she looks at me with a little gleam in her eye. “Are you off so soon? It seems as though you just got here.”

  Even though Livingston hid me from Serene’s line of sight, I know she saw what happened between us. She’s a smart woman. And she wasn’t going to talk to me without bringing the topic up. But I cannot explain it and don’t want to attempt to.

  Looking at my linked fingers, I exhale a deep breath before I lift my head. “I apologize for what you walked in on,” I say suddenly.

  Serene waves her hand in the air. “No apology needed. I’m the one who barged on in.”

  I nod, feeling uncertain of what I should say next. “T-that’s … I mean, it’s never happened before.”

  “Of course,” she replies gently.

  By this point, my eyes are wide and my voice is imploring. “It was a mistake.”

  I need those words to be spoken into existence for my sake and no one else’s. Because someone can kiss you, but that doesn’t mean you have to respond. And I reacted in a way to Livingston that resembled all the women who have ever fel
l for him. He’s a beautiful man. A beautiful man with a devastating smile … who kisses remarkably well.

  That is it.

  Serene smiles at my words. “Certainly didn’t appear that way. I mean, Livingston was going to town, and you weren’t stopping him.”

  Serene’s blunt words can at times be too refreshing, confusing, or embarrassing. Today, I’m embarrassed because it doesn’t take a genius to piece together what she’s referring to. I say nothing and simply look at her.

  Tilting her head to the side, she reaches out and clutches my arms. “Oh, Rainey. I know that look.”

  Jutting my chin, I step back. I brush a hand across my skirt and clear my throat. “Everythin’ is fine.”

  “Of course it is. You just gave your heart to a Lacroix man.”

  With those words said, my head jerks up, and my heart skips a beat. Breathing becomes difficult. I swallow several times, trying to phrase my words the right way, but my tongue feels far too big for my mouth.

  What is wrong with me?

  Serene winks. “You can relax. I won’t tell a soul. But it’s time you bust out the heavy artillery.”

  The day I fall for a Lacroix man is the moment I become a successful debutante, and I want to say just that, but I’m more curious to know what Serene is referring to.

  Finally, I gain control of my tongue. “What are you speakin’ of?”

  Serene rolls her eyes as though I’m an errant child who hasn’t been paying attention. “Lacroix men are terribly stubborn and can’t see what’s in front of them. And he’s a man, and sometimes common sense isn’t so common for them.”

  “I still don’t understand what you’re gettin’ at.”

  Serene smirks deviously. “You will at your bachelor ball.” Before I can ask her what she means by that, she continues speaking. “How did the invitations go?”

  “Livingston and I finished them all.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have them delivered at once.” She looks at her belly and gives it a loving pat. “Did you think last night’s date with Duncan went well?”

  “Yes. It’s made me even more certain of the final bachelors.”

  My confession brings a wide grin to her face. “Don’t tell me! I want to be surprised the day of. That reminds me …” As her voice drifts off, dread trickles down my spine, causing me to sit up straight.

  “Yes?” I prod.

  “There’s a chance Étienne might not be able to attend because of work. And because of social etiquette.” She pauses to roll her eyes. “I might need to ask another person to step in and take his place to oversee the event.”

  Before she can finish her sentence, I know who she’s referring to. “Please tell me it’s your butler, Ben.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Every step I take, there is Livingston. As remarkably frustrating as that may be, I can’t help but note that perhaps his unpredictable arrivals to my dates and the words that come out of his mouth are a welcome distraction from the immense pain I feel from the loss of Miles.

  Serene takes my silence as a sign of anger and places a hand over my hand. “Now don’t get mad. Étienne just can’t make it.”

  Livingston never mentioned this. I shake my head ever so slightly. I can’t explain to Serene that it’s apprehension not anger I’m feeling at the idea of seeing Livingston. I don’t know what will happen to us after our kiss. “You can, though,” I point out. “You are the perfect chaperone.”

  “You’re right. You’re right. I can make it. But what if one the bachelors is suddenly all up in your business? What can I do? Waddle after him, and whack him with my belly?” Serene shrugs. “All in all, I’m glad Livingston is stepping in at the last second.”

  Last night, I was disappointed that Livingston didn’t show up to my date with Duncan, but that was before our kiss. I didn’t know how I was going to react when I saw him again. I knew it wasn’t going to be our customary repartee.

  “And if he says something that gets under your skin just know he can’t help himself.”

  I find myself leaning in, desperate to hear her answer. “Why can’t he, though? I don’t understand his actions.”

  Serene lifts a shoulder. “You know the saying, ‘If it looks like a jealous man, walks like a jealous man, and talks like a jealous man, then it might just be a jealous man.’”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that until now.”

  “Really? Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

  When I arrive home, Momma is pacing the foyer with her hands tightly woven in front of her.

  The second she spots me, her eyes widen with excitement. “There you are, dear.”

  “I told you I’d be at Belgrave.”

  “Workin’ on the invitations for the ball, correct?”

  Slowly, I take off my hat and look at her skeptically. “Yes, you’re correct.”

  She nods and smiles off into the distance. “Wonderful.”

  “I must say, I’m baffled by your reply. You’ve made no effort in hidin’ your dislike for the bachelor ball.”

  “No need to split hairs, Rainey. All that matters is people cannot stop speakin’ about this ball.”

  “I know. And you didn’t care for that.”

  “That was before it became a runaway success! I’ve had two matriarchs from Charleston’s most prominent families visit today inquirin’ about the ball. Of course, I’m still in mournin’ so I had to politely turn them away.” Momma barely stops to take a breath. “Three bachelor’s mommas have sent invites to have tea. I daresay, this will be the event of the year!” Before I can say a word, she places her hands on my shoulder blades and all but pushes me into the sitting room. We stop in the open doorway. My eyes widen and my mouth drops as I take in the room. The fragrance is nearly overwhelming, but it doesn’t compare to the colors before me. It’s a sea of flowers. Every surface is covered, and around the furniture and Persian rug are even more flowers, creating a small maze.

  “All from your bachelors, dear.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  Momma nods, her eyes alight with excitement. “I haven’t seen this many flowers since Nathalie Lacroix’s weddin’.”

  “What do we do with all of them?”

  “Appreciate the sight and smell and be a courteous Southern lady and write thank-you notes.”

  This was quite a lot to take in. I don’t think I’ve ever had one bouquet sent to me, let alone a room full. Yet not one was from the man who could kiss me speechless.

  “Did you finish all the invitations?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The invitations,” Momma says, pronouncing her words slowly. “Are they finished?”

  Shaking my head ever so slightly, I shift toward Momma. It takes me a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. “Yes. Yes, they’re done,” I rush out.

  “Wonderful.” Momma’s so roused by the attention of the upcoming ball she doesn’t notice my reaction. It’s time for her restorative beverage, but before Momma leaves the room, she holds one of my arms and gestures to the wild array of colors before us. “Just think, somewhere in the midst of all these flowers is a bouquet from your future husband.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say numbly because my lips continue to tingle from my kiss with Livingston.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Rainey

  If there’s any benefit to having a momma with expensive taste in all areas of life, it’s that I’ve never once lacked for a topic of conversation during each date with the bachelors. Even I learned a thing or two from my tutors and when I was a debutante. The second is there’s no absence of dresses to choose from in my closet. The seconds before I dress, I shed my true skin, and with each button sliding into place or zipper tightening the material around my body, the pain of Miles’s death retreats for a time. I focus on the present and the goals, which is making sure Momma and I don’t lose this house. Time was running out, though, as the topic of conversations ran thin and the list of bachelors grew smal
ler.

  At the beginning of this, I didn’t love the bachelor idea, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. But soon, it distracted me. I found myself anxious to take off one attire and dress in another. I didn’t get dressed for today’s outing with much aplomb, though.

  Did it have to do with Livingston being there? Most certainly.

  I haven’t heard from him for the past two days. And I wasn’t thrilled about that because I absolutely didn’t want him to bring up the topic of the kiss during the bachelor event. It needs to be addressed but in private. Away from prying eyes and listening ears.

  I needed more time to think on the matter, too. Not that I wasn’t diligently thinking every detail over until there was nothing left to inspect. I wanted a heart-stopping kiss? Well, I received it. Livingston kissed like a man with nothing left in life but one last breath. He made every thought in my mind go dark and my muscles become lax, but under my skin, my nerves were alive, dancing throughout my body, searching for a way out. It was an exhilarating feeling, but I knew I needed to be prepared to see Livingston today, and for anything he might say. For us, a conversation is never simple. There are many routes, and I never know which one he might take.

  “I must admit, it’s been quite some time since I’ve had a picnic,” says Taylor, one of my bachelors, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  A small laugh escapes me as I hold the opposite end of the checkered blanket. Once it’s straightened out, we lower it to the ground. “It’s been many years for me, too. But change is nice, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The idea came from Serene, but to be honest, I think Alex’s governess might have suggested it. She’s always going on picnics with Alex. I was afraid we were going to resort to writing ideas down on paper and pulling one out from a hat.

  “Oh, I certainly agree,” Duncan says next to me.

  “Me too,” Conrad chimes in.

  The rest of the bachelors murmur their agreement, and I can’t help but think, if playing this bachelor game is what it took to have men agree with me, perhaps I should’ve done this years ago.